Yesterday, I wrote about counting the happy things you come across. There are so many good things to find... when we will just start looking.
Yeah, that's the kind of things we are looking for. That comes from a list of things I believe, and it's the 13th item, if you are wondering why it has the 13 in the background. You can find the entire list here, and it is chock-full of things that make me happy.
My neighbor brought her bubbly little daughter over for a tea party. Angel figured out that she didn't get the birthday party she wanted because we were on vacation for her birthday, so I've been placating her with a few low-key tea parties. Problem solved. Anyway, as I was chatting with my neighbor, the house got a trifle too quiet. You know what that means.
I found Georgie in my bathroom, stripped naked to the waist. He was coating his chest with deodorant (the room smelled yummy of Old Spice, but that's beside the point). Oh, and he used a bottle of my lotion to finger-paint all over the mirror. His accomplice, Freddie, had already fled the scene. I laughed. And laughed (but not in front of the perpetrator). This is how I can tell I am getting to be an older mother, because I laugh first and dole out punishments later. I'm getting soft that way, but more fun!
So I haven't had the use of my bathroom mirror for a few days. There was too much going on, and I didn't remember about it until I was too tired and going to bed. Trent got tired of it sooner than I did and scraped and cleaned (and cleaned and cleaned) off the mirror. I walked into the bathroom and it sparkled! What a Sweetheart he is. I looked in the mirror and saw - for the first time in a week - a big smile on my face.
It looked good. And it felt good. The smile, not the mirror. The clean reflection just showed me what my own smile looked like. Trent tells me that my smile is one of his favorite things about mt.
So for today, I'm smiling. At everything I can. My goal is to have sore face muscles tomorrow.
Yup. Each one of those areas is affected by a big, genuine smile. Try it with me? Maybe 'll even count smiles. Where's that clicker? I know I set it down somewhere around here...
We woke up too early. Either that, or the morning started too early. Doesn't matter - it feels the same. Don't want to get up. I rolled over into Trent. And smile.
Within roughly three seconds, a little person's head appeared at my side of the bed. Georgie, grinning, climbed into the bed. I pulled up the covers to let him in, and he snuggled into me. Moments later, another little head appeared at Trent's side of the bed. Freddie scrambled up and snuggled into his daddy.
The bed was getting cozy (realtor-speak for "crowded"), but I wasn't ready to get up just yet. Trent wrapped his other arm around me and pulled me closer. He stroked my hair, and kissed the nape of my neck. I sighed. He nibbled a little more. No way was I getting up. It wouldn't go much further with young 'us around, but it was so nice...
Suddenly, Georgie sat up. "Daddy!" he yelled. In my grogginess, it was startling. Trent also sat right up when he heard the next thing out of the little guy's mouth. "Have you sex?"
That was the end of snuggling for the morning. "Do you think they know... do they understand...?" Trent was worried as he hurried his clothes on.
I laughed, because I heard, "Daddy! Are you six?" And the next thing Georgie said, that Trent didn't hear in his quick escape from the bed, was "You are six and I am fwee."
Funny how things sound differently when you aren't quite awake.
You know that tall tower of plastic balls at the store? The one full of big and little playground balls that is strategically placed just where the little ones have been shopping for long enough and are about ready to have a major meltdown right there in the store? Yeah, that one. It's hard to resist. As a result, we always seem to have an inflated rubbery ball at our house. Or two. Or maybe three.
Georgie got a hold of Angel's pink ball and decided to bite it. And then bite it hard. You just have to see what happens sometimes. And who knew? The ball popped. At first, he was frightened. Then, he held it up and looked at the big open gash in the side of what used to be a ball. He examined it carefully... and then popped it on his head. Daddy cut it down a bit so it wouldn't cover his face. Georgie loves his new hat. Especially when Freddie or Angel or one of the big boys is wearing it.
It's pretty ridiculous-looking. And funny. And I'm looking for when I can quietly dispose of it because it's a little bit of a safety worry. Moms are no fun like that. In the meantime, we have to take a picture. Because when your bubble busts, sometimes you just have to make something fun out of it and grin anyway.
This was our bedtime story tonight, after we are all tired as can be from the events of the day - not to mention pajama wrangling and toothbrushing.
Once upon a time, there were three pigs who built some houses. The first was built out of grass, the second was made with sticks (Freddie: Dix! Hit people!), and the third was out of rocks. And the big bad wolf came. (Knocking sound) (In a low voice) Little pig, little pig, let me in. (In a high squeaky voice) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin! (Wolf voice) Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing noise) And he blew it right over with one puff. (Squeaky voice) Oh dear! Oi oi oi oi oi oi oi! (Narrator) And he ran to his brother's house.
But pretty soon, the two pigs heard, (knocking sound). (Wolf voice) Little pigs, little pigs, let me in. (In a different high voice) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin! (Wolf voice) Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing, and blowing again) (Georgie blows and spits all over everyone) And he blew it right over with two puffs. (Squeaky voice) Oh dear! Oi oi oi oi oi oi oi! (Narrator) And they ran to their brother's house.
Sure enough, in just a moment, the three pigs heard, (knocking sound). (Wolf voice) Little pigs, little pigs, let me in. (In a medium high voice becasue the squeaky register is giving out) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin! (Georgie: chinny chinny!) (Wolf voice) Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing, and blowing, and blowing) (All join in with the puffing, blowing faster and faster until we sound like a Lamaze practice session.) (Narrator) But he just couldn't blow over that strong house. And what did he say? (All: Too bad! Angel: Shucks!) He went and got a hamburger instead. And the little pigs were safe. (Georgie: And they had a party.) (Freddie: They watched a moo-fie!)
Being a mother is not easy. Let me say that again. Being a mother. Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along. Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier. There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started. I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?" But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now. Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.
When I was a young newlywed, we lived in a very quiet apartment building. Lots of college students, lots of single professionals, lots of newlywed couples, but very few babies and no children at all. By the time my first was born, we had moved into an simple trailer park with a similar demographic. When he cried in a group setting, most everyone thought it was adorable, as I hushed his wails and scurried out of the room as quickly as possible. I was never quite sure where his crying or whimpering or babbling was allowed, and where it was frowned upon.
Through the years and more babies, I've learned that, most of the time, quiet child noise is fine, (we don't go anywhere that children are severely frowned upon) but anything boisterous or angry is not. And please, no temper tantrums. Ever.
So what does a good mother do with a child in the throes of a tantrum? Simple. A good mother's children just don't have tantrums.
('scuse me while I fall over laughing)
All children have tantrums. Most teens have tantrums. Quite a few adults have tantrums. Just watch TV if you don't believe me. Hopefully, we are learning to not throw fits ourselves. At least not in front of other people, and especially not in front of the kids. Once you have that one mastered, you are ready to tackle a childish temper tantrum from an actual child.
The first thing I wish I'd known when my first children started having tantrums is that it's not about me. I don't have to get upset or angry or yell at or shake the child. He's not doing it to make me mad or to get even with me or because he hates me. And even if he's old enough and sophisticated enough to try a tantrum just to rattle me, I don't have to let the child or the tantrum mess with me! Stay calm. Take a deep breath. Laugh at how ridiculous he looks. Then love him all the more (you can when you're not mad).
The next thing that I learned about temper tantrums is that they are often caused by a lapse in communication. I think one reason that the "terrible twos" can be so terrible is that the little lass can't tell you what is on her mind. She doesn't have the verbal skills to let you know what it is she wants, and it's terribly frustrating. Hello, meltdown. I find that when a frustrating moment is starting, if I stop, get on the child's level, and patiently help her work through the situation, we end up with fewer tantrums. Not none, but fewer. (And I've taught most of my kids sign language when they were just little. They could sign before they could talk - signing is easier! The communication goes way up, and the tantrums go way down. I could really see a difference between the tots who signed and those who didn't.)
Another little tidbit that is helpful to know is that more tantrums happen when the little sweetheart is tired or hungry Umm... this is true for me, too. Tired = not thinking straight, more emotional, less able to articulate. Hungry = less energy to function, more moody, more quick to snap. Hence, I don't hash out financial details with my husband late at night. Not a good idea. And I don't take my toddlers shopping during naptime. Or when they are hungry. I might be able to push on for "just a few more minutes," but their little bodies are less forgiving. It works much better if we just have a meal and rest schedule and stick to it. Not always possible, but as a general rule.
So I'm calm, I'm helping my little guy communicate, we're well-fed and well-rested (both of us!) and we still have a meltdown on aisle 9. He's screaming, everyone is staring, and you're at your wit's end. What now?
Some experts say that you should ignore the child during a tantrum so he doesn't get the idea that if he wants to be the center of attention, he can just start screaming. Makes sense. Other experts will say that your upset child needs more attention during a meltdown so that he doesn't feel abandoned during his most emotional moments. Also makes sense. Love it when the "experts" don't agree. They hardly ever do.
Guess what? YOU are the expert on your child. Learn up on what the experts say (the child behaviorists and the child psychologists and (especially) the veteran mothers). Then you are armed. Try the approach that feels best to you. If it doesn't work after a while, then try another. As long as you parent with love and common sense, you are not going to seriously mess up your child. Really.
Today at a friend's house, I made a toddler stay in the bathroom while he screamed out a temper tantrum (there was no quiet place to go, so we did the best we could). He screamed while I held the doorknob and muttered apologies to our sweet hostess. When he drew a breath, I would reassure him that I was there and he could come out when he finished screaming. He did stop after a bit, and I held him tightly for a long while while he sniffled and settled down. Later, I held a kicking tot, rocking him until he calmed. Another time, I smiled in the face of danger (the little guy was swinging his fists at me!), and caught each blow, shook his little hand and asked "How do you do?" in a funny voice until his anger melted and he laughed. We're in a tantrummy way right now, and the twins feed off each other, so I'm getting plenty of practice.
A tantrum in a public place is so much better avoided than dealt with. It's worth the extra bit of inconvenience and planning. And yes, it's ok to just leave your cart there - or take it to a store worker to hold for you - and hustle the screamer right back out into the car. Or leave the restaurant before you can even order. Or rush out to the lobby. Or stick his little kicking legs in a snowbank for a moment. Been there, done that.
You're not a horrible mom. I'd even take your child and distract her by drawing on the ice in the frozen food department while you check out, if you wouldn't think weird kidnapper thoughts about me. You're doing great during this tumultuous time. Go mom! And when it's all over, you can lock yourself in the bathroom and cry a little if it makes you feel better. Just don't throw a tantrum.
Today I started a nice breakfast, but rushed through the last of the cooking and the kids only got to eat half of it because I started too late. I buckled three youngsters into frozen car seats with fingers stiff from scraping the windows. I drove the carpool to school and got the boys there on time. Hurrah! I didn't clean up the breakfast dishes until lunchtime because I didn't feel like it.
I tackled the laundry pile, huge and Mount Washmore sized, due to all the clothing I pulled out of David and Eddie's room. We're cleaning out their closet. It's no wonder they can't keep their room clean if they have so many clothes! Most of it is old stuff that doesn't fit and has been stuffed in the back of the closet, or to-be-grown-into hand-me-downs that have fallen off the top closet shelf. I think I'll have them empty their dressers too, wash everything, and start over by picking out a manageable number of clean clothes that fit. It will be like shopping! But not.
I put my three youngun's down for a nap, then I snuggled with them until they all fell asleep. I may have dozed a little bit, too. It's the only way I can get them to sleep instead of play - when I lay down and pull the "big bankie" over all of us - but I really don't mind. It's a slower, peaceful break from the rest of the day.
I went to two parent-teacher conferences. David and Eddie are smart and friendly. They read a lot (even when they aren't supposed to). They are getting better at turning in the homework, but they still need to work on being "finishers." The message from each teacher was basically a repeat. I could have just gone to the first one, and listened to it a few times while changing out the names. BUT, due to the things I have been learning in counseling this past year, I had a different outlook to parent-teacher conferences this time. I love my children, but I don't control them. Love and control do not have to be connected. They have their agency to do whatever, and I have my agency to not have to react, to assign consequences without anger, and to love them anyway. In short, I could listen to a critique of my son - my own flesh and blood! - without feeling defensive or offended. Because his actions are not mine. It was satisfying, and so much easier to go home and have that little "Here's what your teacher said and here's what we need to work on" chat with the boys when I got home. I'm learning!
I went to a band concert and enjoyed it. I was present, and didn't take pictures or film or anything. I just enjoyed it. Of course I got a kick out of seeing Chris on stage (first time I've seen him play since he switched from tenor saxophone to the baritone - it's big!). But I also liked listening to the other bands - odd rhythms, random squeaks, and all. One of my favorite parts of a junior high band concert was the time when the trombonist over-greased his slide and it fell out with a clatter. I remember mortifying moments like that in my awkward years, too.
Knowing that it would be an odd evening, I cooked up a roast in the crockpot. A big bowl of slightly-too-soft mashed potatoes, a pan of rolls, and a bowl of buttery cooked corn stayed warm in the oven for much of the evening. We almost always have dinner together, and I love it that way, but tonight, of the ten of us, I don't think more than three ate at the same time. I put a note on the counter about what was where, and everyone helped themselves when they had time. Crazy, but it worked.
Today was a busier day than normal, but I managed to get a bunch done anyway. Go figure. If I know it's going to be hectic, then I can plan for it, and things still run mostly smoothly. Some days are just like that.
Red. Blue. Black. The twins are starting to notice that colors are different. I'm glad, 'cuz their dad is a little bit colorblind. We'll see how the little ones do. The Angel has them all figured out, so she is a good coach.
When I start teaching new concepts, I try to incorporate it into as many ordinary things as I can. "You want a drink of water? Great! You can have a drink in the RED cup, and Georgie can have a drink in the BLUE cup. And Angel has the ORANGE cup. You have red, Georgie has blue, and Angel has orange. What color is your cup?" We go over it enough times to make a non-toddler-mother nervous tics, because that is how they learn.
Georgie is starting to get the hang of red, blue, and green. Freddie thinks everything is "lello." We go through a single color and do identification. "Here is a WHITE paper. Look! Your shirt is white. What else is white? Your milk? Good job! This envelope is white, and the cord is white, and this spoon is white." Then I ask Freddie what color the spoon is.
Lello.
Everything good is lello. It's such a cheerful color, and now I have a more cheerful name for it. The marshmallows are my favorite. It's such a cheerful color, and now I have a more cheerful name for it. In honor of Freddie and one of the most cheerful people I haven't met yet, I'll call the color Maralello.
It's a challenge to get a toddler to go to bed. There are four phases: wind down, get ready, placate, and whack-a-mole.
The wind-down phase begins just after all the hustle for the day is over. For us, that's usually after dinner is cleaned up. If I can keep the kids from running outside or having pillow fights or wrestling matches, I'm doing pretty well. We read books and play quiet games. At least that is the goal. Usually life is somewhat subdued by then, but not always. The biggest challenges lie in the fact that mother is tired at the end of the day, and sometimes relinquishes her role as schedule-keeper. Then we all fall apart.
Getting ready is pretty self-explanatory. We change into pajamas. We brush our teeth. We visit the bathroom. If I'm feeling especially tired, I find that the kids change from day to night mindsets easier if I change into my pajamas, too. We brush teeth assembly-style: line up Angel and the twins and just go down the line. I sing a Barney song while I brush. Yes, I will admit to having watched Barney on occasion. He's not my favorite, but I really liked this song - or at least the first verse of it. Here. Watch. You can thank me later.
If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops,
Oh what a rain that would be!
I'd be standing outside with my mouth open wide,
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!
If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops,
Oh what a rain that would be!
Of course, brushing is easier when the toddler is happily singing the "ah ah ah" part. And it's just more fun. They don't let me brush without singing now. I have no idea how many times I've sung this song, or for how many years. Another thing our family does in the "get ready" part is to gather together, read a chapter of scriptures, and say a family prayer. It's just a nice way to end the day.
We give hugs and kisses all around, then lead the Angel off to bed. Now it gets difficult. She isn't ready yet. She needs a drink of water. Only Daddy can take her to bed tonight. She wants three stories. And two songs. She can't sleep without the pink blanket Grandma made for her. And her dolly is lost. And can she sleep in someone else's room? She might get nightmares if she can't sleep with someone else. I tell her stories, let her recite the scripture she learned for Primary, say prayers with her ("bless me to have no bad dreams and only good dreams"), give her more kisses, and say goodnight. I might get down the hall before she needs somethings else. Usually I can do the whole process very briefly. Daddy is more patient with his little girl.
The twins are a different story. For a nap, I hold them on my lap and rock them while I tell quiet stories or sing gentle songs. Sometimes Daddy will help, and we'll each hold one boy, rocking in the matched set of old, pink velvet upholstered rockers in their room. Yes, pink. They were a garage sale deal, and maybe one day I'll recover them. Not any time soon.
When the twins have quieted down, I lay them down on the bed, and cover them with their blankets. I often lay down between them to keep them from erupting. I continue to sing, slower and more quietly, until Freddie starts to snore. Sometimes I get a little nap in, too - until the snoring starts.
At night, we sometimes give them a cup of warm milk while we rock them. The bedroom light is off, but the closet light has to be on, the door slightly ajar. They will hop down and fix it just so if we did it wrong. We always say prayers, with two little voices lisping every word after me. Hugs and kisses for both - Georgie gives little kisses; Freddy's are strong and wet. We don't lock them in anymore, just so you know. I tiptoe out of the dark room, my mother-heart full of love for my babies.
On a good night - no, a wonderful night - that is the end of things. I can read a book or take a bubble bath. Let's be real. I don't remember when I last took any kind of bath. Usually, we begin to play whack-a-mole. You know, the game where one thing pops up, and almost before you can respond, someone else has popped up? Eddie gets up. Daddy puts him back to bed. The Angel needs something. We escort her back to bed. Freddie needs to go potty. Now Eddie does, too. Back to bed. Up, down, up down. I have a long history of playing the maddening nighttime game.
When Alec was about a year and a half, we had played this game with him for too long one night. His daddy and I were trying to do taxes, and our patience was wearing thinner every time he got up. I heard the tiny creak of his bedroom door, then the little shuffle of toddler feet. Sighing, I turned away from the computer to get the little escape artist. Our bedroom door slowly opened - two inches, six, a foot. Unexpectedly, the head of a big black bear popped in the room. Alec had his hand inside the stuffed animal puppet, and was making the most furious growling sounds he could muster. It was all we could do to not laugh and encourage him. I firmly took him back to bed, removed the toy, and left the room. I did give him an extra squeeze, just because he makes me happy.
Being a mom makes me happy. Even if I have to play whack-a-mole.
No children were harmed or whacked in the writing of this post. Really.
Angel loves to have a story told or read to her. Before she will take a nap, she needs to have a story. Before she will go to bed at night, she wants to have three stories. Now the twins like to have stories, too. Come to think of it, all my kidlets have loved to have someone read to them. We're a family of readers.
Recently, we came up with the brilliant idea to have her "read" stories to the twins. They all love it. Score.
Potty training is serious business. You stay at home and take care of business. It can be tricky enough that I don't dare much to leave the room, let alone the house. I suppose you can be rather lackadaisical about the whole affair, like a mother I heard about recently who went out to lunch with her potty-training girls and their potties. On the other hand, you could be like a lady I knew years ago who lined up babysitters for her older children while she solely focused on the potty trainee. Whatever works for you and stays within the bounds of common decency!
We have been doing well enough to venture out of our house a few times recently. At first, it was just driving the elementary school carpool. We went potty just before leaving, and hurried back to the pots as soon as we walked in the door. Over time, the twins learn how to stay dry for longer periods. Hallelujah!
We spent the entire morning with my dad the other day. Even though it was not as familiar as our home, the little guys stayed dry the whole time. I made sure to take the to the bathroom on a regular basis, and they did great. Happy day.
And this morning, we went grocery shopping. That's unnerving with potty-trainers. One of the more difficult things I've done with little children involves emergency restroom trips (for them or for pregnant me!) with shopping carts full of groceries and other children. That's the stuff Mommy nightmares are made of.
We went potty just before going to the store and made it through all our shopping (about an hour's worth). After getting through the checkout and safely into the parking lot, I asked David to load the grocery bags into the van while I took the twins back in for a potty break.
All three of us crowded into a claustrophobic stall, and I boosted Freddie onto the toilet. Big commercial split toilet seats are rough on little bottoms. It's so easy to tip into the split, or be pinched by the seat, or even fall in the water. Just saying. Georgie got bored, and it was all I could do to keep him from touching the icky floor, pulling out toilet paper, or crawling under the partition into the next stall - all while balancing Freddie so he didn't fall in.
Do you know what happens when a little boy is startled while whizzing? Let's just say that aim... is non-existent.
Georgie flushed the toilet while Freddie was sitting on it - twice. Freddie was terrified of the noise, trying desperately to jump onto my head, crying, and still dribbling. It was lovely. Then Georgie still needed to go, so I was balancing him on the nasty split toilet seat while trying to keep Freddie with us in the stall. Finally, we were done. They both hated the flusher, and were anxious to get away from the scary toilet.
I lifted Georgie off the toilet - and the automatic toilet flushed itself again. Both boys jumped, panic-stricken, and couldn't get away from the alarming toilet monster fast enough.
Those deafening, self-flushing toilets are enough to scare your pants off!
The potty training is going pretty well around these parts. The twins are managing to stay dry all morning, with regular reminders to go potty. The afternoon is almost always dry as well, but we have an occasional accident in the evening. That might have something to do with Mom being busy, distracted, and/or tired at the end of the day. They are starting to run to the potty when they need to go, and announcing it by saying, "Yay! Fed (or Doge - whichever boy just went) potty!" and wanting us to cheer for them.
Staying dry at naptime is a different story altogether. They don't yet. I put them in diapers when they head to bed.
The problem is that their idea of naptime and mine are vastly different. We have lunch, change into diapers, read a story, sing a song, maybe have a cup of warm milk, and snuggle in the rocking chairs in the twins' room. When they are looking calm and drowsy, we tuck them gently into bed. We steal softly out of the room and tie the door shut behind us. Go ahead and mention the fire marshal or child protective service - I will readily admit to locking my children in their bedroom. This is only just until they are quiet, however (with both their parents listening in the next room), and then I open the door. The problem is that it takes an hour or more for them to get quiet.
They shake the bed, they climb on the furniture, they throw all the clothes out of their drawers, they pull the drawers out of the dresser, they empty the closet, they jump, they fight, they sing songs. They do everything BUT go to sleep.
So maybe we are putting them down for a nap too early? Nope. This is the routine, no matter how late in the afternoon they take a nap. And maybe they are getting too old for a nap? Nope. If left napless, they will be unbearably grouchy all afternoon long, then collapse into their dinner plates at the table and sleep until I'd like to be putting myself to bed. They do take a good nap - once they go to sleep.
This naptime/playtime routine has worked fairly well, if noisily, until now. Now they are potty training, and don't like to be wet. So they take off the diapers. Oh, and they haven't gotten the hang of depositing their solids into the potty yet, so they hold it - until they get their diapers on.
So whilst playing and jumping and generally not napping, they pull the diapers off. And then play in the poop. It's been a disaster for several days now, walking into the room after it gets quiet only to find a stinky mess and naked boys. Argh.
I've tried to get them to poop in the potty. We've stayed on the potties for quite a long time just before naps, trying to get the business done. I've tried checking on them every few minutes to try to avoid the stripping. I've tried waiting until they were asleep in my arms before putting them to bed. Tonight, they are zipped into footie pajamas with the zipper pull tightly safety-pinned at the top. We'll see how that goes.
Nighty-night, my little stinkers! Mama loves you. Please leave your clothing and diapers in the ON position. Thank you.
I neglected to say that we keep our potties right out in the living room, so everyone can enjoy our training successes.
Aren't they adorable little potties? Now all who enter can know what we have been up to these days.
Actually, we put them there for two reasons: it is more convenient to get two mini-bums to sit when the pots are right there; and three little people in the bathroom at the same time (Angel has to go if they do!) is just way too many. One is on the toilet, one is on the potty, one is checking to see how long the toilet paper is, then someone has to splash in the toilet while it is being sat upon, and of course the cupboards and drawers simply must be explored. Too much adventure.
We like our chamber pots in miniature to be admired. Yeah, that's it.
It's potty time! Pah-tee! Yup, folks, get out your hats and balloons and confetti. We're having us a pot-tee! Even better - we're having two potties! Yes!
Whew. That many exclamation points makes me tired. I'm not naturally that perky, so it takes a lot of energy to pretend. Back to your regularly scheduled programming now...
Before the twins turned two, they started learning about the toilet. I change their diapers on a pad on the bathroom counter, with one little guy on the pad and the other little guy around my ankles. Angel often has to join the party, where she remembers that she "gots to go." The twins ignored her, then watched, then got curious about what she was doing, sitting over there. Georgie was the first to want to sit on the toilet - and tinkled immediately. After that I would put him on during a diaper change if he asked and he always tinkled. Pretty soon Freddie wanted to try, too.
For their second birthday, I bought a matched set of training potties. I knew it was far too soon to really potty train, but the three of them were starting to fight over who got to sit on the toilet. Now we have seats for everyone - Angel on the toilet and the twins on their little potties. Here is a reminder of a really bad potty party picture, for your viewing enjoyment:
We'd go potty for a few days, and then the novelty would wear off. When my little guys started whining as I put them on the potty, I knew they weren't ready. I cleaned up the potties and put them in the bathroom cabinet. After a few weeks, one of the twins would find them, drag them out and demand to go potty. We'd try again for a few days, then put them away again.
A couple of weeks ago, I thought we'd pull them out again, just to see what would happen. It's still a bit early to potty-train boys, but they are asking for it, so I guess that means they are getting ready. Some of my boys have potty-trained easily and quickly (a week or two), while for others it was a long (try over a year!) and arduous process.
For the first little while, I give treats for the sitting. Then you have to accomplish something on the pot to get a treat. The older kids get a treat too, if they help a little one potty successfully. Now I just remind them to go somewhat often, and they stay mostly dry during the day. They want me to cheer for them and clap my hands. Yay! I'd much rather have little legs sticking out of training pants than change diapers.
AND they are starting to go when they need to. AND they are starting to figure out the solids as well. Yay!
It's worth the effort of using exclamation marks.
And the progress is worth dealing with the accidents. Like the one this afternoon where Freddie mostly made it to the potty before he pooped. And the one yesterday where Georgie pooped little pellets all across two rooms. And the one tonight where three little people were screaming in the bathtub because of the floaters Freddie made, Good times.
Freddie calls it "body training." I guess that works. Happy day. We're having a potty!
Yesterday was a Monday, although a very lovely one, weather-wise. I went outside and picked some of our fragrant pink blossoms to bring in. I love having flowers inside, and one day, I'll have a cutting garden where I can pick all I want. And one day, I won't have little ones to help me.
<sigh> And that was one of my favorite vases, too. And one day, maybe I ought to have shelving running around the TOP of each wall, where little ones can't reach.
I keep my bedroom door closed, and the bathroom door, and Trent's office door, and the door at the bottom of the stairs. All closed. With child-proof doorknob covers. There are lots of places I'd rather my little ones not go. It's hard enough to keep track of them when we are in the same room!
As a result, my room stays clean, but stuffy. I open my bedroom door when the babies take their nap, or when they go to bed at night. Yesterday, I went in my room during nap time and found... a mess. I did get a picture of the mess before I blew my stack, but now they've gotten a hold of my camera and lost it. Bad words.
I had just purchased a few little baby plants, something like these.
My sweet, adorable, pinch-your-cheeks babies were playing in my new plants. They had dumped dirt all over the dresser, the windowsill, the floor, and themselves. Georgie had dirt in his hair. Freddie was fingerpainting in the dirt on the ottoman. The pots were empty, and one poor little plant was being happily waved about, its poor roots bare and exposed.
I put the babies back to bed, scooped up the bedraggled plants and hastily re-potted them. Then I wiped and vacuumed. Now I'm hoping they survive.
I guess my little tykes can get out of their room during nap time now. <sigh> Keep those doors closed, Mama!
Being a mother is not easy. Let me say that again. Being a mother. Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along. Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier. There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started. I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?" But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now. Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.
To me, potty-training is kind of a fun adventure. Before you think I've been sniffing one too many dirty diapers, let me tell ya - I've been sniffing too many dirty diapers. Potty-training is the last burst of energy you have to put in to clear the hurdle to bathroom self-sufficiency. And then we cheer. Way to go, Mom!
During potty training, you don't go anywhere. There isn't much worse than being in the middle of a shopping trip when the potty-trainee gets that wild look and yells, "Mom! I gotta go! Now!" And you hightail it to the nearest bathroom, praying that the dam won't break.
The only thing worse is when you are on the highway, with nowhere to pull over, and the potty-trainee gets the wild look. Then yelling erupts - from the back AND the front seats.
"I gotta go!"
"Not yet! Hold it for another three miles!"
"I can't!"
"We're almost there!"
"Oh! Oh! Mom!!"
No amount of cajoling, wheedling, pleading or screaming will ever convince a little one to 1. go before you leave home (and get it ALL out), and 2. hold it until we get there.
I wish I'd known that you can put a porta-potty in your van.
Get a small garbage bag and check it for holes in the bottom. Lay it over the little pot so all the dirty business can go it there and not come back out. But wait! The best part is that you open a disposable diaper and flatten it across the bottom of the pot, over the bag. Now close the top seat of the potty, and you're all set. When junior (or little miss) has to go, you pull over, sit them down on their own little seat that is already familiar. When they are done, open the potty, wrap up the diaper, tie up the bag, and find the next available dumpster. Easy pee-z.
That's all.
(Edited to add: I just found these real travel potties, if you wanted to buy more gear for you little one. I can't vouch for the product, but it looks easy enough.)
