Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Potty Training 101
For those of you out there with small children, I'm sure you know that potty training your child can prove to be quite a hazardous feat at times. And of course, boys are often far less eager to let go of that last bit of childhood. My son is now eight years old, and cannot believe that he has only been potty trained for four years. Yes, that's right. Despite my many efforts, including the Cheerios in the toilet thing, and the sticker thing the little man just couldn't bring himself to let go.
I must have repeated to him countless times that big boys go on the potty, and that going in your underwear just wasn't acceptable. I tried every trick of the trade, only to be defeated time and again. And then one day(his fourth birthday), he just did it. And it is true that you must let them do it in their own time, but seriously, four?
I now have a two year old daughter who has begun the potty training journey. A journey that started out absolutely perfect, with her knowing exactly what she had to do, and doing it. She asked to go when she had to, and she even woke up in the night to go. I was both amazed and suspicious of this sudden change from diapers to pull ups full time. How could it be that easy with one, and so so difficult with another?
Well let's just say that just as I was about to give away the last of the diapers, she regressed. Not only did she no longer want to go on the potty, she downright refused. I have tried all of the old tricks, from "surprises", to charts. I even asked if she might want to go on the big potty rather than the silly looking flowery thing she had been using. Nope.
So what is a parent to do when your toddler is in complete potty denial? Well, in my experience as with all other types of denial there's the twelve step program. So why not have a five step program for potty training? (Twelve steps might be a little much).
1. Realizing you're in denial(both you and the child)
2. Realizing why you're in denial
3. Taking your realizations and turning them into productivity(get bigger, more glittery stickers)
4. Try putting on the adult version of a pull-up, and then realizing that no one in hell would want to wear something so stuffy and hot.
5. Apologize to everyone you have ever hurt with your denial(Just kidding:)
One more step~Let the poor kid do her thing, and eventually by the time she's twenty, she will have mastered the potty, and will probably have a master's degree in potty training.
I must have repeated to him countless times that big boys go on the potty, and that going in your underwear just wasn't acceptable. I tried every trick of the trade, only to be defeated time and again. And then one day(his fourth birthday), he just did it. And it is true that you must let them do it in their own time, but seriously, four?
I now have a two year old daughter who has begun the potty training journey. A journey that started out absolutely perfect, with her knowing exactly what she had to do, and doing it. She asked to go when she had to, and she even woke up in the night to go. I was both amazed and suspicious of this sudden change from diapers to pull ups full time. How could it be that easy with one, and so so difficult with another?
Well let's just say that just as I was about to give away the last of the diapers, she regressed. Not only did she no longer want to go on the potty, she downright refused. I have tried all of the old tricks, from "surprises", to charts. I even asked if she might want to go on the big potty rather than the silly looking flowery thing she had been using. Nope.
So what is a parent to do when your toddler is in complete potty denial? Well, in my experience as with all other types of denial there's the twelve step program. So why not have a five step program for potty training? (Twelve steps might be a little much).
1. Realizing you're in denial(both you and the child)
2. Realizing why you're in denial
3. Taking your realizations and turning them into productivity(get bigger, more glittery stickers)
4. Try putting on the adult version of a pull-up, and then realizing that no one in hell would want to wear something so stuffy and hot.
5. Apologize to everyone you have ever hurt with your denial(Just kidding:)
One more step~Let the poor kid do her thing, and eventually by the time she's twenty, she will have mastered the potty, and will probably have a master's degree in potty training.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Thanksgiving and Vicks
It's that wonderful time of year again, filled with ever-changing leaves, crisp fall air and heaps of mashed potatoes and gravy. Ahh Thanksgiving.
7am.
I am rushing between half baked pies and my laptop, trying to remember every word of a sentence I came up with for a novel I'm working on, all while slicing apples and keeping the kids busy. And by keeping the kids busy, of course I mean my son crying because his little sister has covered his nice dress clothes in flour. "See Mommy? I baking!"
I glance longingly at my computer knowing that it will sit untouched until the holiday is over.
"Mom!" my son is pulling on my arm. "There's smoke coming from the oven!" He begins to run around the house screaming "fire!" at the top of his lungs. "Fire! Fire!"
Of course, there is no fire, just smoldering cherry pie filling at the bottom of the oven. Now my daughter is jumping up and down yelling too.
7:22 am.
"Yes, that's it!" I quickly type in the last words in the chapter. Relief.
I finish up the remaining two pies, and carefully slide them into the smoking oven. I look down to find my daughter snoring peacefully under the kitchen table, hands, face and dress covered in flour. After washing the last of the unbelievably gooey white stuff from her face, I lay her down and cross my fingers that the peaceful slumber will last longer than ten minutes. Tip toeing out of the room, I begin clean up duty, throw in some last minute laundry, and quietly slide into my chair. At last, a few minutes to relieve my brain of the next chapter slowly building in my head.
7:45 am.
"Mommm!!" My son's shrieking stops me in mid sentence. Then suddenly, he just laughs.
Thinking he's pulling my chain, which he often does, I go back to writing.
After about ten minutes of silence, I look up from my computer, suspicious. I get up slowly to have a look around. I look in on my son, who is busy scrubbing flour from his hair and clothes. "Hi Mom!"
Suddenly, this scent hits my nostrils. Not a bad scent. It's kind of nice, and sort of familiar. Is that Lavender? Yes, definitely. Then my mind wanders to how wonderful lavender is, and how I used to have this great lotion with lavender, and matching soap....wait a minute! Another scent enters my nose as I near my daughter's room. This one is familiar as well. I stop in my tracks.
Nnnooooooo! I walk as if in slow motion closer to my daughter's room. The scent is stronger.
"Vicks!"
"Wha-how-did you....Vicks!"
"Mommy look, lips pretty!"
"Oh my....!!" Vicks everywhere. Hands, hair, face, clothes and furniture. Lavender scented baby Vicks.
"Mommy look!" "I beautiful!" my daughter cries with delight as she continues to rub the goo round and round on her cheeks.
I look at my watch. 8:15. Yup, pies are black by now. I sigh, wondering if I can still make it to Wal-Mart in time to pick up a couple of Mrs. Smiths, throw them in the oven and make like I slaved all day.
And for those of you wondering about the effects of Vicks on an infant's face, no worries. She fell soundly asleep after I scrubbed her red, with the lips of Angelina Jolie.
7am.
I am rushing between half baked pies and my laptop, trying to remember every word of a sentence I came up with for a novel I'm working on, all while slicing apples and keeping the kids busy. And by keeping the kids busy, of course I mean my son crying because his little sister has covered his nice dress clothes in flour. "See Mommy? I baking!"
I glance longingly at my computer knowing that it will sit untouched until the holiday is over.
"Mom!" my son is pulling on my arm. "There's smoke coming from the oven!" He begins to run around the house screaming "fire!" at the top of his lungs. "Fire! Fire!"
Of course, there is no fire, just smoldering cherry pie filling at the bottom of the oven. Now my daughter is jumping up and down yelling too.
7:22 am.
"Yes, that's it!" I quickly type in the last words in the chapter. Relief.
I finish up the remaining two pies, and carefully slide them into the smoking oven. I look down to find my daughter snoring peacefully under the kitchen table, hands, face and dress covered in flour. After washing the last of the unbelievably gooey white stuff from her face, I lay her down and cross my fingers that the peaceful slumber will last longer than ten minutes. Tip toeing out of the room, I begin clean up duty, throw in some last minute laundry, and quietly slide into my chair. At last, a few minutes to relieve my brain of the next chapter slowly building in my head.
7:45 am.
"Mommm!!" My son's shrieking stops me in mid sentence. Then suddenly, he just laughs.
Thinking he's pulling my chain, which he often does, I go back to writing.
After about ten minutes of silence, I look up from my computer, suspicious. I get up slowly to have a look around. I look in on my son, who is busy scrubbing flour from his hair and clothes. "Hi Mom!"
Suddenly, this scent hits my nostrils. Not a bad scent. It's kind of nice, and sort of familiar. Is that Lavender? Yes, definitely. Then my mind wanders to how wonderful lavender is, and how I used to have this great lotion with lavender, and matching soap....wait a minute! Another scent enters my nose as I near my daughter's room. This one is familiar as well. I stop in my tracks.
Nnnooooooo! I walk as if in slow motion closer to my daughter's room. The scent is stronger.
"Vicks!"
"Wha-how-did you....Vicks!"
"Mommy look, lips pretty!"
"Oh my....!!" Vicks everywhere. Hands, hair, face, clothes and furniture. Lavender scented baby Vicks.
"Mommy look!" "I beautiful!" my daughter cries with delight as she continues to rub the goo round and round on her cheeks.
I look at my watch. 8:15. Yup, pies are black by now. I sigh, wondering if I can still make it to Wal-Mart in time to pick up a couple of Mrs. Smiths, throw them in the oven and make like I slaved all day.
And for those of you wondering about the effects of Vicks on an infant's face, no worries. She fell soundly asleep after I scrubbed her red, with the lips of Angelina Jolie.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Happy Halloween!!
Ah, Halloween. The age-old tradition of dressing your children to the latest superhero craze. Walking for what seems like an eternity in search of the ever evasive full-size candy bar, and perhaps a little change from an elderly neighbor. When I was a child, much to our distaste, we received apples. Yes, apples, and pennies, and perhaps the occasional bag of popcorn. Of course there were a few candies in the mix, but nothing like today's children receive. Our costumes, were simple. One year I was the Queen of Hearts, another year, a daisy. Simple and to the point I think. Our mothers usually made our costumes, and handed us a pillow case with an added, "Have a nice time dear."
Fast forward to the year 2008.
"Mom, I want to be a Power Ranger. No wait. I want to be a Storm Trooper..." my son stands there shaking his head as if the answer will fall out onto the table in front of him.
I just laugh. I knew this was coming. Last year we had a pirate, ninja, and Spiderman. Yes, that's right. My son had three costumes for one holiday. My daughter just says "Mama, Emma is a princess." then she giggles, and does her princess twirl. Easy. With a two-year old daughter undeniably obsessed with Disney princesses, I can no doubt throw together a costume.
"Mom!" my son glares at me.
"Yes, dear?" (Sarcasm.)
"Mom, what should I be? I can't decide!"
"Well..," I begin. "I would be a cat. Yes definitely a cat. Cat's are nice and furry."
"Awww Mom!! I'm a boy, and I hate cats!!"
"Well, how about a ninja turtle?" I smile, knowing that we still have that costume hanging in a closet from previous years. Yup. Makin' it simple on myself.
"No way! I was a ninja turtle three times!"
This is true. Each year, I would just tie a different colored band around his head and tell him that he was Leonardo, Donatello, etc. Oh, well. I tried.
" I want to be a Power Ranger. Definitely." he stands there defiant in his decision, while I just shake my head, knowing that tomorrow it will be something else.
"Okay then, I will go to the store tomorrow and get a Power Ranger costume." And then I catch myself, and attempt to avoid the inevitiable melt down he is sure to have if I get the wrong color costume.
"Oh! What color Power Ranger do you want?"
He looks at me with that oh man, I have no idea look. "Umm....blue? No, red! No, yellow."
"Yellow it is." with a small sigh of relief, I look to my daughter.
"And Miss Emmi will be a princess, right?"
"No Mommy. Emmi a bug." Great, here we go again.
I slowly make my way to the costume section at Wal-Mart. With my daughter in tow grabbing at every brightly colored Halloween item in sight, I finally come to the Power Rangers. I find one yellow left in my son's size. Mission accomplished. Now, where are the bugs? After some searching I find a cute little lady bug costume and show it to my daughter.
"See Em? A beautiful lady bug."
"Nnnnoooooo!!!!!!" She immediately drops to the floor in a fit of rage. Arms thrashing, I can barely make out the words.
"Emmi be a fly!!"
A fly? Seriously?
"Hmm. I don't know honey. I don't think they make fly costumes for baby girls." I say with a shrug. With that, she goes into a full blown histerical cry. Time to run for the check out, past the annoyed looks of people who clearly don't have children. I mean seriously, were these people never children? Did they arrive via spaceship or something? I hate people that become furious when a child acts out as if the mother must be the worst on earth. If you don't like children, stay home.
After a brief struggle in the car(she felt the need to throw herself out of the carseat a few times), I went home to give her a nice long nap, and hopefully surprise my son with his beloved yellow costume.
As soon as he gets off of the bus, he whizzes past me straight to his costume, hanging neatly before him. I give myself a silent pat on the back for a job well done, and ask how his day was.
"MOOOOOOMMMMM! I wanted the yellow ranger from Power Rangers: Jungle Fury, not the regular old one!!!!"
I take a deep breath, walk slowly to my bedroom and grab a pillow. I scream into it as if I'm being murdered.
Halloween night~
"Having fun, honey?" my son just gives me a look of sheer anger as he walks to the next house in his "regular old" yellow ranger costume, swinging his pillow case in the air. I look to my daughter who is happily skipping along saying "trick or treat!" in her sing-songy little voice. "Are you having fun baby?"
"Yes Mommy! I love Halloween!" She skips past me in her fly costume to the next house with her brother. Yeah, that's right. A fly costume. (I put two mini mesh strainers over her eyes, and saftey pinned her old fairy wings to her back....)
Fast forward to the year 2008.
"Mom, I want to be a Power Ranger. No wait. I want to be a Storm Trooper..." my son stands there shaking his head as if the answer will fall out onto the table in front of him.
I just laugh. I knew this was coming. Last year we had a pirate, ninja, and Spiderman. Yes, that's right. My son had three costumes for one holiday. My daughter just says "Mama, Emma is a princess." then she giggles, and does her princess twirl. Easy. With a two-year old daughter undeniably obsessed with Disney princesses, I can no doubt throw together a costume.
"Mom!" my son glares at me.
"Yes, dear?" (Sarcasm.)
"Mom, what should I be? I can't decide!"
"Well..," I begin. "I would be a cat. Yes definitely a cat. Cat's are nice and furry."
"Awww Mom!! I'm a boy, and I hate cats!!"
"Well, how about a ninja turtle?" I smile, knowing that we still have that costume hanging in a closet from previous years. Yup. Makin' it simple on myself.
"No way! I was a ninja turtle three times!"
This is true. Each year, I would just tie a different colored band around his head and tell him that he was Leonardo, Donatello, etc. Oh, well. I tried.
" I want to be a Power Ranger. Definitely." he stands there defiant in his decision, while I just shake my head, knowing that tomorrow it will be something else.
"Okay then, I will go to the store tomorrow and get a Power Ranger costume." And then I catch myself, and attempt to avoid the inevitiable melt down he is sure to have if I get the wrong color costume.
"Oh! What color Power Ranger do you want?"
He looks at me with that oh man, I have no idea look. "Umm....blue? No, red! No, yellow."
"Yellow it is." with a small sigh of relief, I look to my daughter.
"And Miss Emmi will be a princess, right?"
"No Mommy. Emmi a bug." Great, here we go again.
I slowly make my way to the costume section at Wal-Mart. With my daughter in tow grabbing at every brightly colored Halloween item in sight, I finally come to the Power Rangers. I find one yellow left in my son's size. Mission accomplished. Now, where are the bugs? After some searching I find a cute little lady bug costume and show it to my daughter.
"See Em? A beautiful lady bug."
"Nnnnoooooo!!!!!!" She immediately drops to the floor in a fit of rage. Arms thrashing, I can barely make out the words.
"Emmi be a fly!!"
A fly? Seriously?
"Hmm. I don't know honey. I don't think they make fly costumes for baby girls." I say with a shrug. With that, she goes into a full blown histerical cry. Time to run for the check out, past the annoyed looks of people who clearly don't have children. I mean seriously, were these people never children? Did they arrive via spaceship or something? I hate people that become furious when a child acts out as if the mother must be the worst on earth. If you don't like children, stay home.
After a brief struggle in the car(she felt the need to throw herself out of the carseat a few times), I went home to give her a nice long nap, and hopefully surprise my son with his beloved yellow costume.
As soon as he gets off of the bus, he whizzes past me straight to his costume, hanging neatly before him. I give myself a silent pat on the back for a job well done, and ask how his day was.
"MOOOOOOMMMMM! I wanted the yellow ranger from Power Rangers: Jungle Fury, not the regular old one!!!!"
I take a deep breath, walk slowly to my bedroom and grab a pillow. I scream into it as if I'm being murdered.
Halloween night~
"Having fun, honey?" my son just gives me a look of sheer anger as he walks to the next house in his "regular old" yellow ranger costume, swinging his pillow case in the air. I look to my daughter who is happily skipping along saying "trick or treat!" in her sing-songy little voice. "Are you having fun baby?"
"Yes Mommy! I love Halloween!" She skips past me in her fly costume to the next house with her brother. Yeah, that's right. A fly costume. (I put two mini mesh strainers over her eyes, and saftey pinned her old fairy wings to her back....)
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