Parenting lesson #18: You will use the same phrases your parents said to you that you swore you would never use

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Every parent will experience this moment.  No matter how much you swore to yourself up-and-down as a child that you would never torture your own children with that phrase, you will hear it out of your mouth.  And then (GASP!), out of your child’s mouth.

We were driving away from church yesterday when Eliza asked if we were going to the pool.  And I said something like, “We can probably do that, but after naps.”  And she said, “We can do it the easy way or the hard way.”  Gulp.  There it was.  I heard this Larry-ism (my dad) echoing in the recesses of my brain and realized that there was no way she came up with that on her own.  Especially because when she said it, it didn’t make any sense.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”  It hung in the car and Greg and I looked at each other.  I envisioned all those mornings before school growing up.  I thought I had forgotten these terrible memories, but I had not.  My dad has a growlish sound to his voice when he’s angry.  You knew you had tested him to his limits when he got to this point.  And he got angry just about every morning when it came time to brush my teeth.  (As an orthodontist’s daughter, I was destined to rebel against dental care.)  I have obviously blocked out what I could have possibly done to deserve that phrase.  But I can imagine that the exchange every day included at least these three things:

“Why do I have to brush my teeth?”

“I don’t want to.”

And the best one, “You can’t make me!”

I understand now so clearly how frustrating I was to my dad.  I always knew that we had reached the end of the battle when he would bark, “Christine, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” And he would sprawl me horizontally on his lap and pin me down as I screamed, kicked and twisted my head.  The torture of it all!  How dare he brush my teeth!

Looking back, I think I so hated this phrase because it signified defeat.  I do not like to give in.  And here I am.  Thirty years later, I have done this to my two children.  I have pinned their puny arms down with one of mine while saying this weighty phrase and forcing a toothbrush into their little traps.  At least I believe I say it rationally and calmly, without the growl.  These days, the kids are both great at allowing us to brush their teeth.  They generally don’t fight it at all.  As with anything involving children, though, it is an unpredictable pattern and I have no idea if we will regress back to these necessary teeth-brushing battles.  And so the phrase will live on, despite my desire to retire it.  There are some matters in which children do not have a choice.  I can’t think of a better way of explaining to them that there are some things they must do; the power they have is in how they do them.  There is an easy way and a hard way for a lot of things.

Just as I eventually stopped squirming in my father’s arms as he tried to be a good dad, I will give in to using this phrase, and at least attempt to use it only when needed – and even then, without the growl.

Have you heard your mom or dad speaking through you?

Parenting lesson #7: The harder thing to do is most likely the right one.

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Do NOT let your child be plagued by one of these.

As a parent, there are a lot of times I have wanted to change my mind about something Greg and I already decided because the easier option is so much more appealing in the moment.  Last week, for the second time, I was ready to undo potty training Zach.  (The first was in the middle of it.)

For the six of you who read my sporadic blog faithfully, you will recall that a week ago, Zach was interrupted – mid-business – by an automatically-flushing toilet that launched a powerful whirlpool attack underneath him.  The two days that ensued are a blur of pee accidents: at a friend’s house for dinner, at the breakfast table in his seat, twice in Eliza’s bed, and perhaps others that I’ve blocked from memory.  (Greg was traveling for work and I was in a place where I might have approached a stranger to “borrow” my children for a few hours.  Is anybody with me?)

Zach had become terrified of every toilet.  It broke my heart.  He would walk up to the potty whimpering, pull his pants down, sit down, and cry, “All done, all done!” before letting anything out.  He knew what he was supposed to do, but he just couldn’t do it.  And frankly, I thought I had done enough pee-cleaning duty two weeks earlier when we trained him.  I really wasn’t interested in going back to that place.  I wanted to give up and put him back in diapers.

But I knew that Zach wanted to do what he had learned and fear was the problem.  I assumed I would confuse him if I asked him to use a diaper again.  I imagined him as a five-year-old, still conflicted about where he was supposed to dispose of his waste.  I envisioned him holding it all in anyway, afraid to let it out in the diaper because he knew that wasn’t the right place for it either.  So I didn’t give in to the seemingly easier choice in the moment.  I stuck to the plan.

I’m so glad I did.  On Wednesday morning, reluctantly, I took Zach to the museum-like house where I have a Bible study and took him to the basement, describing to the babysitters our situation.  I went down a couple of times to take him to his potty that I brought along for familiarity.  I knew he had to go.  He knew he had to go.  I was frustrated.  He was uncomfortable.  I told him it was going to be okay.  I told him the potty could not flush.  I named all the people who would be proud of him for letting his pee pee out, including Buzz Light Year and Lightning McQueen.

He still held it in.

He got to a whimpering point.  I had lost my patience.  I was done talking sweetly because the niceties were not working.  He was sitting on the potty, crying in fear.  And I stared him down.  In that tone every mother has that says I mean business, I demanded, “Zach, we have to leave soon to get Eliza, but I’m not going until you pee.  You MUST let your pee pee out.”  And his eyes got really big, with full tears waiting to fall, and he released it.  And then he smiled, and started telling me in a delighted way how happy he was that he was peeing in the potty.  It was like he flipped a switch.

That was Wednesday last week, and for the next two days, I stayed close to the toilet, asked him often if he needed to go, and gave him cookies and gummy snacks every time he got it right.  We went to New York on Friday for the weekend.  He spent hours in the car.  We went to the zoo.  He used public toilets successfully, even the auto-flushing ones.  And he has not had an accident in five days.  The training stuck.  I knew that he knew what to do.  He had to overcome his fear, and he did.  I’m so proud of him.

I know that as my kids grow, there are going to be a lot of times they’re afraid, and it’s going to be so challenging to know when to push them and when to give in.  I often ask myself what the harder thing to do is, because more often than not and unfortunately for us as parents, the harder thing to do is the right thing to do.

If you learn anything from this, remember not to put your kids on automatically-flushing toilets.  Both of my children have suffered from toilet flushing trauma disorder.  And if you have no other option (HERE’S ONE!), then cover the sensor with your hand the WHOLE time your child is on the seat.  Leave no room for accidental flushings.  It might be difficult in the moment to both cover the sensor and keep your kid from falling in, but in the long run, you could save yourself a lot of pain and suffering.

I wish Zach were taller so he could pee standing up.

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Who decided that boys underwear should have a one-inch elastic band?

Toilet training a boy is harder than toilet training a girl.

Yes, Zach is still doing a great job with using the potty, and he’s not having accidents when he’s awake (although he still needs a diaper for his nap and he often likes to poop at that time, which sort of negates the fact that we’ve trained him, seeing as I’m still changing poop diapers … but as usual, I digress).

The problem is one of anatomy.  He gets himself to the little potty just fine.  He pulls his pants down, sits down, leans forward, and pees, happily, all over himself, or all over the floor, or some combination of the two.  Sometimes the pee pools in-between his legs because he’s got them together with his penis somehow wedged in the middle.  Then he stands up with pee dripping down his legs, looks in the nearly empty pot (as the majority of the pee didn’t end up in there), and says, “Pee pee poppy (potty) Mama!!!”

See, leaning forward seemed to be the only thing I had to teach Eliza in order for her pee to make it into the pot instead of out the front.  With Zach, I have to make sure I point his penis downward manually with a finger or, generally speaking, the pee is going to go everywhere.  He has not picked up on the need to do this for himself yet.  So though he is trained, it would honestly still be easier if he were in a diaper.

Earlier today he had to poop right when I needed to get to an exercise class.  Thus, I took him to the toilet at Eliza’s school before heading to my class.  He sat down, started peeing (into the toilet, with my help!) and got red in the face like the big business was happening.  And then the automatic flusher on the toilet went off for some reason.  (Freaking sensor malfunctions!)  As a side note, Eliza will not use a toilet with a sensor unless I cover it with my hands while she goes, because one went off underneath her and I believe it scared the $@)% out of her.  Well, Zach had the same reaction to the toilet underneath him.  I didn’t get to see if any poop came out before everything was flushed under him (as he reached for me and started whimpering about the whirlpool underneath him).

Then I dropped him off at the YMCA babysitting center, already late for my class, and figured I ought to try to be kind to the childcare workers and make sure he didn’t have to poop.  I sat him on the potty there, no more than 8 minutes after he had JUST PEED.  And of course I was hoping for a poop, and focusing on that, when I sensed wetness on my leg and looked down and immediately pushed his penis down because he started peeing all over me (and his clothes).  Of course, he didn’t poop.  Nope.  He did, however, poop in his diaper during his nap.  (That just happened.)

I can totally see why people say boys take longer to train.  I don’t believe that’s actually the case (based on my highly scientific statistical analysis of one boy and one girl).  Both of my kids took the same amount of time to train to hold their pee in and get to a toilet to release it.  The problem is not in the process; it’s in the anatomy.  It would be much easier to wait to train a boy until you can train him to stand in front of an adult-sized toilet, point, and shoot.

The reaction I get when I ask Zach to climb onto a stool to sit on the big toilet is exactly like what his reaction would be like if I asked him if I could give away his Thomas the Train.  So we have a long way to go before he’s standing and peeing (and I’m sure there will be accidents all over the seat rim then as well, especially when he discovers his powers to direct pee in every direction.)

The other boy/girl difference is in the underwear.  Girl underwear is designed to be easy to pull down.  It’s almost like the manufacturers know that girls are well-mannered and deserve to be able to get their underwear off.  Boys, on the other hand, have an inch-wide band of elastic around their waists.  I’m not sure what purpose this serves.  If it’s to keep boys from pulling their pants down and showing everyone their packages, it has worked.  If it’s to keep them from playing with themselves, it hasn’t, seeing as they’ve designed the cut-out hole so they can pee without having to remove the underwear.  I’m afraid to teach Zach about that hole for obvious reasons, and also because as previously described, he’s not standing and peeing yet.

So, he will continue to sit to pee for the time being.  I will continue to be there for each toileting experience so I can help him get the childproof underpants down, and so I can aid him in pointing his manhood in the right direction before  the pee goes everywhere.  If you have a son who’s still in diapers and you’re reading this, enjoy it.  Honestly.  I am announcing defeat – for the moment – on this one.

I wish there were Mary Poppins for instant potty training

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It's not rocket science ... but it can feel like it.

No matter how you potty train your children or when you believe it should be done, the truth is you have to do it (well, someone does).  It is as inevitable as diapering, and feeding, and answering millions of inane questions.  And like any training, it is learned over time.  It must be worked for, like anything worth having.  Sure, there are methods for speeding up the process, but even so, the concept of “Toilet Training in Less Than a Day” sounds too good to be true because it is.  Accidents after training are a part of life.  (Eliza’s been potty-trained for half her short life, and yet she pooped in the pool last week, remember?)  For my kids, so far it has been “Toilet Training in 3 Days.”  If that sounds like magic to you, read on.

This morning around 10:30, Zach walked up to his potty, said, “Mommy, pee pee,” pulled down his pants, sat, peed, got up, emptied the pot into the toilet, flushed it, and put his training toilet back together.  I’d call that success.  It was proof that he now understands not only the urge to go, but what to do with that urge before urine starts trickling down his legs.  He has kept his pants dry for about 24 hours (except when sleeping).  But about an hour later, he came and got me because he had pooped himself.  You see, in all the training time so far, he has only pooped twice, and both times it’s been during his nap (in a diaper because he’s still in a crib).  Now he has to connect the fact that yes, even for poop, he needs to get to the toilet as well.  We are far closer than we were on Saturday morning when we began, but we are still working at it.

The point is that I wanted to give up.  It seemed inexorable at times, and Zach just seemed to be struggling so much.  But now he’s proud of himself and his new skill.  I would still recommend this book to anyone looking to potty train his child.  It’s just intense.  It also has some flaws, so even if Greg and I are partly to blame for our kids not “getting it” by the end of a morning, the book should shoulder some responsibility.  The most frustrating thing about this book is that it makes it sound so easy, so if you have issues, it does not give you troubleshooting help.  For example, it gives a specific process you are to go through with them when they wet themselves, yet we almost never made it through that process without our kids peeing during it, which completely derails what you know you’re supposed to do.  It also doesn’t account for children who cry throughout the process because they are upset about wetting themselves, or sitting on the potty, or peeing out the front of the toilet seat.

Regardless of the details of this method, or any method anyone uses, it takes a lot of effort to get your children to connect their brains to their bladders so they pee in a potty before they pee on you or your furniture.  Accepting the responsibility of toilet training is accepting that you’re going to have a lot of crap to clean up, accepting it’s going to be gross and uncomfortable at times, and accepting that your wishes are basically on-hold while you go through it.  In retrospect, it’s a Cliff’s Notes version of the whole parenting experience.

It’s not magic.  There’s no Mary Poppins, spoonful of sugar, snap your fingers and it’s done process.  No matter how you do it, it’s hard work for everyone.  But in the end, you get to look back and realize what you’ve accomplished, and be thankful you’re not changing poop diapers any more.  And I’m hopeful I won’t be cleaning it off of Zach’s legs or washing it out of his pants very soon, too.

The potty training saga continues

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Zach has spent a lot of time the past two days on this - doing nothing.

Zach was not trained yesterday, either.  I would detail out our frustrating issues right now if I weren’t afraid that taking my focus off of Zach would result in more accidents.  (I’m really, really tired of cleaning up pee.)

I was in tears yesterday and this morning.  I was ready to throw in the towel.  There are so many things that seem to be going wrong.

But for the first time, Zach just peed in the potty on his own.  Not in the middle of wetting himself and our carpet or floor or faces.  It ALL went in the potty.  I have been given new hope!

Here we go …

Zach is not peeing in peace

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Here I sit in the second day of what is supposed to be “Toilet Training in Less Than a Day” with Zach.  I love the irony.  Greg did the training yesterday, as he did with Eliza.  And as with Eliza, we seem to be having some issues.

The book’s method makes so much sense to me.  It combines several types of teaching all-in-one to get a child trained quickly (learning without distraction, increasing urination opportunities, practice in walking to the potty, practice in required dressing skills, learning to relax before urinating, learning by imitation, learning by teaching, learning by manual guidance, increasing motivation to be trained, and teaching the attitude of personal cleanliness).  The problem so far has been that my children don’t seem to get a first successful pee on the potty (despite lots of time sitting on it).  So it has not been the wonderful, fun experience for either of them that the book promises.

Nevertheless, we persevere, because the point is I know he will be trained shortly.  Maybe it will be today.  Maybe it will be tomorrow.  And I’ll be sure to write more about it.  But as I’m in the thick of it, I thought I would update you.  There will definitely be more to come.  Here’s hoping for a good pee in peace this morning!!!

Parenting lesson #14: The embarrassing moments are often teaching moments

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Eliza pooped in a public pool on Friday.  Every now and again she is way too interested in what she’s doing to take the two-minute break to do her business.  Unfortunately for me, she is also exploring whether she has the freedom to lie.  Unfortunately for all of us (some of her friends and some poor strangers), her fibbing to get out of taking a potty break resulted in the entire pool being evacuated.

She went to the bathroom before we got in the pool and she said she did not need to poop.  Once in the pool, I asked her a few times if she needed to go when she seemed to be doing her turtle head dance.  Fast forward and, well, you know what happened.  So instead of further embarrassing her and me, I will share what I have learned in the hopes I can save you from the same fate:

1.  I will no longer refer to pooping as “dropping the kids off at the pool.”  A college suite mate used to say this and it stuck.  I’m pretty sure I’ve used the expression in front of Eliza.  Never will I confuse her again about where poop is supposed to go.

2.  If I see anything remotely like her poopy dance while she’s doing something fun, I will get her and take her to the bathroom.  This is going to be a pain in the rear end for me, especially because her poopy dance resembles a lot of other things she does, like plain old dancing.  But I will not ask her if she needs to go anymore, as I already know she will tell me “no” regardless of her inclination.

3.  I will make a point to have her use the bathroom before fun things.  Yes, I did this and the incident happened anyway, but it has prevented accidents on other occasions.

As we are preparing to potty train Zach, I’m sure this is just the beginning of what will be many fond poop memories (no ifs, ands or butts about it).

Someday, the war will be over, and our everyday battles will be a distant memory

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Eating peas one at a time took too long. I preferred to get it over with, putting one on each spike of my fork per bite.

Some days my kids don’t eat.  What I mean is not a lot and not what I want them to eat.

I used to see parents out with their kids in restaurants, judging them for allowing them to eat bread, french fries and ice cream for dinner.  Now I’ve been there and done that to keep them quiet.  In my defense, we’ve taken the kids to some nice restaurants where I’ve weighed the unavoidable disapproving looks for malnourishing my children against those glares I would get if a tantrum about anything ensued (like someone using someone else’s crayon, or one or both not wanting to sit in a seat).  Malnourishment wins a lot of the time.  It’s called picking your battles.  Even at home, mealtime can be a mine field.

Me: “You can eat your dinner, or you can not eat your dinner, and then go straight up for a bath, without building a fort and without a popsicle.  It’s your choice.”

Eliza: “Mommy, I don’t want to build a fort.  I don’t want a popsicle.”

Seriously?  I know she’s lying.  But right now, I’m trying to deal with the not eating, so I can’t get into a discussion about whether she’s telling the truth because I have to deal with the consequences of her answer.  I cannot get sidetracked by her efforts to derail me.  So, we take her up for bed and that’s that.  She doesn’t eat.  My 41-inch tall, 31-pound daughter chooses to go without food.  (She might get to move out of her car seat and into a booster by her sixth birthday.)  Zach refuses to eat any part of his dinner about half of the time.  The pediatrician assures me that he must be getting enough in the earlier parts of the day.  But how infuriating it is that he won’t even taste what I’ve cooked!

I remember my childhood.  I remember secretly feeding my veggies to the dogs.  I remember refusing to eat.  I also remember my parents threatening to reheat the food for breakfast if I didn’t eat it right then (and they did).  When I realized they were serious, I started negotiating.  “I’ll eat 3 peas.”  “No, Christine, eat 20 peas.”  “Four.”  “Ten, and that’s final.”  And then I would hold my nose and gag and make all sorts of crazy torture-enduring faces at them while I drank the peas down with milk.  And now?  I actually like peas.  And I enjoy most of the vegetables I didn’t like as a child.  I grew up and had to make a decision about whether I wanted to live a healthy lifestyle or not.

Someday I’m going to look back and see that the truth is, my kids get food.  They get nourishment.  The probably get more calories each day than 80% of the people in this world.  Could they do better?  Sure.  Everyone probably could.  But there are actually kids who don’t have enough food.  And there are actually kids who don’t eat, like they must be intubated to get the nutrition they need.  I saw a news story on it once.  Those are real problems.  What I face is … annoyance and a lack of control.  (Welcome to parenting 101.)

Thus, I’m hopeful that if my kids see Greg and me eat well, they will grow up to eat well.  I hope they one day make good food choices on their own, because at ages 2 and 3, they aren’t capable of it.  And that’s okay.  I have to stop looking at all these obstacles (they don’t eat, they don’t sleep, they fight, they’re defiant) as battles.

Instead, they are opportunities for growth.  I’m here to teach them to make good food choices, and teach them how to behave and have self-control even when they’re tired (hmm, am I capable of that?), and teach them how to value putting others first, and teach them to be agreeable or others won’t want to be their friends.  (And okay, that sometimes, a person is just asking for it and that’s when you slug ’em.)

Someday they will not be children any more.  They will still be mine, but my prime time for parenting will be over.  So I want to get over the random days they don’t eat and realize that this, too, shall pass.  It’s not letting them win the battle, it’s giving up fighting at all.

When our kids are being bad, we must not miss the good

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Mute, pause, stop, power off ... these would all be useful buttons for our children.

It would be so nice if we could have remote controls for our kids.  I think I would use “MUTE” quite a bit.  It would be awesome if you could custom-tailor them to your needs.  Mine would have a button that makes them enjoy vegetables.  And one that keeps them from picking their noses and eating their boogers.  And there would be a button I could hit to make them do exactly as they’re told.

This morning I had my mom’s group, and we currently do not have a babysitter to help out.  Thus, there are five 2- to 4-year-olds who we basically ask to go down to my basement and play together for two hours.  I’m actually amazed we get to have any time to talk when I think about how ridiculous a request this is of children that age.  Thus the kids come up several times and we take turns directing them back to the basement and taking care of the “he hit me” and “she didn’t share” issues.

Today, while one of the mom’s two boys were up with us and eating our food, I confess I was a bit annoyed they were upstairs and wanted them to go back down and eat their snacks, not ours.  And then the older brother said to his little brother, “Hey Timothy, would you like some cheese?”  And he proceeded to cut a large slice of the little bit of brie that remained, and then he handed it to Timothy.  And of course that was when their mom (like I would have done) took the piece of cheese away and directed them back down to the basement.

Now that it’s nap time, I have had a few moments to think back on that moment and realize how beautiful it was.  Yes, the boys had come upstairs to be with their mom, even though we had asked them to stay in the basement.  But the older brother was taking care of his younger brother; he was putting him before himself.  He was clearly enjoying the brie, and even though there was very little of it left, he offered it to someone else.

And I sit here wondering how often I miss the good in the middle of the bad.  And bad here isn’t necessarily bad.  In the moments when I’m not able to control them (because they do have minds of their own) and not getting what I want, am I seeing the growth?  Do I praise and reward them when I see their hearts reflecting goodness, kindness, or gentleness, in the middle of disobedience?

I am not even sure that I would call the children’s visits upstairs disobedience because they are too young to be left alone and they need a lot of guidance.  Our children needing us shouldn’t be annoying (though I sometimes allow it to be).

I think, in retrospect, I’m the one who needs the remote control: one that turns off my selfishness.  And one that enables me to step beyond how I feel in the moment – a pause button – and opens my eyes to all the good my kids show me, each and every day.

Parenting lesson #15: You and your kids will get sick. A lot.

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One of two pics we took – our makeshift luggage stroller at the airport

It’s not a matter of if your kids will get sick, but when.  They are germ magnets and must develop their immune systems.  For us, our first winter colds happened while traveling to Utah this past week.

The trip was supposed to include 3 ski days, family photos in the snow, and happy vacation moments.  Instead, I was attached to the toilet with an invisible 10-foot rope the whole time, and Zach’s cold developed into bronchitis and an ear infection.  Both kids now have the stomach virus as well.  We took two pictures.

It can be disappointing when things don’t work out how you’d like, especially when you’ve paid to take a vacation.  But I’ve had to learn to roll with the punches (okay, I’m still learning this).  Once you have kids, you learn to be more flexible and improvise better.  The kids spent a day at the ski mountain day care center while Greg skied with a friend and I got a sick day (Score!  I know I’ve complained about not getting these anymore as a full-time mom).  Eliza spent her first couple of hours in ski school, and she loved it.  We stayed with an old friend, spent time with three college friends, and had an amazing meal out (that later came out a way I didn’t want it to – but that’s not the point).

As I sit here with both kids napping, nearly fully recovered, I’m thankful I can finally drink coffee again and remember the fun we made.  I want to vow to stop worriedly anticipating getting sick, as I so often do.  It’s going to happen.  I just hope I’ve put in my stomach virus time for at least a year.  And I hope when it strikes again, it won’t be on our next ski trip.