Potty Training 101

Isn't this a favorite topic of all parents of young children? Who doesn't like to talk pee, poop, and potty? Oh, that's right! Anyone who's attempting to potty train a stubborn, strong-willed child.

That was me six months ago. We had an August 30 deadline looming. My stubborn spawn was starting preschool on August 30. No diapers allowed. We tried to take away her diapers over the long 4th of July weekend. My husband and I were in it together. The kid was not going to wear diapers. She merrily hung out in the house and in the yard, sometimes in undies and sometimes without anything on her lower half. She merrily peed in the house and in the yard, sometimes in undies and sometimes without anything on her lower half. She merrily got the pee towel and cleaned it up. She just didn't care. Didn't want a sticker on the sticker chart, didn't want our praise, didn't want an M&M. We gave up mid-way through Day 3, when she pooped for the first time all weekend, in a hidden place on the basement floor. Done. My stubborn spawn was back in diapers.

Most of life really can be expressed in memes.

Our next attempt was to be in mid-August, after returning from a two week vacation. We decided that a 15 hour road trip would be best done with our daughter in diapers. We returned from vacation to several crises with our extended family. LEG spent some time away from us, for long days and occasional overnights, while I spent time coping with things with family. LEG kept her beloved diapers during this time. It didn't seem fair to outsource potty training to my in-laws and close friends.

August 26, preschool orientation, arrived. Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants for orientation. I even took her on errands afterwards. We hit the gas station, grocery store and Hallmark. It was her dad's birthday, and she wanted to buy him a blue balloon. She waited patiently, in dry undies, while they filled the helium balloon. We went through the drive through car wash. All that water, and her undies stayed dry. Three and a half hours after leaving the house, we returned home. Within seconds of stepping inside, LEG's undies and our hardwood floor were soaked.

August 30, first day of preschool, arrived. Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants for the morning, I picked her up from school three hours later, in wet undies.

August 31 arrived. I mentioned yesterday that I joined Team Anchovy on August 31. It was a milestone for my daughter too, because that was the day she found herself deep in the throes of potty training. I'd only packed one diaper in the bag I left at my parents' house while I took my dad to the optometrist. By then, I was done changing pee soaked diapers (I made LEG do that herself), and was only changing poopy ones. Because really, who doesn't love changing a diaper filled with toddler-sized poop? Fun times. I asked my mom to do the same, which she did. LEG had soiled the diaper she was wearing, and my mom had changed her. There wasn't another diaper packed, just two pairs of undies.

After having lunch with delicious anchovies, I attempted to put LEG down for a nap at my parents' house. I wanted to hang out for a while with my parents and meet with the Hospice social worker who was visiting that afternoon. LEG would not nap. She danced, sang, read, and played in the guest room. She came out of the room twice and was sent back in. After meeting with the hospice social worker and talking with my parents, I decided to pack up my tired little girl and head home. She'd pooped in her diaper. Of course. For over a year, she hadn't been sleeping in a poopy diaper.

AGAIN

Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants and went home. Fortunately, she fell asleep in the car, so I had a few minutes to rid the house of accessible diapers. Within minutes, all diapers were hidden in the attic.

I will win the potty training battle.
I will not succumb to my three year old's pleas for diapers.
Victory shall be mine.
meme credit

I spent the next three days doing laundry. That's what was most memorable about the next three days. My friends and family, having spawn of their own, didn't seem to mind me toting a floor potty, sticker chart, treats, old towels, floor cleaner, and multiple changes of LEG's clothes around with LEG. LEG didn't seem to mind cleaning pee off floors. I thought long and hard about the flooring every place LEG and I went. Old towels and a spray bottle of white vinegar and water go a long way. One friend even had a stash of  M&Ms she shared with LEG and her own fully potty trained child. Esprit de corps.

My daughter responded surprisingly well to delayed gratification. I wish I'd taken a picture of the sticker chart I made, because it was, IMO pretty clever. LEG earned a sticker and an M&M for every successful potty event. (I loved watching her savor the first M&M she earned. "This M&M is soooo good!" She was in heaven.) I think there were about 30 spaces on the chart, set up kind of like a Candyland board game. There were incremental rewards along the way, Annie's bunny snacks about every 5-7 spaces, a trip to Rita's Italian Ice on about the 20th space, and a bubble gun (highly coveted toy) at the end. I put a picture of each incremental reward on the chart, and the bubble gun sat atop the fridge in plain view. Potty training was done in less than a week. Just like that. My daughter was quite pleased with herself. She told everyone about the treats and other rewards, and showed off her Elsa and Anna underwear. (If she's still showing off her undies at church when she's 13, I'll need some parenting advice.)

meme credit

Since every child is the same, I encourage you to follow my method if you have a stubborn toddler who doesn't want to use the toilet. I'm an expert. And if you believe any of this paragraph, you're gullible. 

Tell me your potty training stories. Entertain me. Or vent. This too shall pass.

I Like Anchovies

People are team anchovy or not. There's not much middle ground. No one kind of likes anchovies. You either like them or you don't. Anchovy paste doesn't count. A good Caesar salad dressing contains a respectable amount of anchovy paste.

I joined team anchovy on August 31. I took my dad to an optometrist appointment while my mom kept my daughter. My dad couldn't see very well. I read (shouted, he also couldn't hear very well) the forms to him and filled them out. As he held a pen, I put it on the papers he had to sign. Despite not being able to see or hear very well, my dad recognized friends' voices in the waiting room and chatted with three folks he hadn't caught up with in a while. Living in a small community is nice sometimes. I like when errands and appointments turn into social outings. After his exam, we went to the adjoining vision center, where he was fitted for glasses with a whole host of corrective and accommodating features. Bifocals, anti-glare, prisms, you name it. Modern medicine is amazing. Being the social creature (I just can't call him a butterfly) that my dad was, he chatted with the woman who helped him. He loved that she was local (probably in her early 20s) and talked long enough to determine that he knew her great uncle twice removed. Or something like that.

Back to team anchovy. We stopped on the way home to pick up a few things, including my dad's favorite non-alcoholic beer and some anchovies. Dad waited in the car while I picked up the essentials from the gourmet grocery, beer, and wine store. Gourmet is a term I use loosely and generously. Small town, y'know.

When we got back to my parents' house, my mom had made pizza for lunch. My mom and daughter had already started eating, but it wasn't too late for mom to toss some anchovies on dad's pizza and finish baking it. After years of shunning anchovies, I decided to try a small piece of dad's pizza. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe my judgement was altered by the non-alcoholic beer. Maybe my taste buds have changed. Maybe my whole body has changed. I liked it. It was tasty. I had another piece. I put anchovies on some anchovy-less pizza and put it under the broiler to crisp it up. Since then, I've bought anchovies. I've ordered anchovies on a quarter of the pizza I've ordered for my family's dinner. I've eaten them on saltines.

I haven't forgotten what it's like to be on team anti-anchovy. My daughter won't let me forget. She calls them stinky fish. Four year olds are so eloquent. I respectfully put my leftovers in a separate container, and heat up the rest of the family's leftovers before I put my pizza with anchovies in the oven or cast iron skillet. But I am 100% team anchovy now.

Except my dad. And now me.
meme credit

How about you? Team anchovy or not?