 Image: Lisa Poole, AP |
In family-related news now:
> The person I want to bring into this world (NPR)
> High blood sugar in pregnancy increases child's risk of obesity (AP/MSNBC)
> Parents begin potty training at birth (AP/ABC)
> Starting a new school year: a photo slideshow (Washington Post)
> D.C. kids fattest in U.S. (Washington Post)
> 'Junk sleep' damaging teenagers' health (Reuters/MSNBC)
By Anjali
About two months ago, Leela, my nearly 3-year old daughter known for her fearlessness and risk-taking, started becoming afraid of nearly everything.
Fire trucks. Tall weeds. Bees. Lawnmowers. The vacuum cleaner. Things that are too hot. Things that are too cold. Things that suddenly ring or beep. Birds. Squirrels. Wind, even. But her worst fear, the one that has been quite difficult for me in particular, is her fear of automatically flushing toilets.
Recently, we met a friend and her children at a local restaurant for dinner. Halfway through the meal, Leela said she needed to use the potty. I walked her into the bathroom, and before I got her pants down, the toilet flushed. She jumped into my arms and screamed so loudly I'm sure the entire restaurant could hear it, "No, mommy, I don't want to go on the mean potty! That's a MEAN potty!"
I tried to calm her down. I explained that it was actually a nice potty because it flushed by itself so we didn't have to. I then demonstrated by using the potty myself. And when I got up, the toilet flushed.
Leela's eyes widened like a deer's in headlights. She scurried to the bathroom door and began banging on it to get out.
We headed back out to our booth. Leela again declared that she needed to use the potty (though this time more urgently). I asked my friend to watch Mira, picked Leela up, and headed out into the mall in search of a self-flushing toilet.
While perched my hip, Leela yelled loudly enough for the entire mall to hear, "Mommy! The pee's gonna come out! Find a nice potty NOW!"
I speed-walked all the way to Macy's, skillfully avoiding the free perfume samples on my way to the escalator. Suddenly, Leela dug her heals into my back. "No Mommy! Not the 'skater! I don't want to go up the 'skater! It's too scary!"
"What? Since when are you afraid of escalators?" I asked, panting and out of breath.
Leela buried her face into my neck and began sobbing. So I picked up the pace, weaving in and out of the clothes racks to the back of the store. When we reached the elevator, I pushed the "up" button and leaned over to put her down.
"No-no-no-Mommy! I don't want to touch the floor of the el-vator!"
Oh, my. This was a new fear, too.
Leela tightened her kung fu grip on me, and when the elevator doors opened, we ran inside. At the third floor, we stepped out and headed to the bathrooms.
Please don't let there be automatic flushers, I implored.
I pushed open a stall door. Sure enough, the toilet was equipped with a sensor. This time, though, I had a plan. I had Leela's back to the potty, and quickly removed her clothing so we could get her on and going before the flush. Just as I was about to sit her down, Leela turned her head and noticed the sensor.
"NONONONONONONONONO! This is a mean potty, too! No, Mommy!"
And she threw her body against the stall door and propelled herself out of the bathroom.
Eventually, we made it back to the restaurant and our table, where my friend gave me a "did-she-go?" look. I shook my head. Leela ate her dessert with her legs tightly crossed. I was just thankful that I had extra pairs of underwear and shorts in my bag.
Miraculously, Leela made it home dry. When we entered the house, she took off her shoes and marched to the bathroom. As I set down my keys, I could hear her move the stool in front of the toilet, place her potty seat securely on top, and sit down.
"We have a much nicer potty at home," she called out to me. "This one doesn't talk back!"
Anjali lives in suburban Philadelphia with her husband and two girls. She fears spiders, dust bunnies, and bounced checks. But her greatest fear is being trapped in a building with Leela, with nothing but automatically flushing toilets.
 Photo: CBS |
In family-related news now:
> Test can tell baby's sex 6 weeks into pregnancy (AP/MSNBC)
> Diapers not required? (ABC)
> Doctors checking babies for mental disorders (AP/MSNBC)
> Students exposed to pesticides near schools (AP/CNN)
> Play it again: Advergaming (CBS)
Related: Marketers pitching harder to kids 7 and under
Previously: Marketing to kids, Marketing to "tweens" going too far?
> Rowling urges people not to ruin Potter's ending (Reuters)
> Study: College-Prep courses leave many high school students lagging (New York Times)
By AmberAfter a failed jump-start with potty training last fall, Hurricane Hadley has demonstrated she is perfectly content to sit in her polluted diaper for extended periods of time. While we've been careful not to pressure her, there are assuredly animals who are more interested in improving their bathroom habits. I know. I watch cartoons.
My husband Jamie decided we needed to up the motivation ante so he pulled in the big guns: a visit with Mr. Chuck E. Cheese himself if she went on the potty. Hadley looooooves Chuck E. more than a mere mortal, which is kind of funny because he isn't even human. Err... or is he? (See below.)
Out of the blue last Tuesday, Hadley decided she was going to use the potty three times in a row. To reward her, we took her to see The Big Mouse that very night. But imagine our disappointment when we arrived and he was hiding in his mouse hole (this is according to Hadley; a very big Chuck E.-sized mouse hole at that).
I queried a high-school-age employee. She confirmed that Chuck E. does not make regular mid-week appearances unless it's for a big bash.
"You don't understand. This is a party. A Potty Party. And Chuck E. is the only one in this world who can motivate my daughter to continue to potty train," I said.
"Maybe we can arrange something."
"Fantastic. Hey, can he talk?"
"No, he's a mouse."
"I know he's a mouse. But there's a real person inside those overstuffed ears. A real person who can comment on her bathroom habits, which would encourage her along the path."
After all, what is Chuck E., if not a master motivator?
"He doesn't talk."
"Fine. Just bring out your mute mouse, OK?"
I then pondered the possibility of slipping Chuck E. $10 but scrapped the idea. If he really is a mouse as she professed, what use would my money be to him? 
Eventually, Chuck E. did make his triumphal entry, which, according to Hadley, was no less thrilling than when Jesus arrived in Jerusalem on a donkey. She squealed, danced, hugged and reveled in her own rendition of Chuck E. Idol.
I was thrilled with the outcome of the evening until I tucked her into bed that night.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, Haddie?"
"I was so excited to see Chuck E. tonight that I peed my pants."
She hasn't touched the potty since.
Irony, anyone?
Amber is a former adventure-travel writer turned adventurous unraveling mother to two-year-old Hurricane Hadley and baby Bode.
By Karen
"We like for our students entering Exclusive - You're - Lucky - We - Even - Consider - You Preschool to be potty-trained prior to the first day of class."
These words filled me with an unreasonable amount of dread. The truth is, I've been very lackadaisical about the potty training of my 2-1/2 year old daughter, Alex. The truth is, I assumed that at some point she'd decide to wear panties on her own -- after all, how many healthy high schoolers do you know who wear PullUps?
The truth is, I was sort of hoping her preschool would handle it.
Realizing that the school had decided not to so accommodate, we've begun Potty Training Boot Camp at our house in earnest. Since returning from our summer holiday, we've eschewed PullUps for panties adorned with cute little images like stars! And bunny rabbits! And monkeys, for the love of Pete!
And because everything I've read has told me that I shouldn't scold her, and that my tone should be warm and supportive, I've been walking around sounding like one of those annoying New Age meditation audio tapes: "Alex, and noooow it's tiiiime to pee-pee in the potty. Thaaaat's it, sit comfortably on the potty. Now, relaaaaax. That's it, relaaaax."
Thankfully, after a couple of weeks, she seems to be getting the hang of it. I'm not saying she's accident-free -- there have been a few instances of her shrieking "I have to POO-POO!" while racing to the toilet like a cowgirl with saddle sores, and not quite making it. Still, it's clear she's trying, and in my book, it's the effort that counts.
What is starting to concern me, however, is that lately, my every thought and word seems to revolve around pee-pee and poo-poo. "Let's go pee-pee!" I call dozens of times a day. "Alex! You poo-poo'd!" I exclaim, usually immediately followed by the Potty Chair Cabbage Patch Celebration Dance. "Go tell [insert friend's name here] what you just did," I tell Alex excitedly, much the horror of many a recent dinner guest.
But the worst was a few days ago when I was busy pulling up Alex's panties, and she was equally busy looking into the toilet bowl, admiring her work.
"Look, Mummy!" she said, her eyes shining. "There's a Daddy poo-poo, and a Mummy poo-poo, and a Baby poo-poo!" She looked up at me, smiling widely. "And they're a FAM-ILL-LEE!"
"Yes, darling!" I beamed back, my eyes moist with pride. "A poo-poo family!"
Clearly the first day of preschool cannot come fast enough. It appears my very sanity depends on it.
Karen is a recovering attorney, now full-time writer and photographer, living in her native Trinidad & Tobago. She's currently working with specialists to ease the word "poo-poo" out of her lexicon.
By Erin
A wild pack of dogs could not have kept me from my three-year-old’s very first “poop” in the potty. I nearly body checked my husband out of the bathroom, baby on my hip, to make sure I had a front row seat to the blessed event.
Hello. My name is Erin. And I’m a Glory Parent.
After making a round of cross country phone calls to grandparents to announce Jackson’s first bowel movement that hit the toilet, I realized this wasn’t the first time I HAD to be in attendance for any and all major events in my children’s lives. In fact, it occurs to me that I even orchestrate events to be SURE I don’t miss them.
I watched my three-year-old all day for signs he needed to “go.” When he announced at the dinner table, “I have poops!,” I watched as his father shuttled him to the bathroom, knowing full well the actual elimination of said poops would take a few moments. And then knowing the time was near, I infiltrated the all-male scene. I offered to take over for my husband so he didn’t have the “chore” of sitting and waiting for a bowel movement that may, or may not, ever come.
Of course, it came. And I hogged all the glory.
Some may say it is my right as a stay-at-home mother to witness every little milestone. Some may say I’ve earned it. I deserve to be the one to see that first smile, step, or, as it were, poop.
Or, it just might be that I want to be the one to jump up and down and say “HOORAY! YOU DID IT! YOU POOPED IN THE POTTY!” and then reap the rewards of bearing witness and retelling, in an almost play-by-play manner, the actual pulling down of the Thomas the Tank Engine underwear, sitting on the musical potty, and, ahem, movement.
Hello. My name is Erin. And I’m a Glory Parent.
Erin Kotecki Vest lives in Southern California and is a writer and stay-at-home Mom of Jackson, 3, and Hala, 1. She spent nearly a decade as a news reporter and anchor in Orlando and Los Angeles.
By Amanda
A week ago my 2-and-a-half-year-old daughter woke up, took off her Pull-Up and announced she was ready for underwear, Care Bear underwear to be exact.
Admittedly I was skeptical. After all she's a second child. We've been lazy. Over the past few months we introduced the potty, but there was no real consistency. Frankly it's easier to put a child in a diaper or a Pull-Up than to deal with accidents and find every bathroom in every grocery store and Wal-Mart.
But she insisted, and who am I to hinder her developmental progress? At preschool, the teachers told me they didn’t mind changing her, "Just bring lots of extra pants and underwear," they said. So that's what I did. Most days she comes home in a striped shirt and flowered pants -- clearly not the outfit I sent her to school in. She proudly announces that she peed in her pants, something that she obviously thinks I am not yet aware of.
Then, one day last week, she stood in the middle of my mother's living room and peed on the floor. She looked at me with a shocked look on her face as if she had no idea where the pool forming at her feet was coming from. Yet somehow we persevere. Her teachers say she's getting it "most of the time." At home she's getting it some of the time. But I guess we have to start somewhere.
So each morning we have a new ritual. We pick from the exciting choices of underwear: Care Bear, Dora the Explorer, Hello Kitty, Winnie the Pooh. Each day I do this with a full understanding that she probably won't be wearing the same underwear at the end of the day. She looks at the pile and turns each pair over as if this is a monumental choice, and for her it is. When she finally chooses one she stands in front of the mirror and admires herself turning slowly to see her still pudgy physique donned in cartoon underwear. I hope for as long as I live I never forget the proud look on her sweet cherubic face.
How many of us smile when we see ourselves in underwear? Maybe they need to make Care Bear underwear for adults!
Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.
By Amy R.
Potty training is evil. I know that I should be reading tons of parenting books and researching online all the different tricks and tips to potty training, but I just haven't. Isabelle knows perfectly well when she is going number one or number two in her diaper. In fact, she tells me, usually during (but mostly after), when she has done the deed.
In fact, she demands to be changed immediately.
I've tried the whole, "Don't you want to wear big girl panties like mama?" I've tried, "Doesn't wearing a diaper make you feel yucky when you've pooped?" She looks at me and usually says yes, but doesn't really seem to feel the need to even LOOK at the potty I have for her.
When she has succeeded in "using the potty" she has gone number two. It's like she has no problem letting the missles drop but she will NOT let go of her own pee. How can you explain to a 2-year-old that peeing will feel a lot better on the potty than stuck next to her body in her diaper?
I KNOW that I'm supposed to be sitting her on the potty and encouraging her to go. I KNOW I'm supposed to focus on that. My problem is that I have this irking feeling that she will TELL me when she's ready. Is that too New Age? Is that bizarre? I honestly don't think she's quite READY to be completely trained.
She goes about once a week on the potty for me and a few times a week for our daycare provider. Shouldn't that be enough? What textbook says 2.3 is the time to do it? Should I be keeping up with the neighbors? Should I be worried that Little Suzy who is 2 months younger than Isabelle is completely trained?
I don't want to deal with plastic sheets. I don't want to worry about "accidents." I guess most parents don't. I just hate feeling like I'm inadequate as a mom.
I read on DotMoms a while back about a fantasy potty training Boot Camp. If that exists, sign me up. I can't be the only one that feels this way? Can I?
Amy R. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.
By Michelle
I confess: I thought that since I successfully potty-trained my son, my daughter would be a piece of cake. Girls are easier, isn't that right? I have been humbled.
I've been through the stage of "Oh-my-goodness-what-time is-it-gotta-find-the-nearest-toilet-NOW!"
I can successfully name every toilet within a five-mile radius of my home.
I've learned that elastic waistbands are the way to go, and overalls are banned from any child who has just learned how to drop his pants.
Most of all, I've learned that when my child says, "Mommy, I have to go!" it means I have approximately one minute and 37 seconds before an accident will happen.
I have been known to sling my son over my shoulder, hurtling past shoppers in Home Depot at warp speed. My eyes were glazed over while the toilet navigation radar beeped madly. The theme song to "Chariots of Fire" sounded as I raced, and the Hallelujah chorus resounded when we successfully made it to the potty on time.
And then there was Child Number Two. Unlike Child Number One whose only desire in life was to please his mommy, Child Number Two didn't care. Oh, she knows exactly what the toilet is for. She is quite good at pointing, inquiring, "Potty??" and then doing nothing while we read stories, sing, and say the A-B-C's for the next 10 minutes. Yes, you know what's coming. As soon as the training pants go back on, she promptly has an accident with a devilish gleam in her eye.
I truly don't think this is a matter of her not being ready. I think it's a matter of vengeance against Mommy. She has found the perfect way to punish me for not granting her every desire.
Was your second child (or beyond) easier or harder to train than your first?
Michelle lives with her husband and children in southeastern Virginia, where she teaches sixth-graders and also write historical romances.
By Leslie
Potty training. Those two seemingly innocuous words strike utter fear in my heart. I get cold and hot flashes just thinking about pint-sized potties, Pull-Ups and nighttime sheet changing. I walk quickly past the potty training books at the bookstore, fearful one might come to life and leap out at me screaming, "Don't you know it's time to potty train your child??!! You only have a small window of opportunity to get this right! Snap to it, Woman!"
Now that we've passed the first set of major milestones (crawling, walking, talking and tantrums) with our just-turned-two son, we are supposedly ready for the next one, potty training. The only problem is that I am not ready. I am not sure I'll ever be ready. See, diapers are fabulous to me. Sure, they are a little expensive, especially when your child's cute little Buddha belly is so large that only the most expensive premium brand fits him. And sure, it would be nice if James could just "take care of business" on his own. But I don't care. I'll forgo a latte at Starbucks every day for the convenience that diapers afford me, at least for now.
Right now, I slap a diaper on James each morning and off we go. We can go to the mall, the movies, the park, no hassles whatsoever. If he has to go, he goes. No frantically running around trying to find a restroom in time. If he does need a change, it's a quick trip to a bathroom or even to the back of our car for a new diaper. What's not to love about that? And with baby number two on the way, juggling both of them while trying to get to the restroom in time just ain't this mama's idea of fun!
I dread the whole process of potty training and the conflicting methods I've learned about –- taking him to the potty every 30 minutes, giving reward stickers, letting him walk around naked all day, aiming for Cheerios in the toilet. Ugh. You don't suppose they make diapers for 6th graders, do you? Hmmmm…
Besides, I've already got enough pee on my hands (and floor!) with an incontinent cat and a dog who doesn't always wake us when she needs to go out at night. How much more can a gal handle?
So does anyone know of a nice "potty training camp" where I can send my son for a few weeks?
Leslie lives in northern Virginia with her husband and 2-year-old son.
