Tee Time…it’s not what you think.

If you’ve ever had a toddler, you know what an adventure potty training can be. And by adventure I mean pain in the arse activity that makes you want to pull your hair out beyond reason.

In today’s parenting world, it’s one of the bajillion things you can do wrongly and forever screw up your kid.

As a mom, you’re warned against starting potty training too early because you could cause your child to have toilet anxiety (a very real dilemma, by the way). There are lists of questions to ask yourself so you’ll “know if your child is ready to pottytrain.”

So when you’ve aptly answered Parenting Magazine’s survey and scored in the correct point bracket, it’s bye-bye diaper time!! Right?

Um, yeah. It’s sooo not that easy.

And just when you think your kid has mastered the ways of the porcelain throne…they decide they just don’t feel like it.

I wish I was kidding.
But I’m not.

After months of being potty trained with not many accidents, AH decided she would really just rather sit in her own urine while she puts puzzles together than interrupt fun time to go sit for a spell in the bathroom.

Thank the Lord she doesn’t fancy sitting in her own poop.

Not to say she didn’t try it. Once.

After I realized she was simply deciding not to get up and go to the bathroom or was deciding to go too late, I tried to remind her but, frankly, I would forget sometimes, too. When I did remember, she would whine about not wanting to go or straight up say, “No. I don’t want to.”

So in an effort to remind myself to remind AH and make potty breaks more consistent and appealing, I bought timers.

Nothing awesome or fancy or even kitchen-cutesy like some of the ones you can find at Bed Bath & Beyond.
Just a plain ole kitchen timer I got for $1.97. Actually, I bought a pair of timers; one for Ms. A’s and one for our house.

Thankfully, I have a child care provider who goes along with what my husband might call one of my “hippie parenting ideas.”

I started the timer at 30 minutes and we’ve now gone to 45 minute increments.

When the buzzer sounds, I make a big deal about it and say, “Woohoo!! The timer buzzed! It’s Potty time!”

AH then says, “Yea!! The timer! Time to go tee-tee!”

So far, problem seems to be solved. We are on day 5 of no accidents.

Who says hippie parenting ideas don’t work?

If you’re having a similar problem with your tot and the toilet, maybe try setting a timer. It’s the best $1.97 I’ve spent in a long time.

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Happy blogging,

Adrian

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Backseat driver

This evening, after I picked AH up from Ms. A’s, we were chatting about all sorts of things on the ride home.

She told me about her day and how much she loved squash.

She said she wanted to go to the donut store and get donuts to share with her friends.

She told me she wanted to play schoolwork and teacher when we got home.

She asked me who have her the Dora backpack she carries and when I tell her daddy did, she says, “My daddy is so nice. I tell him thank you for my Dora backpack.”

Then, she’s quiet for a second.

Her next words were, and I’m not kidding…

“Mama, you don’t drive very well.”

*speechless*

Because, not to sound like Rainman, I am an excellent driver.

The writer in me is giddy inside that she is using proper grammar.

The mother in me thinks she’s adorable, even when insulting my driving.

And the wife in me wants to know how long The Husband has been working on getting her to say that.

So I dig for more info, naturally.

Me: What did you say, baby?
AH: I said you don’t drive very well.
Me: Oh, okay. Why don’t I drive very well?
AH: Only daddies and brudders.
Me: Only daddies and brothers drive very well?
AH: Daddies and brudders and stisters.
Me: Daddy, brother and sister. Not Mommy?
AH: Driving is really, reeaally hard mama.

Oh. That must be it, then.
Glad we cleared that up.

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Happy blogging,
Adrian

Smiles, waves & inappropriate greetings

AH was being a complete angel in the grocery store this evening. No fits. No whining. No asking for something I would surely say “no” to.

And when I told her she didn’t need five packs of Jello she simply said, “Okay, mama” and we moved on.

We were enjoying ourselves as we rounded aisle 5 when AH began to wave and smile. I asked her, “Who are you waving at?”

She said, “Mama, I’m waving to that lady.”

I turned around and there was an elderly lady pushing her cart and smiling back at AH.

She was turning onto the same aisle we were and as she neared our cart, AH began waving again.

I was beaming because my little girl was being so sweet and well behaved.

Then, in true AH fashion, she smiled, continued waving and said loudly,
“Hi, old lady!”

Either the lady was hard of hearing, or so nice that she pretended not to hear what AH said. I played it off as I smiled and continued to the next aisle.

Once we got all the things we needed and got in the checkout line, the same lady got in line behind us.

Naturally.

Kids say the darnedest things. What has your kid said that made you want to hide under a rock?

Driving Miss Crazy

This evening, I picked up the girls after I got off work and we went for a joy ride.

This is what it looked like…

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For those of you looking at this thinking, “Gasp! She’s 13! You let her drive?!”
Relax. We were in the middle of nowhere on back roads in the country and we went slow.

But AH was totally freaked out. Can’t you tell?

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She didn’t seem to care that we switched places and now her sister was driving. She just wanted to wear my shades because she said, “Mommy,the sun is looking at my eyes. I need you sunglasses.”

It lasted all of 10 minutes but we had a blast. It didn’t cost a lot of money. We weren’t driving anywhere exotic. It was just a mom and her daughters simply enjoying the ride.

Happy Blogging,
Adrian

Snot and smeared mascara

There are nights when you have the perfect harmonious evening with your child in which dinner, bath time and bedtime are a breeze. Your little one laughs, plays and responds eager to please when you tell them it’s time to wash up or get in bed for a story. You then nuzzle up and enjoy each other’s company before sending them off to Sleepytown. Thankfully, this is how most nights go.

But then there are nights that make you question your abilities as a mother.

The nights when your sweet little gift from God does the complete opposite of what you ask them to do. Nights that you have to hold them hostage in the bathroom while they scream bloody murder because you won’t let them out until all the bath toys are put up. Nights when your precious angel is throwing a fit in your arms, smacks you in the face and you have to put her down, leave the room, and pray to resist every natural urge to smack her back.

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And then come the waterworks.

I’m crying because I only get a couple hours with her in the evenings after work and I don’t want to spend it like this. Because I’ve tried different approaches and none give me a different result. Because if this is what she dishes out at almost three years old, I’m in deep crap when it comes to the teen years. And because, regardless of this “terrible twos” phase, I still feel like its somehow my fault and I’m failing her.

And she’s crying. Crying because she doesn’t want to take a bath, read a book, brush her teeth or go to bed. Crying because she knows I’m angry with her. Crying because she’s exhausted and because she wants more of my attention in the evenings than time will allow.

This, of course, is where the working mom guilt hits me where it hurts.

Which means more tears.

And snot.

And smeared mascara.

Because I haven’t had a chance to wash my face yet, what with the Battle of Wills and all.

It’s so hard to stand your ground when it would be easier to give in and make her happy. I mean, after all, it’s not like I couldn’t pick up her toys for her or let her read 15 books before bed.

But she’d never learn that I mean what I say. And she’d never learn that blatant defiance or throwing a hissy fit to get what you want isn’t going to work.

So, in the words of my mother,
“I love you enough not to let you act like that. And I love you enough to let you hate me for it.”

(I was really hoping she’d be 12 before having to use this particular mom-ism)

Sigh.

Tomorrow’s a new day. Hopefully without the Kleenex.

Happy blogging,

Adrian

Bookworm Baby

A Month of Thanksgivings: Day 15

Every workday has its morning and evening routine. And part of AH’s routine in the evenings is to come home, shed everything but the diaper and head straight to her books to “read.”

Of course she’s not actually reading, but she knows many of the stories by heart so it seems like she is, even though she’s only reciting what’s been read to her.

She’s loved being read to since she was a baby and naturally, as she gets older and wants to be more independent, likes to be the one to read.

I’m amazed at her ability to memorize story after story. By two years old she could recite The Little Red Hen, Daddy Loves Me & On The Night You Were Born, to name a few.

I am thankful for my daughter’s love of books and I hope her love of reading is something that stays with her into adulthood.

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Happy blogging,
Adrian