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    “Diaper Man, Diaper Man. Does everything a Diaper can”

    May 9, 2007

    Everyone knows how I feel about potty training.  It’s not like I’m against it.  It’s just that  I don’t like to be told that NOW IS THE TIME and WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU and IF YOU DON’T DO IT NOW HE’LL BE CRAPPING HIS PANTS IN HIGH SCHOOL.  He is 27 months, for heaven’s sake.  The problem is, he is well on his way to potty training himself.  I say, “Hey, have at it.” 

    Pampers decided that it would assist in the potty training process by coming up with this little gem.  And I use the world “gem” in loose terms. His father decided to be helpful and pick a box of these up on a trip to BJ’s.  Call it his contribution to the torture that is his mother’s obsession with The Boy’s lifetime pursuit of his personal control of his bodily functions. 

    Feel and Learn.  “Feel” the raging diaper rash and “Learn” not to tell mom when you need to be changed because as bad as that diaper rash feels, those damn wipes she uses to scrape the poop of your backside are even worse. 

    Spiderman is supposedly the hook.  “Even Spiderman puts his poops in the potty.  Don’t you want to be a big boy like Spiderman?”

    Unless you are 2 1/4 years old and you don’t have any clue about Spiderman.  And to add insult to the injury to all that is Marvel Comics, your son has missed the boat and is for some reason calling him “Diaperman.” 

    E:  Mama, I wear Diaperman.
    K:  Ethan, don’t you mean Spiderman?  Either way, you still have an open sore on your bottom from your last run-in with Diaperman last week.  I would rather you wear Elmo on your ass.
    K:  Fine, whatever.  Just put them on yourself.

    And now Diaperman is on his ass.  For clarification purposes, Diaperman is supposed to be up front, able to see the world.  But he put it on himself and doesn’t seem to mind that his ass is hanging out the back of his diaper. 

    Sorry Toby.  Although after last weekend’s ticket sales, you probably don’t even care if my kid is wearing Spiderman pull-ups on his head.

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    A SAHM’s spin on the UN’s old “Food for Oil” program: the “Poop for Candy” initiative

    March 21, 2007

    I don’t even like to use the phrase “potty training” as its mere mention causes certain people to then ask incessantly about the progress of any form of potty training.  In fact, it will be the only phone conversation for at least 4 weeks and it may be implied repeatedly that the only reason The Boy is not, in fact, potty trained already is because his mother is lazy.  It may even be implied that The Boy’s Mother is “holding him back” from his true desire of being potty trained.

    Whatever.  When I caught him climbing onto the toilet a few months ago, I went with it.  Then when I suggested it, he flipped out and didn’t want any part of the potty.  I tried to buy his performance with candy.  This was a problem because the kid can pee on command.  100 times a day if candy is involved.  The candy was out.  I gave up and told him to tell me when he wanted to go on the potty.  It’s been hit or miss ever since but I’m not getting him all worked up at the tender age of just-turned-two.

    But even though he is pretty young, I can’t take the smell anymore.  I mean, I signed on “for better or worse” when it comes to his father’s smell, but I shouldn’t have to take the dead-animal-smell eminating from my son’s backside.  Especially when we both know it’s coming and yet one of us choses to just lift a leg while sitting on the couch so it can all come out a little easier. 

    Sitting on the couch beside me.  I have suggested he go into a corner to do his business but he insists on sitting RIGHT BESIDE ME when he fills the diaper.  It appears calculated.  Call me crazy with my conspiracy theories, but it ain’t a conspiracy theory if it is actually happening.  So today I trotted off to the bathroom and for some reason he followed me.

    K:  If you put your poops in the potty, you can have candy.
    E:  Can-key, Mommy.
    K:  Gotta put the poops in the potty.

    And then I did the unthinkable.  I went over to the cabinet and pulled the candy down.  I sat down on the stool in front of him and began to eat the candy.  He panicked and was up on that toilet as fast as could be.

    He miscalculated and then he was standing in the toilet.  He pulled his foot out and swung it over the side. 

    Then he lowered his entire body into the toilet until he was resting in the bowl.  Bidet style.  Five minutes later and there was still nothing.

    One leg and one ass in the toilet bowl water and still no poop.  And now he is sitting beside me on the couch.  Doing you know what.  Guess I can finish off that candy myself.

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    We’re calling it “The New-Fangled Potty Training Method”

    February 9, 2007

    Yesterday we were sitting in Barnes and Noble drinking our Starbucks when The Boy decided that he was going to revisit his aversion to coffee.  Or would that be attempt to overcome his aversion to coffee?  College freshman buy into the mantra that beer is an acquired taste and The Boy will lick the top of a beer bottle until all hints of hops are a faint memory.  What’s a little coffee?  He refuses to be thwarted.  I handed him my cup.

    E:  EWWWW.
    K:  Give it back.

    His father wandered back from a trip to the lav.  It was only then that The Boy realized where his father had gone.

    E:  Daddy, Eat-ney pee too.

    His father looked at me expectantly.  I looked at him like he has 24 heads on his shoulders.  If I even mention the bathroom to my son, he throws himself on the ground violently and wails.  If his father makes a suggestion, it is as if Dora the Explorer herself has come out of the t.v. and made the suggestion.  Why would you NOT take a child to the bathroom if he asked? 

    K:  How did it go?
    D:  It was a little complicated, but it was fine.

    People, those words are what we in the business like to call “red flags.”  The words, when uttered, seem out of place.  What’s “complicated” about pulling the kid’s pants down, taking off his diaper and plopping his ass down on the American Standard? 

    Did I heed these red flags?  Did I even acknowledge these red flags?  Oh, no.  I had a caramel macchiato in my hand and I had just had 3 minutes to myself.  I thought, “complicated?  Whatever.”

    Until hours later when the following occurred as I was making a cheesecake.  I heard The Boy follow his father into the lav down the hall.

    E:  Pee too, Daddy.
    D:  OK, Ethan.

    And I looked.  I still don’t know why I looked, but I did.

    There was my husband holding his son in a fireman’s carry across his chest with pants pulled down and my husband attempting to aim his pee into the bowl.

    K:  WHAT IN GOD’S NAME are you doing?
    D:  He wanted to pee like Dad?
    K:  All over the floor, all over the toilet bowl and occasionally in the toilet?
    D:  Bitch.
    K:  Oh, prove me wrong.  Prove me wrong, I say. 
    D:  It’s difficult to help him pee without his getting it on his clothes.

    I have never once had this problem with my son.

    K:  So you decided to turn him upside and let his pee just fall into the bowl.
    D:  It worked.
    K:  Oh, he’s gonna be potty trained in no time.  Good job, Dad.

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    When the lines become fuzzy

    October 10, 2006

    If you have ever had a dog, you know that obedience training is an ongoing endeavor.  You can teach your dog to sit, lay down and stay but if you aren’t consistent, it all goes out the window.  The only problem with the ongoing training is that dogs are prone to take shortcuts.  If they think you are going to say “down” right after you say “sit,” they tend to slide through “sit” and go “down” instead.  Of course I think it is intentional but Derek swears that Zinni is just confused when he does that. 

    This is not uncommon in parenting as well.  We are working on cleanliness routine here at Chateau Cookie and we have hit a couple of rough spots. The Boy knows that he has to have his face and hands washed after he eats.  He does a good job of wiping his hands but his facial cleaning is hit or miss. Apparently his father also cleans his feet after meals because lately I have been getting a foot in the face if I offer help.  We have also have been working on our bathroom issues as well.  Since we have started potty training, we have an elaborate routine that The Boy seems to remember.  Going the potty, wiping, washing the hands, drying them off and then a Skittle for celebration. 

    There’s humor here.  I promise. 

    This morning The Boy told me that he wanted to go to the bathroom so off we ran.  When he was done, he grabbed a square of toilet paper and wiped himself nicely.  And then, before I could react, he wiped his mouth.

    He wiped his mouth with his used toilet paper.  Just writing it makes me a little ill.  What are you supposed to do?  I told him you don’t wash your face in the bathroom.  I know, I know.  Misinformation is never good but if we have to wash his face OUTSIDE the bathroom for the next 6 months until there is some understanding, I think it’s a small price to pay.

    If it makes you feel any better, there wasn’t really anything on the toilet paper.  Really.  That’s what I am telling myself. 

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    “May the Lord bless you and keep you…”

    August 23, 2006

    I shouldn’t complain really.  I mean, The Boy decided a few days ago that if his mother won’t get on the bandwagon, then he’ll just potty train his own bad ass self.  So for 2 days, approximately every 4 minutes, he is peeing in his little potty in front of the fireplace.  As it is summer, it is a less desirable location than it sounds but at least I can see him from my permanent position on the couch. 

    I shouldn’t complain really.  This morning he took off his diaper, went over and sat down, grunted twice and managed to fill his little potty right up.  I can see that all that fiber in the pounds of fruit he is eating is really helping out.  Between that and his ability to pee which rivals the dog’s ability to mark EVERY TREE on a three mile hike (just when you think there is absolutely no possible way that he can do it just one more time, he shocks then hell out of you and does it again), we could be banging out this whole potty training thing.

    I shouldn’t complain really.  I mean, if your mother is too lazy to clean out the potty after every teaspoon is deposited every 4 minutes, what’s wrong with taking the dust brush, running it through approximately 7 “sittings” and then shaking it around like a priest with holy water?   All over the living room.  All OVER the living room.  ALL over the living room.  That will teach mom to lie down on the job. 

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