Brothers
Dear Hooper & Van,
And just like that, you like each other. Well, some of the time at least. Van, whenever you’re napping, Hooper wants to see you. Like really wants to see you; as in he pulls at my leg and tugs at my arm until I get up off my butt and walk toward your door. Hooper, you’re always disheartened when I tell you Van is sleeping.
That little tidbit is first and foremost.
Hooper, you’re learning to share you toys and your space. Not that you have much of a choice, as Van is constantly in your space and constantly wanting to do whatever you’re doing. Your answer to this is to move him out of the way. I’ve caught you trying to drag him from underneath his armpits until he’s out of your path. You need to eat some more protein, however, because more times than not you are not able to move him and you’re left having to ask for help cuz’ he’s “heav-vee” (heavy).
Loving how you love each other… at the moment, anyway.
Mama
Mamas Corner
When I was pregnant, I hated when people told me to make the most of the time I had before the baby got here. Seriously, when people said this, I wanted to punch them in the face. Janet recently sent me this article and I related to it so much. The author, Steve Wiens, feels the same way when people encourage him to enjoy every second with his kids because “time goes too fast”. I think both of us would agree that while both statements are true, the reality is that statements like these don’t help. All I wanted toward the end of my pregnancy was to meet my baby. Advising me to enjoy that time just gave me a challenge I couldn’t win and made me feel like a failure more so than I was already feeling after dealing with a post-due baby that wouldn’t come out. Along the same lines, Wiens writes, “We know it’s true that they grow up too fast. But feeling like I have to enjoy every moment doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like one more thing that is impossible to do, and right now, that list is way too long. Not every moment is enjoyable as a parent; it wasn’t for you, and it isn’t for me. You just have obviously forgotten. I can forgive you for that. But if you tell me to enjoy every moment one more time, I will need to break up with you.”
Much of what he says is reminiscent of this post, with the take home message as this: you are not a terrible parent if you don’t enjoy your children every second of every day. He writes,
“You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.
You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.
You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.
You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.
You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.
You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.
You’re not a terrible parent.”
It’s an important reminder. Today we are inundated with information on how to parent, strategies to consider, new recalls, and so on and so forth. It’s easy to read a baby blog and feel like your life can’t compare, that you’re not as good as a mother, that your child is not as advanced. I’m with Wiens in that we need to embrace who we are as parents, the good and the bad. It’s okay to have bad days. It’s okay to let your child watch TV all day so you can have a break. Greasy food won’t kill them once in a while. It’s okay to call your kid an asshole behind their back and mean it. None of this makes us bad parents; it makes us real parents. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, instead of scrutinizing one another we ought to throw one another a bone. Pat one another on the back.
So in an effort to equalize the playing field, I thought I’d share a couple of my own mommy confessions. Here we go: When Van bites my nipple during a feeding, I want to throw him across the room. When we travel with Sarah, I give her Benadryl so she goes to sleep (and I’ll consider doing the same for my children should they become pesky car travelers when they’re older). I let both of my children eat dog food when trying to keep them away from the dog food proved to be too much. I’ve yelled at my kids loud enough for my neighbors to hear. I gave Van strawberries at six months old and they weren’t even organic. Oh ya, and I had
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a beer when I was pregnant. I know, I know… I’m craaaaaazy.
And you know what? I’m a good mom. I’ve never doubted it. Want to judge me? Go for it. I know who I am.
Please, share your confessions as well.
The thing about schedules…
The thing about schedules is that they’re annoying. I grew up considering myself a type B personality but as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned, especially through motherhood, that it pays to have some type A organization. To a degree, at least. All in all, I hate living a day that is a blueprint of the day before. I get that kids benefit from structure and yadda yadda yadda, but I also believe that kids are adaptable and should learn to go with the flow because life isn’t always organized. In actuality, life is rarely organized. Structure bores me.
I spend much of my morning looking at the clock wondering when my break will come and checking my fuel level to be sure I still have enough patience left to get me to that break time safely. Then both kids are asleep (on good days their naps overlap. On bad days, I play whack a mole all day long) and I feel almost paralyzed by not knowing what to do first (dishes, shower, eat, clean, blog, etc). I scatter about and in what feels time no time at all, nap time is over and I have to breastfeed and prepare lunch and by the time all that is done, Willy’s home and it’s time for Van’s second nap, and then there is more breastfeeding and meal preparing and then, just like that, it’s time for bed.
I go to bed with intentions of spending the next day at the park or at the beach or with other mommy friends but, more times than not, we fall back into the aforementioned pattern. Some days it is so hard to break the routine, so hard to actually get out of the house.
Don’t get me wrong, we do get out. We go to the park or the beach or what-have-you, but it comes with a sacrifice of naps and skipped feedings and there’s consequences, of course, that come with those things. It feels like I can’t win.
Do you feel the same way? How do you handle structure in your home?
Side note: Congrats to Jenn for winning the gift
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Toddlerhood
When Hooper turned one, I wondered if it was still appropriate to refer to him as my baby. He didn’t seem quite like the fully dependent infant I brought home from the hospital, but he still seemed far from the fiercely independent toddler.
I’ve been referring to Hooper as a toddler for a while now. In hindsight, I think I became comfortable with the label when Van came along and became the true baby of the house.
But then something happened, and for the first time ever, I one hundred percent knew he is, indeed, a full blown toddler. It happened in Palm Springs when he fell asleep on the bed within the first ten minutes of coming in for the day from the pool. You see, Willy and I always wondered when it would happen. And by “it”, I’m referring to the fall-asleep-anywhere-because-I’m-all-outta-gas phenomenon. We’ve seen the pictures of toddlers falling asleep during dinner with their faces submerged in their spaghetti or the infamous toddler asleep in the stroller. But this has never been Hooper. And it’s not because he isn’t a good sleeper, he is. But he’s never been one to fall asleep anywhere other than his bed or playpen.
I watched his head bob back and forth as the rest of us moved about in the room. Van whined, Sarah played about, and Hooper slept. Hard.
True toddlerhood. He feeds himself. He uses the toilet. And he conks out after a day spent in the pool. I suppose we’ll transition from toddler to kid when he stops sucking on those two fingers and can put on his own shoes and socks. Until then, I’m savoring the toddler stage.
Wild & Free
Let these words sit and marinate, I’ll come back to them: “And then there was me. The Mother. The Artist. The little girl who filled notebooks with trees and rivers and thickets rich with treasure. I knew, deep in my deepest place of Knowing, that the only place my soul would ever feel secure, free from danger or threat, was exploring, with abandon, the wild and beautiful unknown”.
I confessed to a friend the other day that despite having done all I have in life, I’m still not sure I did enough prior to settling into motherhood. And the list of what I have done is long and diverse. I’ve rode elephants in Thailand and camels in Egypt, seen the Taj Mahal, spent a summer in France as an au pair for a family I still visit in London, I’ve camped on several different beaches in Mexico, got engaged in the Dominican Republic, seen the pyramids and King Tut’s tomb, drank mint tea in Casablanca, and even made my way to Cuba which is technically illegal.
I read this article that outlined three reasons to travel while you’re young. And I realized two things: I’m no longer young and, as aforementioned, I’m not sure I traveled enough while I was young.
When you’re young, you don’t quite grasp the freedom in doing what you want. You think of yourself as an individual entity and it’s hard to foresee a time in the future that your life is no longer your own. A time that, despite not being a prisoner, is nonetheless no longer about you and how you want to spend your day.
Sometimes I ask Willy if he’d be willing to pack up and travel around in an RV for a year. He doesn’t take me entirely seriously and I can’t say I’m entirely serious either, but it’s important (to me) to plant that seed and let it sit in the event that one day I may grow some hairy nuts and chose to water that seed. I don’t want to appear to come out of left field, so I plant seeds. A little virtual garden of dreams.
I do this because I’m still attached to my memories of traveling from my youth. I still feel their impact. I still feel their importance. I still feel the fire that these experiences ignited in my soul. I recognize how traveling changed me. Molded me. Defined me. And I want, so bad, to raise my youngins with the same “go, see, do” mentality.
The words above were written by Michelle Gardella as a feature on Artifact Uprising. Her story left me with a lump in my throat. Sometimes this life I live feels so right; I love my family deeply, with my whole heart. We have a home that’s small but big enough for us. We have successful careers in that we watch the dollars we spend, but not the pennies. And yet, at times, I feel like I am playing a role; like I’m acting out the American dream- the house, the kids, the dog, the careers- but my soul knows that it’s not entirely me. It’s part of me, but not all of me. The other part of me knows that the only way to live is wild and free; with dirt under my nails and ever changing scenery. I think we all long for some of this; I long for it so deeply that I can only assume it’s human nature.
It’s the practical versus emotional debate and it’s a heavy one. My practical side tells me I’m doing fantastic; it tells me my ducks are pretty well lined up, it tells me to keep planning and putting away for the future, it reminds me to stay frugal and yells at me to stop thinking so much when I’m driving on those long stretches of road with the windows down and the music up and the kids peacefully gazing out the window. My emotional side tells me that fire is still ignited for a reason; it tells me that ducks belong in a pond or the sky, not in a line; it tells me that there are many ways to live our lives, and it begs me to redefine the word “success”.
THIS is who I am. I feel like every post needs this post as a preface so I can be fully understood. Michelle’s words really got under my skin like an annoying bug bite that I’m constantly feeling the urge to itch.
I go on with the norm from day to day because the norm is my life right now. I have a family to care for and consider. And the ambiguity in how an alternative life would workout keeps that fire at just a flicker, a small flame that bends and twists with the wind but never fully goes out.
Dear Hooper & Van, never stay stagnant. Even while you’re sitting in one place, may your soul be jumping.
Side note: The photo above was taken in Baja, Mexico in 2006. I was with Janet and we rang in the new year at a hole in the wall bar filled with locals. It was a few weeks after my first date with Willy and I remember missing him. Our tent was just out of frame, right there on the sandy beach.
Shits & Giggles
That moment when your mom tells you you can have candy if you poop on the potty but you just finished pooping in your pants before your mom sat you on the toilet? Ya, it looks like
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this.
With that said, I’m done being a lazy ass; I’ve committed to potty training. What does this mean, you ask? It means that I travel with extra toddler clothing in my car. It means that when we went to the beach the other day I brought a portable toilet. It means I say, “Do you have to use the potty?” more times than I say “no”. And I say “no” a lot. It means that outside the bathroom door is a bag of M&Ms. It means I sit him on every public toilet regardless if he says he doesn’t have to go. It means that before leaving the house, in addition to putting shoes on, gathering snacks, changing Van’s diaper, getting dressed, and so on and so forth, we also sit on the toilet. It means that he wears underwear during his nap, which also means I run the risk of a nap time interruption to use the potty.
And you know what? It’s not as bad as I thought. He still refers to the public toilet scene as “scary”, but he goes when I sit him on the seat. Nap times have not suffered in the least. He’s had a few accidents, but they are few and far between and he’s able to hold his pee overnight most nights. We use a mix of underwear, training pants, and pull ups. At night we still use diapers but plan on transitioning him to pull-ups as he’s gone several nights in a row without wetting his diaper. The only box left to check was the poop box, but he’s doing that without a problem now too. I think he was holding out on us for fear of having a ghost turd… Not familiar with ghost turd?
Per Urban Dictionary:
Ghost Turd: |
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When you sit on the can and you can swear you’re droppin a load, but when you turn around to admire your work there’s no sign of itExample: Oh, man, i just laid a ghost turd. |
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Side note: Can you spare a few seconds? You can vote daily by clicking the link below. Thank you to all who voted yesterday; I’m in third place… highest standing I’ve ever been. Woot.
Preschool, Hash Tag: Question Mark.
I’ve been asked a lot as of late when I’m going to put Hooper in preschool. I never thought it would be a difficult question to answer, but as it turns out, I find myself stumbling on my words each time I’m asked. It may be easy for me to complain about dealing with his terrible two shenanigans, but it’s hard for me to imagine not having him around… not even for a few hours. Not to mention that, because of his birthday, he won’t be in Kindergarden until he’s 6. This means he’ll be in preschool for FOUR years. That’s a long time. And a lot of money. Cue the megaphone: Preschool ain’t cheap people. Willy and I have a great schedule right now, so preschool would be for learning, not daycare. It’s hard for me to justify spending all that money to teach him things he’ll inevitably learn in due time. Rather than sound like a bipolar lunatic, I figured I’d outline my pros and cons. Here we go:
PROS
-Socialization. I can’t argue with this one. Being around other children is always a good thing. Learning things like sharing and controlling your emotions and all that other ish is important stuff. It’s stuff I cannot teach as effectively at home.
-Mama time. Oh how I’ve longed for some good ol’ quality time by myself. I’ve always considered myself an extrovert, but as I’ve gotten older I think that label was made in comparison to my sister who had periods of ubber introvertedness (I know, not a word, whatevs). In actuality, I think I live on the boarder of introvert and extrovert. But lately, I’ve just wanted to sit by my lonesome and enjoy some good ol’ ME time.
-Learning. Duh, this one is a given.
CONS
-Cost. I can’t believe how much preschool costs. It’s mind-blowing, really.
-Naps. Hooper still naps a solid 4-5 hours a day. I know, I know, I’m so lucky. I ain’t payin’ for him to nap somewhere else.
-Sniffles. Not sure I’m ready for all the germs he’s bound to bring home.
-Routine. I like structure, to a degree. But at some point, when there’s too much of it, each week starts to feel like a blueprint from the one before. That’s one reason I love my profession; as a nurse, my schedule is always different. No week ever feels like the one prior. Throw preschool into the mix and with it comes a schedule. It makes me cringe.
When did you start your child in preschool? What are your pros and cons and how did you come to a decision?
The Terrible Twos
My son is bipolar. Not literally but more in the sense that all toddlers are bipolar. He’ll raise his hand to hit me one minute and the next minute he’ll stroke my arm as if to say, “I love you, mom”. He’s experimenting, I get it.
One of the most important things in caring for a toddler, I’ve learned, has been to care for myself. The more rested and hydrated and fed and groomed I am, the more patience I have. On the days I don’t have time to shower or even change out of my pajamas, where I’m exhausted from Van waking me in the middle of the night (a rare occurrence as of late, thank goodness), and where feeding myself becomes tertiary to feeding the two little birds waiting for me to drop a worm into their mouths, I’m not as good of a mom as I know I can be. I’m sure every mom would agree with this. It goes without saying that the more rested and more prepared we are, the better we are at, well, everything.
Back to Hooper being bipolar. This kid flips between hitting and kissing like a ping pong ball in play on a Japanese table tennis court. The other day he raised his hand toward my head to stroke my hair and I scared him when I flinched, expecting to be smacked. Instead, I got a slobbery hand caressing my newly washed hair. It’s inconsistent, to say the least, but it’s nice to say that I’m not always the victim of abuse.
We’re working hard this week on positive reinforcement and rewarding “normal” behavior.
What’s working with your toddler this week?
Van Eats.
I can brag about Hooper’s sleeping habits until you feel like punching me in my face, but rest assured he makes up for it with his ridiculous antics at the table. Broken record here: Feeding him is terrible. We still have days where feeding him makes me want to stick him out on the curb with a sign around his neck that says “free”. Lucky for me, I can regroup while he naps.
I’ve quoted Maya Angelou before, but once again her words ring true: “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better”.
I refuse to allow Van to become the same nuisance of an eater. And by using the word “allow”, I am indeed owning my part in molding Hooper into the horrible eater he is today. This time around, I’m turning to baby led weaning (BLW); something I don’t even remember hearing about when Hooper was a baby. Even if I had, I’m pretty sure I would have shrugged it off as some ridiculous theory to achieve something all babies surely do: EAT.
But now I know the truth: not all babies/toddlers eat without persuasion or threats or ultimatums or distractions or long drawn out sessions of sitting at the table while the hands on the clock advance one painful tick at a time.
I’m not one to jump on parenting bandwagons but I am one to jump on the easy train; careful, of course, not to mistaken ease with easy-way-out. But when something is easier and better for your child, it’s worth taking a moment and smacking a 4×4 over your head to pound the question and resounding regret of why you didn’t do this the first time around into your head.
So yes, we’re Van-Led-Weaning over here. Removing myself from the equation and letting Van lead the way is incredibly freeing. Truthfully, he’s the one that made the decision. I started with the purees and he was more interested in grabbing the spoon than swallowing the food. Then he’d grab my plate with his death grip and move my plate toward him. It become obvious that he was more than interested in food, but not interested in being spoon fed. So I put a few peas in front of him and next thing I knew he was entertained and we were having a peaceful meal. The peas disappeared, Sarah ate the ones that fell on the floor, and we all ate in peace.
I’ll keep ya’ll updated on our BLW brigade. So far, the only con I can attest to is the mess. Some meals require a bath afterward and all meals remind me that having a dog is completely necessary when having children. But I’ll bathe my child and allow my dog to eat off the floor all day everyday if it means a different outcome at the table.
Have you tried BLW? What’s your experience been like?
Round Three.
Round one and round two happened fairly quickly. Round three has been a slow progression, but here’s where we’re at:
Things we have checked off the list: Going on the big boy potty at home, napping in underwear, wearing underwear in public, sitting on a public toilet.
We purchased the Baby Bjorn toilet trainer, which fits nice and snug on our seat. Hooper was a little skeptical in the beginning and asked to hold my hand when he sat on it. He needs some help getting onto the toilet but does not require hand holding any longer and has both peed and pooped in the toilet. Every now and again, he’ll request to use his little portable potty and it’s on my to-do list to remove the thing so it’s no longer an option.
We started putting him down for a nap with training pants. Now, we put him down for a nap with underwear. I remind him when I put him down that he needs to call mama if he needs to go to the bathroom. I no longer remind him because the second I put him down he recites, “tell mama, tell mama”. That kids memory is sharp as a tack. The other day, however, he called me and when I came him he had already peed and pooped in his pants. He pointed it out and then said, “tell mama”. That was his first accident in a while and I’m sure they’ll be a few more along the way. More times than not, however, he’s able to hold it until he wakes up. The downside is that “holding it” has shortened his nap some, so some days I do put him in a diaper for his nap if I have a lot I need to do around the house.
We’ve ventured out in underwear. I took him to his gym class the other morning and to the grocery store and out to eat. All of the outings have been a success. I tried taking him to the bathroom at his gym class and he downright refused, clearly scared of the toilet. Those particular toilets have an unusually loud flush and it gives him the willies when I take him in with me. We tried again, with Papa’s help, when we were out to eat. He sat on the toilet, but refused to pee. So, it’s a work in progress. One step closer.
Things still lingering on the almighty potty training to-do list: Pulling down his pants on his own, getting on to the toilet on his own, using public restrooms, wearing underwear overnight.
I bought one of those on-the-go potties, but have yet to break it out. I’m questioning if I even need it and am leaning toward helping him acclimate to the public toilets instead. Has anyone used these portable potties? What do you suggest?
Also, the giveaway to Comfy Rumps is still going on if you want to enter to win a pair of training pants for your little potty trainer.
A New Perspective
I received some great comments to my post on the terrible twos and, since writing the post, things have improved. Over the course of just a few days, there have been major improvements (most notably is the fact Willy has return from his business trip). Hooper can still be a little pistol at times, but my perspective is in a better place to deal with the asshole-ish behavior. Here are some things that I learned from ya’ll that have really helped reshape my perspective and some other tips for handling Hooper when my new perspective alone isn’t enough:
It can get worse. Age 3 seems to have nothing on age 2 and one reader commented that 7 year-olds are just plain weird and even annoying.
Follow through on threats. This suggestion was repeated throughout. I’m far from a push over and my problem was not with the follow through, but rather with making threats. We had been doing the time out in the corner, but clearly threats are where it’s at. I’ve started with threatening no TV if he kicks me while I change his diaper. Truth be told, I hope he kicks because I hate TV. I’ll “allow” him to kick me once, then I’ll reiterate the threat, and if he kicks again, it’s game over. I explain the consequence clearly and when he brings me the remotes and asks for a show, I reiterate it all once again. Surprisingly, he hasn’t put up much of a fight. I’ve heard before that children actually thrive when given boundaries and I believe I’m starting to see this in action.
Readers Plum and Amanda suggested rewarding normal behavior. This gave me a good chuckle because it assumes (and rightfully so) that the good behavior is the exception. I was just telling Willy yesterday that we need to decide and be consistent with what we scold him for because if we scold the big stuff and the little stuff, we’d be scolding him constantly. Rewarding normal behavior kinda flips this all on it’s head and allows you scold for the big things and intermix a few rewards for the normal behavior. I like that. It sucks being the bad guy all the live long day, so I’m all for reinforcing the good. I love to keep it positive and it’s nice to see a light from the reprimanding hole I had been buried in.
Stay flexible, as reader Jessica said, discipline is a moving target. What works one day isn’t always going to work the next. Accepting this realization seems to immediately give me more patience; patience that seemed to be wavering.
Reader Tamera suggested tickling it out. This was the first thing I tried as Hooper repeatedly kicked me as I changed his diaper. And you know what?, it worked. He kicked, I tickled, we laughed, I changed his diaper, and we went on with our day. It was such a relief. Granted, the next time the same event occurred it didn’t work and then a threat was made and then a threat was carried out. Nevertheless, it was nice to have a positive starting ground. I wish the need for affection was the answer to every toddler episode… I love nothing more than cuddling my little guys.
Reader Megan talked about how, as parents, we kind of own the infantile stage. They’re our little babies and we control much of their lives. At the ripe age of 2, she reminded me, they start to transition into their own independent beings. The tantrum phase is developmental and though Hooper may need to be disciplined throughout it, he also needs my support as he transitions into his own person. Hitting, kicking, refusing, throwing… they’re all experiments a two year old uses to eventually decipher right from wrong. They need to learn what produces a positive response and what produces a negative response, and the consequences for each. Knowledge is power.
I used to work at a daycare that followed some philosophy that did not believe in saying “no” to a child. We were not allowed to use the word at the daycare and in its place we were instructed to use redirection. It worked a lot of the time and I am now reminded of its benefits. I do, however, reserve the right to use “no” but I think it is more effective when reserved for the big things.
When all else fails, drink. I spend much of my afternoon dreaming about a big glass of wine. In reality, by the time I’ve put Van to bed and I’m able to have a drink without worrying about my baby also having a drink, I’m ready to hit the ol’ hay too. Sometimes a good nights rest is even better than a glass of wine, but not always.
Understanding toddlerhood is a learning experience for both of us. While Hooper’s experimenting with his behavior, I’m experimenting with how to most effectively deal with it. Not all days are going to be good days, but with my new found perspective and some tricks up my sleeve, I’m feeling much better about things. So thank you all, your comments always mean a lot to me.
Two.
Hooper has changed overnight. Like seriously, he’s a new kid. I started writing a post on the “terrible twos” just two days ago and it’s already outdated as I described him from being far from “terrible”. Today, he’s all kinds of terrible. I feel as though the toddler gods fill you up with all kinds of love and attachment and patience during the first two years because they know you’ll need to pull some from your reserves when your child turns two and you don’t like them anymore. I called Hooper an asshole today. Not to his face, of course, but more times than I should have behind his back.
What kind of behavior warrants calling your two year old an asshole, you wonder? I’ve been smacked in the face. A lot. It almost always occurs when I’m holding him and looking for a little affection; Affection he used to give me all the time. It also happens when I drop down to his level to put him in check. There’s nothing more infuriating than scolding your child only to get smacked in the face as if to say, “Yeah mom, I heard what you said but please allow my hand across your face to remind you that I don’t give a shit”. I’ve had to take a lot of deep breaths these last few days.
Other things he’s doing that are pissing me off and making me turn to wine at the end of the day even though I feel like turning to a whole bottle of wine to start my day (and yes, that is intentionally a run-on sentence): Throwing toys, spitting, spitting out his milk, taking toys from his brother, hitting Sarah, and kicking me while changing his diaper. He has also started to fold his arms across his chest as if to say, “Go suck a dick, I’m not happy”, only he still uses this body language at inappropriate times so I guess it’s still endearing; but the endearing part is still debatable.
Much of parenting is a learn-as-you-go process. We had been punishing him by putting him in the corner and calmly explaining that we can’t hit or throw or whatever. Then we’d count to ten and end the time out with a hug, after making him say “sorry”. I no longer have the patience to calmly scold; now I put him in the corner and yell, for emphasis ya know? But clearly, it’s not working. Counting to ten has done nothing other than teach him how to count. Seriously, he counted clear as day to six yesterday. That’s probably when his attention span runs out, otherwise he’d know that seven ate nine. So, I turn to my lovely readers for the touchy subject of how to discipline your lovely toddler. Please share your opinions and suggestions.
Hey Hooper, just for the record, Van is my new favorite. Shape up, you little asshole.
Round Two.
Things I’ve said a lot of this week: “Sarah, stop licking Hooper’s butt” and “Hooper, stop touching your dong”. Here’s the recap:
Day #1
We started the day by collecting his diapers and throwing them into the trash. Hoop enjoyed this. Then we spent the morning watching cartoons while he sat on his potty. I fed him breakfast, on his potty. At some point, probably after an hour of sitting there, he stood up and pointed to the potty. Inside, there was urine. We celebrated. We high-fived. He got a piece of candy. We called Papa at work. Then he played. I reminded him of the potty and told him if he wanted more candy, he had to make piss in the potty. Then the fly by happened.
What’s the fly by, you ask? He literally flew by the potty, stuck his butt in it’s direction, and shot (and I mean shot as in like a bullet from a gun) a large size piece of shit out of his butt. The log struck the side of the toilet and streaked it’s way down to the floor. I told him to step away as I could tell he wanted to sit on the potty. He ran off in excitement and pissed in the corner. He may have pissed in the potty had I not shooed him away.
Nonetheless, there were hits and there were misses. It was day one. There was cheers and candy and there was paper towels and vinegar. All in all, a success. A start. 
Day #2
I had intended to sacrifice three full days to only potty training. But, alas, life happens and staying home for three days straight doesn’t always work out. I had a commitment to keep, so on went the diaper so my mom could take Hoop to his little class and I could go fulfill my obligation. After his morning nap, potty training reconvened. He sat on the potty long enough to eventually pee in it and we jumped for excitement once again. I gave him a piece of candy and on he went to play with his cars.
I reminded him of the potty often and used candy as encouragement. At one point he went over on his own and sat on the toilet, stood up a minute later and yelled, “yeah guys!”. I looked in the pot and there was nothing there. As he scampered away, however, I noticed some shit stuck between his cheeks. Then he straddled his bike and got shit on his bike. Then he poked the shit on his bike seat with his finger. So… not exactly a slam dunk, but definite progress. The realization that I will eventually have to teach him to wipe his butt dawned on me and the idea of keeping him in diapers fo’ life started to become more dreamy than ever.
Then he peed on the sofa. And later, again, on the floor. And that was day two.
Day #3
We spent the morning watching cartoons while sitting on the potty. I’m getting cartooned out, by the way. I hate relying on that thing, but it has been a good facilitator for potty training. I also googled “How to potty train” for the first time and can’t say I learned anything I didn’t instinctively already know. Anyway, I fed him breakfast while he sat on the potty. He got up a few times to play and would sporadically come back to the potty to sit down on his own. At one point, you could hear piss shooting into the pot and we both looked at each other with wild excitement. There wasn’t a whole lot of pee and I came to the conclusion that the excitement of it all must have stopped him mid-stride. We celebrated. He immediately said, “Can-dee, can-dee”. He’s part human, part Pavlov’s dog. Even more than the candy, I learned, he likes helping me clean up; dumping the piss into the toilet, spraying the potty with vinegar (101 uses for vinegar, right?), and flushing the toilet. I also gave him a sticker (thanks @lishyloo) and not but 5 minutes later he sat down and peed again, presumably finishing his job prior. Either that or he’s getting too smart and has learned to segment his piss to get more treats. Two year olds sure have a way of pulling the fast ones on us, don’t they? In any case, we celebrated again and cleaned up again.
Day #4 and onward
I’ll spare you the day by day shenanigans because while some seem to say “it took 3 days and that was that”, I can tell that won’t be the case for us. For starters, he naps a lot. I’m talking like he still takes a FOUR hour nap during the day and sometimes another two hour nap in the evening. I know, I know, he sleeps a lot. And, no, he does not have chronic fatigue syndrome. I laughed when someone had suggested that. I digress, but the naps make it difficult to potty train if I’m constantly slapping a diaper on for him to sleep in. Sometimes he only pisses one time before he’s ready to sleep again. So I only get so many opportunities in a day to potty train. And I’m not comfortable, yet, to leave the house without a diaper on. Wow, I just re-read that sentence and now it sounds like I’m the incontinent one. Let me re-phrase that: I’m not comfortable, yet, to leave the house without a diaper on Hooper. Whew, I feel better now that I made that correction. So, I don’t know. That’s where we’re at. I suppose I’ll keep going with the naked thing for the time that we’re home and awake and then, when he has a better grasp on that concept, I’ll start swapping out the diaper with the undies. What do ya’ll think? Is that a good plan? I will say, however, that by day 5 he was 4 for 4 and has not had an accident since. So, perhaps we are getting somewhere. Now we just need to work on clothing him once again and encouraging him to communicate that he’s gotta go… Round three will be coming your way.
You can read about round one here.
Round One.
So I was motivated to start potty training last week. Yes, I’m already speaking in the past tense. Hooper was ready. I, however, was not.
I remember when we first brought Sarah home. She was three months and we trained her to sleep in a crate. Every morning there would be piss and shit in her crate until we decided we would take turns getting up at 2am to let her out to pee. Eventually she caught on and after a while she was able to hold it until morning. It really wasn’t so difficult, in the end.
Fast forward to two kids later.
I opted to go the naked route, at first. I brought the potty out and sat it in the middle of the room and for the first hour it seemed all we talked about was the potty. I repetitively asked him if he wanted to use it. I encouraged him to sit down on it. I gave him a piece of candy to try to keep him on it. And then he pissed in the corner.
I cleaned it up and thought maybe it would be better to put underwear on him so he could feel what it’s like to be wet. And then he pissed while riding his toy car around.
And then I realized I was too tired from being up the night before with Van and I put a diaper on. Someone please send the bad mom award this way. I know consistency is key so I’m going to tackle it another day… when I have more energy and patience and a few consecutive days off work in a row to really give it the good ol’ fashion try. So yeah, along with the bad mom award can you also send energy, patience, and consecutive days off work?
Looking at my little boy in those undies might be the biggest motivator of all…
And… I do have some consecutive days off work this week, so round 2 is currently in progress. Wish me luck. And share any tips. I have no idea what I’m doing…
Operation Hide The Remotes
I remember reading an article in adbusters encouraging everyone to “kill your tv”. It pictured two children, around the age of 10, on a sofa. You couldn’t see the TV in front of them and the photo was taken as if the camera were right in front of the TV. The children’s eyes are dazed, mouths open, faces expressionless. Before reading the article, the picture begged the question what’s wrong with these children? They were zonked. TV coma.
I’ve never liked TV. My mom always said I had so much energy as a child that it would never hold my attention long enough anyway. I’ve never caught on to sitcoms. Admittedly I fall into the American Idol and Xfactor trap, but I contribute that to my love of music.
We started using shows like Yo Gabba Gabba to assist during mealtime. The show went on, his mouth opened, he chewed his food, and everything at the table was relatively peaceful. Then he’d be done with his meal, the TV would go off and next thing we knew Hoop would be at our feet with both remotes in hand nagging for us to put the show back on. And by nagging I mean full on tantruming. There’s only so many ways to reason with a two year old. And by only so many ways what I really mean is that there is NO way to reason with a two year old.
So we started hiding the remotes.
At first, he’d ask to watch Yo Gabba Gabba and I’d tell him to go find the remotes, knowing of course, that they were hidden. He’d get distracted during his hunt and move on to playing with his toys.
That worked for a little while.
Then he started rooting around in our bedroom and would come back out to the family room with the remote from our bedroom in his hands. And that tantrum would happen all over again. So for the past few days, I’ve been hiding both remotes. And it’s been wonderful. In fact, I think he’s forgotten all about the TV.
We also deleted all the Yo Gabba Gabbas from our DVR. I know, risky move. But we really didn’t want a back up plan available. Watching that shit was killing my brain cells and I can’t stand the vacant stare that comes over his face when the TV is on.
So lately we’ve been reading books during mealtime. And it’s been heavenly.
Image borrowed from here.