Potty Training 3.0

This is it folks!  Potty Training 3.0.  The last and final version, hopefully it's the best version out too.  I've always waited until my boys were at least 3 before "lovingly forcing" potty training. It has always been a breeze.  3 days and done with very minimal accidents.  C3 starts pre-school the day after his 3rd birthday and they want them to be potty trained, so we're pushing it a little with him.  We're prepared, I think.  We've been down this road before.  We're ready for the bumps, twists and cars in front that slam on their brakes.

I just sent Brad to the store to get disinfecting wipes, disinfecting wipes and more disinfecting wipes.  Well, some easy groceries too because I'm not loading this circus up and heading to the store anytime in the next 4 days.

C3 has been waking at 5:45, or before, for going on 3 weeks now.  The summer sun really messes with his sleep cycles and we just aren't successful at getting him to go back to sleep in the mornings.  So, if we're not sleeping, we might as well be potty-ing! 

Say some prayers for us this week.  Pray for the child that he doesn't get frustrated and discouraged or constipated for that matter.  Pray for the big brothers that they don't feel neglected.  Pray for patience and kindness for the mother.  And pray for the daddy who happens to be traveling during 90% of this mess, but will certainly hear about it 100% over the phone!

A Hippo Named Boo Boo. Period. End of story.

We recently had a sitter come over to the house and while she was there she read the book, "The Book with No Pictures", to the boys.  We run a pretty tight ship around here regarding potty-talk and naughty language.  There are some words that we just don't use.  Such as "Shut-Up", "Pee", "Butt", "Bucket Head" and "Boop".  (The later two which will be stories of their own at some point.)  In my opinion, these words are gate-way cursing and I know that they will quickly get abused in this house of boys (which is exactly what happened to "Bucket Head" and "Boop").  Well... In this book it uses a potty word.  It's not a problem because I always just skip right over it.  However, on this day, the sitter didn't know better and it was read, aloud, to the younger 2.  (Well, C3 really didn't care, but C2 was on Cloud 9.)  You would have thought that he just discovered the 8th Wonder of the World.  I didn't realize this discovery until I sat down a couple of hours later to read to them before nap.  C2 got THE biggest grin on his face when he handed me his choice of books.  I did find it a little odd that his grin was so big, but I'm no dummy and started to put the pieces together rather quickly.  So... I started reading the book.  The suspense grew.  He was getting antsier and antsier for me to get to "the page".  I finally got there and read it as I always have, "My best friend in the whole wide world is a hippo named Boo Boo.".  He looked at me eagerly and said, "What else??" I couldn't help but chuckle.  I said, "Oh... do you think there is another word?"
C2 shouted excitedly, "Yes!!! A POTTY word." Giggling contagiously.
I quickly responded, "Well, we don't say potty words in this house, so I don't read that word."
Total disappointment fell across C2's face.
Later that day it was time for books before bed.  This time I had all 3 boys in the room with me.  The suspense was building for C2 again.  His grin was soooo wide!  C2 could not wait to show his older brother his discovery from earlier in the day.  I overheard them whispering and flipping through the pages.  C1 is not a huge book reader, especially when he is the one that has to do the reading.  That night he was so motivated to read through the entire book until he found the treasure.  The coveted potty word!!!

The Phone Conversation

Me: (Answering the phone) Hello!
Brad: Hey!  I'm on my way home. It'll be about 2 hours.  I'm getting hungry, what are y'all doing for lunch?
ME: (Singing in my head) "It's hotter than a furnace fan out in Arizona". (Because I triple dog dare you to try to not sing that song when it's playing on Pandora.)  :)
C3: (Barging in from another room, tearing into the pantry) Me need snack!  Spicy Chips!  SPICY CHIPSSSSS!
Me: NOT TO BRAD - No, you can't have spicy chips as a snack.
C1: (Also Barging in from a different room)  Mmmmm!  What are you cooking?
Me: ALSO NOT TO BRAD - I'm cooking a breakfast casserole for tomorrow.
Me: STILL NOT TO BRAD - C3, get your hands off of C1.

Brad:  (Sounding very deflated) I'll talk with you later.

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P.S. - We REALLY do love you, Brad.  As one of our favorite artists says, "Can't love nobody on the telephone."  We're glad that we have you in our home more frequently than not so that we can actually love you.

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P.S.S. - BOOM!  2 Robert Earl Keen quotes in one blog, that's how you do it.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8l4558pFQGY

Dammit

My recent post on "Oh Sheet!" reminded me that I did once have a parental issue with a child cussing.  When C2 was 2 years and 3 months we were preparing for a trip to Lake Michigan.  Nona had come to visit and we were headed to the Lake for a full week of fun.  On the night before we left, Nona and I both overheard C2 murmur a word that was eerily close to the word Dammit, and he was using it while he was angry.  I found that very interesting, as I know that IIIIIIIII didn't use this word in front of him.  And I know that Brad SHOULDN'T have either.  Is that the word he said??? Maybe he said something else?!?  I thought that I would monitor him and see if that is indeed what he was saying.  It took several days, but when we got back home from vacation he said it again.  This time it was at the dinner table and it was when he was angry because we didn't give him something that he wanted - he used it in the right context and EVEN pounded his fist!!!  However, I was STILL in shock that this was the word he was saying, so I waited one more time.  Just a couple of days later he was building with blocks and his tower fell over.  He pounded his fist on the floor and out of anger shouted, "Dammit!".  This INDEED was the word he was saying.  He WAS guilty of cursing, and at such a young age...  He was the child that had to be evaluated for speech therapy because of a delay in language development.  And of the 27 words that he knew, Dammit was one of them!

I confronted him by saying, "Now C2... that is not a very nice word and we can't use that word anymore.  If you use that word you will have to go to Time Out."

He responded by saying, "No, No, No, Moma!  I HAVE to say Dammit!"

This was C2 at Lake Michigan.  

And this was also C2 at Lake Michigan.  He was being pulled in the wagon back to the house from the beach.  And it dumped.  He didn't even take a break from his CapriSun and just kept right on sucking.  Do you think he was thinking "Dammit"???

OH SHEET!

At this current stage of my life, hearing the word "sheet" is just as bad of a curse word as "sh!t".  There are 2 reasons for this.

One, we have a man-baby weighing in at a whopping 42 pounds at the young age of 2.  He is off the charts for his weight and at 99% for his height.  He is a beast!  And, what do 2 year olds of that size wear???  Size 4T clothes of course.  Do you think any diaper company makes diapers big enough to hold all the urine that comes out of a 4 year old's bladder??? No!  No they don't!  Even with the recent introduction of Size 7 diapers to the market, these diapers are not made to fit the body of a 2.5 year old man-baby. Soooo.... we currently wake up to C3 having wet sheets.  Weekly.  Bi-weekly.  Probably Tri-weekly is more like it.
And here's the deal people, I don't have the time or energy to be cleaning the bedding 3 times a week.  There is a reason that my kids wear "nap clothes" when they lay back down in the afternoons and there is a reason that they get clean jammies every night.  It keeps their beds clean and reduces the amount of work that I have to do.  Well, that and it helps with my Type A - keep everything clean -minor case of germophobia- personality disorder.  We have tried a handful of fixes, and it all boils down to the fact that our man-baby has a bladder the size of a 4 year old and the only true fix is going to be potty training.  Wish. Me. Luck!

The second large reason that "sheet" is such a bad word has to do with C2.  One night I went to put him to bed and noticed that his bottom sheet was terribly gritty.  Like it had sand all in it.  Hmmm... that was interesting.  ESPECIALLY since my kids have "nap clothes" and all.  I know he LOVES to play in the sandbox at school, so, maybe, just maybe, he got sand in his socks and he laid down to bed for nap and that's how the sand got into his bed.  Well, that night it was already late, so I just pulled the top sheet over and had him sleep on it for the night.  The next day I changed the sheets.  That night I went to put him to bed and his sheets were sandy, AGAIN!  Now.... hmmm... he didn't have school that day. AND I had changed the sheets just earlier that afternoon so there wasn't a huge time period for contamination.  It sounds like we have a san-demic on our hands (see what I did there?).   A few nights passed.  I didn't notice the recurrence of sand.  I was putting him to bed one night and he didn't have his socks on yet.  I grabbed a pair of fresh socks out of his drawer, carried them over to his bad and unrolled them to stick them on his feet.  WHEN I UNROLLED THE SOCKS, SAND FLEW OUT!  EVERYWHERE!!!  Ah Ha!  I solved this mystery.  Although, it is troublesome to me that "clean" socks can still be filled with sand, I at least knew where all the sand was coming from.  We do have a new ritual when he comes home from school.  He dumps his shoes on the door mat, removes his socks there too, heads to the bathroom to wash his hands AND feet.  It's not perfect, but it's resolution and I am finding less sand in his bed!  Which means you won't be hearing me say, "Oh Sheet!" so often.

Women's Conference

We have quite a bit of time in the car as a family.  Driving from one practice to the other or dropping off at the various schools.  If we aren't jamming out to Kidz Bop then I usually keep the radio tuned to classic rock.  My Happy Place.  It was the week leading up to "National Woman's Day".  They were holding a conference in town and it was being heavily advertised on the radio.  On 2 separate occasions the two older boys brought to my attention how I really needed to attend the conference.  As chance has it, being a women is something that is quite an anomaly here in this household.  The conference day approached and C3 woke up with a fever which meant he probably had an ear infection and needed to go to the doctor.  In the car that morning C1 lovingly told me, "Mom, I'm sorry that you have to take the baby to the doctor today."  I thought that he was being so kind.  I thought, that for some reason, he understood how painful of an experience it was to take C3 to the doctor and have his ears looked at.  Amateur.  That's not where his mind was at all.  He followed up by saying, "I was really hoping that you'd be able to go to that conference.".

The Middle One

The Middle One usually has the colorful personality, they're lovingly known as the clowns.  Unfortunately a lot of times being the middle child can come off in a negative light.  They're the ones that are known for being failures to launch.  I know some middle kids who have turned out JUST GREAT, but I also have a hand full of others that fit the mold perfectly.  Now that we have 3 kids, Brad and I joke about the Middle One.  BUT, he gives us really good reasons to.  He's the kid that at 13 months, when all other are just tying to figure out how to walk, he would put a bucket on his head and walk around the house.  He's the kid that would put his underwear on outside of his clothes.  I will never forget, one time we had come back to the house after a long morning out and about.  we had run some errands, hit a park and played outside in the WARM sun.  After lunch I asked him to change into some napping clothes.  He pulled down his pants and we both realized that he'd been wearing his pajama pants underneath all day.  We would joke that he would be the one living in our basement, when we lived in the Midwest and had one.  But the minute we moved to Texas we changed that thought to him needing to get his act in gear because the pool shed isn't really a functional living space.

Just the other day, at a fresh 5 years of age, we were discussing what his life would be like when he was grown.  He informed me that even after college he would still be living with mommy and daddy.  With him only being 5 years old, that's not a REAL threat, so as a mother I truly appreciate his showing his love.  I asked him what he wanted to do when he was older.  I think I phrased it something like, "What do you want to do during the days when you get big?"  His reply was confident and simple, "Just Chill!".  I think that we have more to worry about than we really know.

Little Red Hen

You know the story of the Little Red Hen... where the hen tries to get others to help her, but everyone is always too "busy" to do so.  So she takes on the tasks all on her own.  When it finally comes time to reap the rewards of her labor, suddenly everyone's schedules have been freed up.  Well, back in 2015 sometime, my house was turning into that story book.  And C1, especially, was turning into the other farm animals.  Amazingly my mom always knows exactly what we need.  She promptly mailed us a copy of The Little Red Hen to read.  I was so excited to sit down and read it to C1.  I couldn't wait for him to have that light bulb moment and to start being more helpful around the house.  C1 and I sat down to read the book.  As we were getting to the very end of the story it read something like this...
                    {The Little Red Hen asked, "Who will help me eat the bread?".  And the                                                 Dog and the Pig and the Cow all excitedly shouted that they would.                                                       "No you won't said the Little Red Hen!" shaking her head."}

And to my surprise C1 responded, "How Rude! She should share her bread with others!"  Remember, beauty isn't the only thing that is in the eye of the beholder, so are life lessons.

Boys and Baseball

Boys and Baseball go together like Peanut Butter and Jelly. I  LOVE having boys!  Especially if that means that I will spend my Spring evenings enjoying the fresh air of the ball park.  Our first born is playing in his second season of this organized sport.  I find that baseball is a difficult sport to explain to a young one.  And we don't sit around as a family watching baseball on TV, so my boys don't really have a lot to work off of.  The rules of this "machine pitch" league aren't as generous as tee ball.  They actually allow for outs and strike outs.  His first up to bat he had a few swings and misses.  2 strikes down.  He swung and made contact.  It wasn't pretty, but it was contact and it was fair.  He ran to first and was safe!  Phew!  Success!  Again, not pretty, but hey, he was on base.  He then advanced to second.  While he was on second a teammate whopped the ball into the outfield.  The 3rd base coach was waving C1 on encouraging him to keep running.  And he did.  He ran halfway down the 3rd base line and right into the dugout without ever going to home plate.  The field coaches were full of confusion and the stands were filled with laughter.  As I was reminiscing that evening a memory pleasantly surprised me.  I hadn't forgotten it all together, but it had been tucked away for a while.

During his first season of tee ball, in Indiana in 2017, we had a similar experience.  The kind where your child is the one that makes the spectators roar with laughter.  I remember it vividly.  He was so small, competing in a sport that is so confusing.  There he was at his first up to bat off the tee.  He had a good, solid swing.  He made contact.  Yes! And he ran... DOWN THE CORRECT BASE LINE!  Yessss!!!!  Parental Victory!  Until... he ran right past his own hit that was taking a stroll down the first base line.  Mid jog, he picked up the ball and threw it to the pitcher.  Then jovially continued on his journey to 1st base.

Laugh Loudly!  Laugh Often! And most importantly, Laugh At Yourself - and your children.

Drawing for Mom

You know you live in a House of Boys when the drawing your son made for you at school looks a little something like this....

Toilet. Obsessed.