One more reason why potty-training stinks

Cary and Dean have handled potty training fairly well, I think.

After the initial bumps and fits and starts, they slowly got the hang of understanding when an "event" was about to happen, and taking themselves to a potty or a toilet to handle said event.

They were doing so well that we long ago moved the potty chairs from the living room. And just recently, the boys stopped using the little cushiony seat that sat atop the toilet.

Like big boys, they march upstairs when they have to go, scoot themselves up on the toilet, and handle all their events. (We still have to help with the clean-up after major events. But minor events they handle like old hands!) They are dry all day long, and I honestly can't remember when we had an accident -- even when we're out of the house for long periods and they have to wait to get to a bathroom.

All good, right?

Wrong!

The problem now is that they -- like most people -- have to pee first thing in the morning. And we have taught them that peeing in their overnight Pull-Up is not a good idea. THIS, they listen to.

So what happens? They wake up at RIDICULOUS times of the morning to pee. At first, my boys who used to sleep till 7 or even 7:30 started waking up at 6:30. Then it was 6. This morning, it was 5:35. Ay. Em.

And you know there is no way a 3-year-old can be awake without the entire world knowing about it. So we always wake up. I guess it would be irresponsible of us if we just let them wander alone through the house to hang out in the bathroom at 5 a.m., so I suppose they are doing the right thing by announcing that they have to go.

But dang!

Five-thirty A.M.? Really?

We even left one potty seat in their bedroom so they might use that one for overnight and wee-hours of-the-morning peeing. But they complained that it was too dark in their room to see the potty, which is why they just HAD to come get us to take them to the bathroom instead.

So we bought a little night-light. Problem solved, right? Plllbbbbt. What do they do now? Go in the potty, then come in our rooms to tell us that they've gone.

Why? Why? Why?!!

I was never a morning person, and becoming a parent has not changed that about me. Six a.m. wake-up times feel like death sentences to me. Five-thirty feels like a condemnation to hell.

Here's hoping they'll get the hang of this potty-in-the-room thing until they're old enough to get up out of their beds, take themselves to the bathroom, handle their events and go right. back. to. bed.
All without waking us up. 

Hmmm... what age would that be exactly?

Worst night with the babies ever!

OK, this blog post title is definite hyperbole.

But I remember back when the boys were infants that bad nights always seemed like the WORST NIGHTS EVER. Looking back on them, even this one -- they don't seem that bad after all. And now, with a little parenting experience under my belt, I can even realize  -- smack in the middle of the bad night -- that this night is not the worst it could be.

Still. Last night was pretty sucky.

All three kids have had runny noses, but had been feeling mostly normal. Until five minutes after Michelle left yesterday and I snuggled up to Cary on the couch, only to feel that he was hot, hot, hot. I took his temperature - 101.5. Dean insisted I take his temperature: It was 99.5. And then Clair took the thermometer and dragged it across her forehead (it was so cute) so I appeased her by taking her temperature, too: It was 100! What the what? These fevers came out of nowhere!

Immediately after finding out they had temperatures, the whole lot of them descended into whininess. I tried to distract them, tried to hug and love them, but they seemed almost happy to be whiny. (Whining does make me feel better when I'm sick, too, so I guess I understand). I popped some Tylenol and decided to go with it.

But then, Cary had to go to the potty. He shuffled slowly, whining the entire time, to the potty and barely pulled his pants down. By the time he lowered his narrow behind onto the potty, it was too late. Pee was all over the floor. I hustled to the kitchen to get paper towels and cleaner. I heard a scream: "Mommy!! Clair's touching the PEEEE!"

I ran from the kitchen to the living room to keep the baby out of the wet spot, while Cary whined that he did more than just pee and now he needed me to help him wipe. (At least that part made it into the potty!) I asked him to wait while I cleaned up the pee. This pushed him from whining to full-blown crying. Clair was also crying because she had a desperate need to play in the pee, apparently.

Using one arm to barricade her, I got the floor cleaned up with the other hand, wiped Cary and told him to pull his pants up. "I cannnnn't!" he whined. "I want YOUUUU to do it!"

Meanwhile, Clair kept trying to open the potty lid to see what was in it. So I ran up the stairs to take both potties and dump them in the toilet. Cary whined ever louder as I noticed that the potties - and the potty seat that goes on the toilet -- smelled horrendous, even after I washed, rinsed and scrubbed them with Scrubbing Bubbles. I almost gagged, it was so bad. How had I not noticed this before??
I started scrubbing more and more and got a little bit OCD about it, tuning out Cary's whining, until I heard another scream: "Mommmmmy! Clair's in the kitchen cabinet!"

I ran downstairs and sure enough, Clair was sucking feverishly on a bottle of floor cleaner.  (We are really not winning any parenting awards this year, believe me.)

I pried it from her, stuck a bottle brush through the cabinet handles as Clair screamed, ran to pull Cary's pants up and decided that everyone needed to go to bed early. So up the stairs we marched.

When Dean realized that there was going to be no bath, he flipped out. The only way I got him to calm down and come put his pajamas on was to tell him that after his pajamas were on, he could have some medicine. Yes, I bribed my child with drugs. The same child who had to go to the emergency room for chugging medicine while we slept. Yes. I did. Moving on...

Sufficiently incentivized (you like that corporate-speak, don't you?), the boys got their pajamas on quickly, and took their medicine. I had to go downstairs to get Clair's bottle, so I told the boys to keep their bedroom door closed while I ran to the kitchen and not to open it under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.  I had just crossed the threshold into the kitchen when I heard the boys' door open.

Frustrated, I yelled up the stairs, "I said not to open that door under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!!"

Deanie started stuttering: "M-m-m-m-mommmy, Cary, Cary, Cary. Umm....Cary, Cary, Cary, Cary. Umm. Cary spit up! Cary spit up because he choked!"

Then of course, I felt like the WWM (world's worst mother). I ran up the stairs (lot of running up and down stairs last night) and comforted a sad Cary, who had indeed coughed until he choked (a regular occurrence for him) and then he threw up, all over a green plastic chair. And Dean, being his ever-helpful self, tried to wipe it up and was freaking out about the fact that there was now spit-up on his hands. Meanwhile, Clair is crying because she also doesn't feel well, and is SO ready for her bottle and for bed; Cary is crying because he just threw up mushrooms and medicine; and I felt like crying because seriously -- this might not be the worst night ever but it is pretty darn close!!

I got the chair, Cary and Dean cleaned up, ran back downstairs, got Clair's bottle, ran back upstairs, said prayers, tucked the boys in, gave Clair her bottle, put her to bed and was putting all the potty seats and potty-related gear in a soaking bath with disinfectant in the laundry room basin when Lester came home around 7:45.

At that point, I considered my shift OVER. And I went to bed -- with buttered popcorn and Raisinets as my reward for surviving.

I thought I was home free, but Lester and I had just settled in for an episode of House of Cards when we heard an ear-piercing screech. Poor Clair had had a nightmare! I ran into her room (why don't I lose weight with all the running I do around here?) and scooped her up, brought her back into our bedroom, snuggled under our comforter with her on my lap and soothed my sleepy, sniffling baby girl.

After she calmed down, she was so sweet and cuddly. She smiled at us and looked adorable with her messy hair and wide eyes. She crawled over and laid on Lester, looking up at the TV as if she could understand the plot. She was so pleasant, I almost forgot that this was ADULT time. But I came to my senses, deposited her back in her bed with a million kisses, and finished the evening relaxed and content.

And with an ending like that, how could the night ever be classified as the worst night ever?


I'll save that title for another night. I'm sure there will be plenty more that are worthy.