For many months now, we've been promoting the idea of "big-boy-underwear-at-night." We've talked it up with the boys, made it sound like a real prize.
When you turn 4, we told them, you get to wear big-boy-underwear at night! Isn't that COOL?!
Cary and Dean totally bit. They were so excited about this milestone! And on Monday, the day after their birthday, we did it! No Pull-Ups!
I was nervous as can be that I'd get awakened in the middle of the night to change someone's sheets and pajamas, but somehow both boys made it all the way through the night without wetting the bed!
Whooo-hoooo, right?
Not so fast. Last night, both of them decided they wanted to go back to Pull-Ups. I have no clue as to why. Maybe big-boy-underwear is too much pressure?
Anyway, we didn't fight them on it, and we're not really stressing about it either. I know that nighttime dryness for (many) boys is a long, hard road. So we'll take baby steps with this one. We'll offer the underwear at night and if they go for it, great. If not, then that's just one additional night I won't have to worry about being awakened in the middle of the night to change sheets and pajamas.
#winning
#zenmamalooksgoodonme
Showing posts with label potty training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label potty training. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Friday, August 16, 2013
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?
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?
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Straddling the "big boy" line
The boys are at that age where they insist they are big boys -- about everything.
They want to do just about everything themselves, even when they really can't do it themselves. But of course we have to let them try.
Sometimes, they amaze us with their ability to do/think/accomplish things. Other times, we're reminded that they are still tiny little boys who were just babies a half a second ago.
And still other times, they expertly straddle the "big boy" line.
Last night, for example, I woke up from a dead sleep because Dean was in his bed, crying. He sounded so much like a baby, at first I thought it was Clair. I stumbled into his room, and asked what was wrong.
"I have to go peeeee-peeee," he wailed.
I escorted him into the bathroom, turned on the light, hoisted him up onto the toilet and stood back to wait. He looked up at me, disapprovingly, face swollen from sleep.
"Mommy," he said. "I need privacy."
So I waited patiently outside the bathroom door for him to finish peeing. It was 3:45 a.m.
When he was done, I walked him back into his room, and was greeted by a groggy Cary, saying he now had to go pee-pee, too.
I walked him in to the bathroom, hoisted him up, waited for him to finish, helped him pull up his pajamas, walked him back into the bedroom and attempted to tuck him in.
"No Mommy!" he said, way too loudly for 3:45 in the morning. "I don't need help!"
He pulled the comforter up around him and curled up on his pillow.
As I walked back to my room, all I could think was, "If you are such big boys, who need privacy but don't need my help, then WHY AM I AWAKE AT 3:45 IN THE MORNING HELPING YOU TO PEE???"
(Note: I also need to point out that this exact scene played out earlier in the night - around 10 p.m. - except Lester was the one who got shooed out of the bathroom by Dean for privacy's sake. And he had to physically carry Cary, like a baby, into the bathroom to allow him to pee. Ugh! These 3-year-olds! Babies/big boys? Who can tell?)
They want to do just about everything themselves, even when they really can't do it themselves. But of course we have to let them try.
Sometimes, they amaze us with their ability to do/think/accomplish things. Other times, we're reminded that they are still tiny little boys who were just babies a half a second ago.
And still other times, they expertly straddle the "big boy" line.
Last night, for example, I woke up from a dead sleep because Dean was in his bed, crying. He sounded so much like a baby, at first I thought it was Clair. I stumbled into his room, and asked what was wrong.
"I have to go peeeee-peeee," he wailed.
I escorted him into the bathroom, turned on the light, hoisted him up onto the toilet and stood back to wait. He looked up at me, disapprovingly, face swollen from sleep.
"Mommy," he said. "I need privacy."
So I waited patiently outside the bathroom door for him to finish peeing. It was 3:45 a.m.
When he was done, I walked him back into his room, and was greeted by a groggy Cary, saying he now had to go pee-pee, too.
I walked him in to the bathroom, hoisted him up, waited for him to finish, helped him pull up his pajamas, walked him back into the bedroom and attempted to tuck him in.
"No Mommy!" he said, way too loudly for 3:45 in the morning. "I don't need help!"
He pulled the comforter up around him and curled up on his pillow.
As I walked back to my room, all I could think was, "If you are such big boys, who need privacy but don't need my help, then WHY AM I AWAKE AT 3:45 IN THE MORNING HELPING YOU TO PEE???"
(Note: I also need to point out that this exact scene played out earlier in the night - around 10 p.m. - except Lester was the one who got shooed out of the bathroom by Dean for privacy's sake. And he had to physically carry Cary, like a baby, into the bathroom to allow him to pee. Ugh! These 3-year-olds! Babies/big boys? Who can tell?)
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
My first photo retraction
I caught a lot of flack about posting the photo yesterday of the boys on their potties. Lester was good-natured about it, but let me know that he wasn't thrilled. Angel made me worried about weirdos lurking around every mouse-click. And sooo many people on Facebook said my kids would hate me for that picture later, I actually started to get sad thinking about it.
So I took it down.
I want this blog to be honest -- our family, warts and all. But I don't want to embarrass my children unnecessarily. And I certainly don't want to compromise their safety. So I'll admit that I made a mistake (even though I thought the photo was cute!) and move on.
And just to even the score, here's a picture of me this morning, no make-up, sick as a dog (AGAIN!), in my bathrobe, in bed:
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Lovely, no? I especially love my double chins and Kimora Lee Simmons neck rolls on full display. And what you can't see are the balled-up tissues strewn all about, or the half-eaten oatmeal on my nightstand, or the laundry that needs folding all over everywhere.
Seriously. Can it just be spring already? I have never been sick so much in my life. Excuse me while I go blow my nose -- again.
So I took it down.
I want this blog to be honest -- our family, warts and all. But I don't want to embarrass my children unnecessarily. And I certainly don't want to compromise their safety. So I'll admit that I made a mistake (even though I thought the photo was cute!) and move on.
And just to even the score, here's a picture of me this morning, no make-up, sick as a dog (AGAIN!), in my bathrobe, in bed:
.JPG)
Lovely, no? I especially love my double chins and Kimora Lee Simmons neck rolls on full display. And what you can't see are the balled-up tissues strewn all about, or the half-eaten oatmeal on my nightstand, or the laundry that needs folding all over everywhere.
Seriously. Can it just be spring already? I have never been sick so much in my life. Excuse me while I go blow my nose -- again.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
And so it begins...
Potty training has begun in earnest in our house.
It happened literally overnight.
On Saturday, everyone was in diapers, relieving themselves at will, without any thought about it.
On Sunday, Dean said he had to go potty, we sat him on the potty and he went.
Later he did it again. And again. Until it was so close to bathtime, I didn't want to put another diaper on him, so on a lark, I put on Big Boy Underwear. He told me two more times after that that he had to go -- and each time he did.
On Monday, we sent him to school with BBUs, and would you believe it? NO accidents.
And all day long, no accidents.
Somewhere along in there, Cary decided he didn't want to be left out of the potty parade.
He has less success actually going when he's on the potty, but we praise him nonetheless for trying.
Every time Dean says he has to go, Cary wants to try too. So there has been a LOT of pottying in our house the last two days. A LOT.
This morning, both boys went to school with BBUs, so we'll see how that goes.
Of course, as soon as we were about to leave the house to go to school, Dean said he had to go potty, and Cary parroted him. So we sat and sat and sat and eventually ended up late (of course), but what else can you do when they're just beginning but accommodate their every urge to sit and try?
Nothing happened (of course) but when we got to school, Dean said he had to go again. (Cary chimed in, of course.) So Miss Toni and I marched them to the school bathroom where Dean really did have to go and Cary really did have to try. And 15 minutes later, I was late for work.
Ugh.
And people keep telling Lester and me all about the awesomeness that now awaits us in terms of having to rush through public places trying to find bathrooms for panicked toddlers, having to wake them up in the middle of the night to pee (or worse, to change clothes and sheets) and all the cleaning up and laundry and inability to drive long distances unencumbered.
Ugh.
Is it wrong to be happy that they're growing, getting more independent and inching their way toward a diaper-free existence, and at the same time dread all that comes with it?
Even if they do look super cute in their little Big Boy undies!
It happened literally overnight.
On Saturday, everyone was in diapers, relieving themselves at will, without any thought about it.
On Sunday, Dean said he had to go potty, we sat him on the potty and he went.
Later he did it again. And again. Until it was so close to bathtime, I didn't want to put another diaper on him, so on a lark, I put on Big Boy Underwear. He told me two more times after that that he had to go -- and each time he did.
On Monday, we sent him to school with BBUs, and would you believe it? NO accidents.
And all day long, no accidents.
Somewhere along in there, Cary decided he didn't want to be left out of the potty parade.
He has less success actually going when he's on the potty, but we praise him nonetheless for trying.
Every time Dean says he has to go, Cary wants to try too. So there has been a LOT of pottying in our house the last two days. A LOT.
This morning, both boys went to school with BBUs, so we'll see how that goes.
Of course, as soon as we were about to leave the house to go to school, Dean said he had to go potty, and Cary parroted him. So we sat and sat and sat and eventually ended up late (of course), but what else can you do when they're just beginning but accommodate their every urge to sit and try?
Nothing happened (of course) but when we got to school, Dean said he had to go again. (Cary chimed in, of course.) So Miss Toni and I marched them to the school bathroom where Dean really did have to go and Cary really did have to try. And 15 minutes later, I was late for work.
Ugh.
And people keep telling Lester and me all about the awesomeness that now awaits us in terms of having to rush through public places trying to find bathrooms for panicked toddlers, having to wake them up in the middle of the night to pee (or worse, to change clothes and sheets) and all the cleaning up and laundry and inability to drive long distances unencumbered.
Ugh.
Is it wrong to be happy that they're growing, getting more independent and inching their way toward a diaper-free existence, and at the same time dread all that comes with it?
Even if they do look super cute in their little Big Boy undies!
Monday, February 11, 2013
Seriously awesome weekend!
So much great stuff happened this weekend, I would be here all day writing if I didn't break it into manageable chunks.
First ... Clair perfected her get-down-get-funky dance, and it is the best part of my day.
The girl's got rhythm, no? Takes after her Mommy. Sorry, Lester. You know it's true.
Also, we went to Storyville again, and Clair really got into it, as opposed to the last time we came, when she was a teenier baby and conked out the entire time.
The boys' second time at the library was a huge success. While I picked out books that were all on a waitlist, dangit, they picked out books to take home, put 'em in a basket, and then sat down -- uninstructed by me -- and started "reading." Yes. My boys are awesome.
Also, drumroll please ...... Dean Ezra Davis earned himself a pair of Elmo-covered Big Boy Underpants for successfully declaring his need for the potty -- and then successfully using said potty -- three times in a row!
He was sooo excited! And when he also woke up this morning with a dry diaper, and went to the potty first thing in the morning, we also decided to send him TO SCHOOL WITH HIS BIG BOY UNDERPANTS ON! I have no idea how this turned out. I will have to call Michelle at some point and see if there were accidents, but I'm too scared.
For his part, Cary tries, but he is not having as much success as his brother. But he melts down when Dean gets a Raisinet for his potty-success, and he doesn't, and he wants to wear Big Boy Underpants, too. So, being the sucker that I am, I just give him a chocolate raisin for "trying," and I put underpants on over his diaper. This seems to satisfy him for now. But it's making a mockery of the incentives. Oh well.No one said parenting was easy.
But the total cherry on top of this sweet-sundae of a weekend, was piling my entire family into the minivan and driving 100 hours to Angel's house in Virginia, where we got Clair's 1st Birthday photos taken, hugged and squealed over one another, ate, drank, laughed and had the. best. time.
Of course, I have NO photos of us together because I was so focused on Clair and her photo shoot, I lost my phone for several crucial hours in Angel's bedroom. But Angel has documented the fun, fun day here on her excellent blog (which you should be reading, anyway, if you're not already because she is absolutely hysterical and her children are gorgeous).
Angel and I have become such good friends over the course of the last 3+ years, seeing us together on Saturday, you would never have known that we've only actually met in person twice -- yesterday's visit counting as one of the two times. Being with her was so easy and warm and familiar, it was like we were lifelong friends. I was so happy to be in her house, cooing at her babies, laughing with her two Roars, eating fine cuisine (LOL!) and drinking supremely tasty cocktails. (I was a little tipsy when the night was over, but don't tell my children.)
Anyway, I am always amazed at what a great job I do picking friends. Just about all the women in my life are fabulous in so many ways, I marvel at how much awesomeness would be in one room if I was lucky enough to get them all together. Angel is no exception. She is beautiful, talented, smart, skilled in a wide range of things, a loving, kind and inspirational Mom, creative, generous and has great hair.
I kind of hate her.
But when I start to get jealous, I think about how those talents often benefit ME (of course). For example, her skills with a camera give me sweet shots like these:
Isn't that so cute? I can't wait to see the rest of her photos! Most importantly, I hope we can find time to get together more often, now that we know that we fit together like orange juice and coconut rum. And oh, how sweet it is.
First ... Clair perfected her get-down-get-funky dance, and it is the best part of my day.
The girl's got rhythm, no? Takes after her Mommy. Sorry, Lester. You know it's true.
Also, we went to Storyville again, and Clair really got into it, as opposed to the last time we came, when she was a teenier baby and conked out the entire time.
.JPG) |
| Fun with magnets. |
.JPG) |
| The Davis family took over a whole section of Storyville. We roll deep, yo! |
.JPG) |
| Seriously, I turned around from the library counter and this was happening. I almost fell over. |
.JPG) |
| "I'm getting bigger!" he said, after putting on his underwear. |
For his part, Cary tries, but he is not having as much success as his brother. But he melts down when Dean gets a Raisinet for his potty-success, and he doesn't, and he wants to wear Big Boy Underpants, too. So, being the sucker that I am, I just give him a chocolate raisin for "trying," and I put underpants on over his diaper. This seems to satisfy him for now. But it's making a mockery of the incentives. Oh well.No one said parenting was easy.
But the total cherry on top of this sweet-sundae of a weekend, was piling my entire family into the minivan and driving 100 hours to Angel's house in Virginia, where we got Clair's 1st Birthday photos taken, hugged and squealed over one another, ate, drank, laughed and had the. best. time.
Of course, I have NO photos of us together because I was so focused on Clair and her photo shoot, I lost my phone for several crucial hours in Angel's bedroom. But Angel has documented the fun, fun day here on her excellent blog (which you should be reading, anyway, if you're not already because she is absolutely hysterical and her children are gorgeous).
Angel and I have become such good friends over the course of the last 3+ years, seeing us together on Saturday, you would never have known that we've only actually met in person twice -- yesterday's visit counting as one of the two times. Being with her was so easy and warm and familiar, it was like we were lifelong friends. I was so happy to be in her house, cooing at her babies, laughing with her two Roars, eating fine cuisine (LOL!) and drinking supremely tasty cocktails. (I was a little tipsy when the night was over, but don't tell my children.)
Anyway, I am always amazed at what a great job I do picking friends. Just about all the women in my life are fabulous in so many ways, I marvel at how much awesomeness would be in one room if I was lucky enough to get them all together. Angel is no exception. She is beautiful, talented, smart, skilled in a wide range of things, a loving, kind and inspirational Mom, creative, generous and has great hair.
I kind of hate her.
But when I start to get jealous, I think about how those talents often benefit ME (of course). For example, her skills with a camera give me sweet shots like these:
.JPG) | ||
| Tahira, don't ask me what I'm doing with her hair. OK? I don't. frikkin.' know. |
Friday, September 28, 2012
Peeing with intention
Lester's friend Antwyne got him tickets to the Ravens' game last night for his birthday, so I had kid-duty.
Thankfully, everyone was in a really good mood and there were no incidents to speak of. In fact, we had a lot of fun singing at the dinner table and talking about their friends in class. Dean can pretty much name every single kid in his class, even kids with hard names for a 2-year-old to pronounce like "Graciella."
The highlight of the night, though, was after bathtime, when I was putting the boys' pajamas on. While I had Cary on the changing table, Dean told me he had to go to the potty. I sighed, because I knew if I had to sit with him in the bathroom while he lolly-gagged on the toilet, Cary would be running wild in the bathroom, turning the water on and off, and Clair would be getting restless and fussy and the whole bedtime would be prolonged unnecessarily even though everyone knows Dean DID NOT REALLY HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!
But I had to take him, because he asked. So I finished up with Cary and then sat Dean on the kid-seat on the toilet. Of course he starts having a heart attack! "No, no, nooooo!" he said, sliding off the toilet.
I sighed some more. Deanie, I said, you said you had to go potty. Do you not have to go now?
"No, no, noooo!" he yelled. "I want to stand up on the stool."
Great, I thought. Not only do I have to stay in here, but now he wants to stand up. Ugh.
But I had to do it, because he asked, and this is how they're teaching them at pre-school.
So I stood him up on the stool, pointed important parts south, and waited and waited. As I suspected, nothing was coming out. This could go on half the night, I thought, sighing some more.
Finally, I told Dean I was leaving to go read a story to Cary and Clair. I told him to stay in here by himself (I emphasized that part) and put his pee-pee in the toilet, knowing full well he'd hate being alone and would call me back very shortly.
I went into the boys' room, closed the door and started loudly reading their current favorite book, "Two-legged, Four-legged, No-legged Rhymes."
I didn't get very far before I heard Dean frantically yelling for me. My plan worked! I knew he wouldn't stay in there too long by himself. I went into the bathroom and said, "Are you finished trying, sweetie? No pee-pee came out? It's OK, you can try tomorrow."
As he furiously shook his head, I noticed the huge smile on his face.
"No Mommy!" he said. "I DID go pee-pee. I put the pee-pee in there!" He pointed to the toilet.
And sure enough, he had! There was pee in the toilet! He was so excited!
I honestly think that this is the first time he's known he had to go, actually asked to go ahead of time, and then been successful at his attempt. All the other times he's peed/pooped in the potty have been because someone (Michelle, most likely) sat him on the potty after a meal and waited.
So this, my friends, is the first intentional peeing!
We did a happy dance, and hugged and shrieked, and he was so ridiculously proud! (Cary saw all the glee and tried to say he had to go pee-pee, too, but I really knew better than that. Whatever, already-diapered-fibbing-child. You missed that window.)
And the best part was when he came back in his room and went straight to Clair, who was sitting on the floor, chewing on a toy, and leaned down to her level and said, "I did it, Clair! I went pee-pee in the toilet! I did it! And I FLUSHED it!" I loved seeing his eyes all sparkly with happiness.
I know that, when it really gets going in earnest, potty-training is going to be a big pain-in-the-arse. Times two.
But I have to say last night was really sweet and satisfying. Never thought I'd ever say that about pee. :-)
Thankfully, everyone was in a really good mood and there were no incidents to speak of. In fact, we had a lot of fun singing at the dinner table and talking about their friends in class. Dean can pretty much name every single kid in his class, even kids with hard names for a 2-year-old to pronounce like "Graciella."
The highlight of the night, though, was after bathtime, when I was putting the boys' pajamas on. While I had Cary on the changing table, Dean told me he had to go to the potty. I sighed, because I knew if I had to sit with him in the bathroom while he lolly-gagged on the toilet, Cary would be running wild in the bathroom, turning the water on and off, and Clair would be getting restless and fussy and the whole bedtime would be prolonged unnecessarily even though everyone knows Dean DID NOT REALLY HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!
But I had to take him, because he asked. So I finished up with Cary and then sat Dean on the kid-seat on the toilet. Of course he starts having a heart attack! "No, no, nooooo!" he said, sliding off the toilet.
I sighed some more. Deanie, I said, you said you had to go potty. Do you not have to go now?
"No, no, noooo!" he yelled. "I want to stand up on the stool."
Great, I thought. Not only do I have to stay in here, but now he wants to stand up. Ugh.
But I had to do it, because he asked, and this is how they're teaching them at pre-school.
So I stood him up on the stool, pointed important parts south, and waited and waited. As I suspected, nothing was coming out. This could go on half the night, I thought, sighing some more.
Finally, I told Dean I was leaving to go read a story to Cary and Clair. I told him to stay in here by himself (I emphasized that part) and put his pee-pee in the toilet, knowing full well he'd hate being alone and would call me back very shortly.
I went into the boys' room, closed the door and started loudly reading their current favorite book, "Two-legged, Four-legged, No-legged Rhymes."
I didn't get very far before I heard Dean frantically yelling for me. My plan worked! I knew he wouldn't stay in there too long by himself. I went into the bathroom and said, "Are you finished trying, sweetie? No pee-pee came out? It's OK, you can try tomorrow."
As he furiously shook his head, I noticed the huge smile on his face.
"No Mommy!" he said. "I DID go pee-pee. I put the pee-pee in there!" He pointed to the toilet.
And sure enough, he had! There was pee in the toilet! He was so excited!
I honestly think that this is the first time he's known he had to go, actually asked to go ahead of time, and then been successful at his attempt. All the other times he's peed/pooped in the potty have been because someone (Michelle, most likely) sat him on the potty after a meal and waited.
So this, my friends, is the first intentional peeing!
We did a happy dance, and hugged and shrieked, and he was so ridiculously proud! (Cary saw all the glee and tried to say he had to go pee-pee, too, but I really knew better than that. Whatever, already-diapered-fibbing-child. You missed that window.)
And the best part was when he came back in his room and went straight to Clair, who was sitting on the floor, chewing on a toy, and leaned down to her level and said, "I did it, Clair! I went pee-pee in the toilet! I did it! And I FLUSHED it!" I loved seeing his eyes all sparkly with happiness.
.JPG) |
| And the award for best ability to keep pee-pee OUT of his diaper goes to: Dean Davis!! |
But I have to say last night was really sweet and satisfying. Never thought I'd ever say that about pee. :-)
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
I refuse to get excited
Text I got from Michelle this morning:
The boys went pee pee 2x on the potty! Clair is having a great day as well.
After 2-plus years of parenting, I now know that this could mean something. Or it could mean nothing at all.
So, I won't even mention it. (Except to all of you.)
:-)
The boys went pee pee 2x on the potty! Clair is having a great day as well.
After 2-plus years of parenting, I now know that this could mean something. Or it could mean nothing at all.
So, I won't even mention it. (Except to all of you.)
:-)
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Potty training problems already
Lester and I are having a ...disagreement...(ahem)....about potty training.
We had all three of us (Michelle, too) sorta given up on working the potty into the daily routine, because once Dean saw what happens when he sat on it (i.e. pieces of his insides came OUT!) he flat out refused to sit on it anymore. And Cary pretty much followed suit.
But we still talked about the potty; every time we changed them, we would say, "Hmmm. You pee-peed (or poo-pooed) in your diaper. Does pee-pee go in your diaper? Nooooo. Where does pee-pee go? (They'd say, excitedly, "In the potty!!!) That's right! Pee-pee goes in the potty or in the toilet. Not in your diaper. OK? So when you feel like you have to go pee-pee, you tell an adult and we'll help you put the pee-pee in the potty. OK?"
Every time, we did this. Nothing ever changed. But we did it, anyway.
But here lately, Cary has been asking - no, whining incessantly - to go to the potty, coincidentally just when we've put him to bed, either for naps or for the night. One time, when I was home alone, I put him on the potty because he was near tears, whining that he had to go poo-poo, right this second. But even after sitting him on the potty for the duration of two long books (which also meant I had to get a furious Dean out of bed, too, to sit with him), nothing happened. Not one thing. It took a full half-hour to get them back up the stairs and in the bed. And Lester swore I was being played.
"How'd you let the 2-year-olds play you like that?" he asked me, repeatedly. He found this hilarious.
Since then, whenever Cary cries that he has to pee or poop and wants to sit on the potty, Lester refuses to let him out of the crib. He tells him, "Just pee in your diaper." He believes the 2-year-old merely wants to extend his bedtime or naptime. And Lester won't be played! No, sir!
But I think this is highly counter-productive. Cary may or may not actually have to go to the potty. But if he says he has to, I think we have to put him on it. Each and every time he says it. Even if it's at bedtime or naptime or if it's inconvenient or whatever. Otherwise, what message are we sending?
And also, I don't think he's being manipulative. I think he really does feel the urge to pee or poop when he says he does, and that by the time he gets down to the potty, the urge has subsided, or he's changed his mind or gotten distracted or something related to him being TWO.
I think we need to make a solid decision to start the potty-training in earnest, and not be so laissez-faire about it, especially since Cary is asking to go. And when Dean sees Cary up and on the potty, he will sit on it, for a few minutes anyway, before wandering off to do something else. But at least that's something.
So it's a start, right? And we have to start somewhere.
I don't know. I know potty training is a winding and treacherous cross-country journey, not a sprint, but it is already confounding me. And we haven't even really started it yet. ARGH!
Advice, please!!
We had all three of us (Michelle, too) sorta given up on working the potty into the daily routine, because once Dean saw what happens when he sat on it (i.e. pieces of his insides came OUT!) he flat out refused to sit on it anymore. And Cary pretty much followed suit.
But we still talked about the potty; every time we changed them, we would say, "Hmmm. You pee-peed (or poo-pooed) in your diaper. Does pee-pee go in your diaper? Nooooo. Where does pee-pee go? (They'd say, excitedly, "In the potty!!!) That's right! Pee-pee goes in the potty or in the toilet. Not in your diaper. OK? So when you feel like you have to go pee-pee, you tell an adult and we'll help you put the pee-pee in the potty. OK?"
Every time, we did this. Nothing ever changed. But we did it, anyway.
But here lately, Cary has been asking - no, whining incessantly - to go to the potty, coincidentally just when we've put him to bed, either for naps or for the night. One time, when I was home alone, I put him on the potty because he was near tears, whining that he had to go poo-poo, right this second. But even after sitting him on the potty for the duration of two long books (which also meant I had to get a furious Dean out of bed, too, to sit with him), nothing happened. Not one thing. It took a full half-hour to get them back up the stairs and in the bed. And Lester swore I was being played.
"How'd you let the 2-year-olds play you like that?" he asked me, repeatedly. He found this hilarious.
Since then, whenever Cary cries that he has to pee or poop and wants to sit on the potty, Lester refuses to let him out of the crib. He tells him, "Just pee in your diaper." He believes the 2-year-old merely wants to extend his bedtime or naptime. And Lester won't be played! No, sir!
But I think this is highly counter-productive. Cary may or may not actually have to go to the potty. But if he says he has to, I think we have to put him on it. Each and every time he says it. Even if it's at bedtime or naptime or if it's inconvenient or whatever. Otherwise, what message are we sending?
And also, I don't think he's being manipulative. I think he really does feel the urge to pee or poop when he says he does, and that by the time he gets down to the potty, the urge has subsided, or he's changed his mind or gotten distracted or something related to him being TWO.
I think we need to make a solid decision to start the potty-training in earnest, and not be so laissez-faire about it, especially since Cary is asking to go. And when Dean sees Cary up and on the potty, he will sit on it, for a few minutes anyway, before wandering off to do something else. But at least that's something.
So it's a start, right? And we have to start somewhere.
I don't know. I know potty training is a winding and treacherous cross-country journey, not a sprint, but it is already confounding me. And we haven't even really started it yet. ARGH!
Advice, please!!
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Poop!
We have POOP! We have POOP!
Michelle and I have started introducing the potty to the boys. Very slowly and with no pressure or real schedule or consistency -- just introducing it, like, "Hey Cary, hey Dean. Meet Potty. He's gonna hang around here for awhile. Why don't you get familiar?"
So far, they've mostly enjoyed sitting on it, while Michelle or I read to them, and also standing on top of it. We had a little bit of pee in one (Dean's) last week, but other than that, nothing. Which is fine with me, because we're not earnestly potty-training until after the boys' next doctor's appointment, when I can talk to my pediatrician about it and also find out what's the best potty training book to read. (Seriously, how would I parent my children without Amazon.com?)
But today, even without us really trying, Dean pooped in the potty!!! (Picture me doing my pooped-in-the-potty-dance!)
I took a picture of it and sent it to Lester at work, who pronounced the achievement "exciting and gross at the same time," but I will spare you the evidence of Dean's poopage and just show you how enthralled the boys were by it:
Believe me, I kinda had to stare at it too. It was...hmmm...what's a polite way to say this? Umm...it was *impressive.*
Like I said, we're far from even really starting potty-training in earnest, so I know we have a long way to go before this is a regular occurrence, but am I wrong for already mentally spending the money we'll save in buying diapers once they're really trained!!!? Whoo-hooo, Momma needs a new pair of shoes!
Michelle and I have started introducing the potty to the boys. Very slowly and with no pressure or real schedule or consistency -- just introducing it, like, "Hey Cary, hey Dean. Meet Potty. He's gonna hang around here for awhile. Why don't you get familiar?"
So far, they've mostly enjoyed sitting on it, while Michelle or I read to them, and also standing on top of it. We had a little bit of pee in one (Dean's) last week, but other than that, nothing. Which is fine with me, because we're not earnestly potty-training until after the boys' next doctor's appointment, when I can talk to my pediatrician about it and also find out what's the best potty training book to read. (Seriously, how would I parent my children without Amazon.com?)
But today, even without us really trying, Dean pooped in the potty!!! (Picture me doing my pooped-in-the-potty-dance!)
I took a picture of it and sent it to Lester at work, who pronounced the achievement "exciting and gross at the same time," but I will spare you the evidence of Dean's poopage and just show you how enthralled the boys were by it:
.JPG) | |
| Holy poopage, Batman! That came out of Dean! |
Like I said, we're far from even really starting potty-training in earnest, so I know we have a long way to go before this is a regular occurrence, but am I wrong for already mentally spending the money we'll save in buying diapers once they're really trained!!!? Whoo-hooo, Momma needs a new pair of shoes!
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