The Fountain of Youth

As I mentioned before, at my house, we're obsessed with the urination habits of our 3-year-old son.

By weekday, he's a well-trained, cotton-undies wearin' kind of guy. I picture him at pre-school, standing next to the other boys at a row of pint-sized urinals, giving and getting high fives for solid bulls eyes.

But at home, he becomes like a spoiled cat. Urine is weapon used to show displeasure, and he's not afraid to use it.

This morning, I told him that he needed to get dressed before he came downstairs. He stripped off his jammies and pull-up happily as I went downstairs to answer the phone.

Over the next several minutes, I frequently called up the stairs, "Are you getting dressed?"

Answers varied from "not yet," to "in just a second." (Hmm, wonder where he learned that one?)

Eventually, I went to check on him, and found him happily playing with a toy shark and one of his favorite CDs submerged in a sink full of water. Still nothing on down below.

I took him to his room and saw the puddle on the floor.

"Is that water?" I asked.

"Nooo."

"Did you pee on your floor?"

A sly grin.

"Why did you DO that?" (loudly)

"Well...I didn't want to get dressed."

Guess he showed me.

I shared this story with friends this evening, and one jokingly suggested a clothespin to stem the tide. Can't say I didn't think about it. But instead I admitted defeat for the moment and wrote a haiku in honor of my worthy opponent:

Water on the floor
A boy's discovered power
The fountain of youth.

Want more haiku? Check out  Haiku and Food to Suit Your Mood. It's simple recipes for the body and witty haiku for the soul. 

A new take on potty training

Amid the chaos of work and family life lately, I've noticed a little sub-theme emerging. And sadly, it's all about pee. Not mine, but my three-year-old son's. He's so close to being potty trained that my husband and I each have one thumb on the champagne cork, so to speak.

It's amazing what becomes cause for celebration once you have kids. It's also amazing how pervasive bodily functions become in everyday conversation. This was reinforced earlier this week when I called a friend - a mother of three - and overheard her saying in exasperation "there's no pee in the bathtub!" to her daughter before she could get the receiver to her mouth to say "hello" to me.

Potty training is the Holy Grail of early parenthood. But perhaps my husband and I have pushed the whole "potty training" obsession too far. We must have discussed the phrase one time too many within earshot of the boy. Here's why I say that:

The other evening, as we're wrapping up a family dinner with Grandma ("Ganna") at our house, I notice the tell-tale sign of something amiss — the boy is quiet. I spy him around the corner, leaning a little to the left and shuffling a foot.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Don't look at me," he says.

I know what that means. He's peed in his pants...again.

Daddy cleans him up and the evening continues, until I happen to notice Thomas the Train playing cards on the living room floor. In a puddle. Soaked. And it ain't water.

I grab the rag and cleaner and re-soak everything. My mother looks on in amusement.

Only later does it occur to me: He needed to go to the potty. He saw trains.
Maybe he was "potty training!"

Pop the cork, honey! That's good enough for me!

Why NOT to yell at your kids

My husband sometimes says I shouldn't "scream" at our kids. Not that it's an everyday occurrence. I do raise my voice occasionally. Sometimes I may even yell. But as I once told my husband, "That isn't screaming. You've never heard me scream. You'd know it if you did."

Well, the young son heard it this morning. While daughter and Dad were away, in the midst of the get-ready-for-school rush, he pees in his pants not once, but twice. This from a kid who's pretty much potty trained, and who had told me only minutes before the second incident, "I won't do it again."

The first time just got one brief, exasperated outburst. But the second? Boy howdy. I let loose with a tantrum like the 13-year-old girl next door.

I let him know, loudly, that I was disappointed in his behavior. (Not him, but his behavior. See, I'm up on some of the modern parenting psycho-tactics.) I let him know that pee on the floor was gross. I plopped him into the bathtub to remove his second set of soiled clothes by himself. I stomped back and forth cleaning up the puddle.

And you know what that little booger did next? He giggled. Giggled! Apparently Mommy acting like a pre-teen is FUNNY!

I'd like to say that in that moment, I suddenly realized the humor in the situation, too. That we both collapsed on the floor in laughter, had a big TV-moment hug and went on with our morning.

Sadly, that wasn't the case. I continued my rant for a little while longer and we eventually got out the door and off to school. (But we did have a hug - always.)

Did I make my point and convince him never to pee in his pants again? Of course not. Did I feel better after losing my cool? Nope. Can I now see the humor in the situation?  Begrudgingly, yes.

Do I feel better sharing this with my fellow SLUTS? Damn straight.

Look for me in the kindergarten carpool line in a couple of years, ladies. I'll be the one laughing while I send my son into class with a bag of pull-ups.

- Betsey