Toddler Toilet Learning

This past week my son and I embarked on a new adventure together: toilet learning.  For me it was a real lesson in letting go, for I would have no control over the situation.  For him it was a lesson in paying attention to his body in a way he had NEVER taken the time to do before.  Needless to say, I had NO idea how things would unfold.

Now, I'll be honest.  This being my first time through a toilet learning experience, I really felt at a loss.  I had no idea how to embark.  I took a friend's advice and didn't leave the house for a few days (it was raining anyway).  Tuesday, day one, was an accelerated learning experience: my son peed through four pairs of underpants in less than 90 minutes...but he learned to hold it after THAT :) Thursday was our first venture out...to the playground around the corner.  He was doing great.  Suddenly, from across the playground, standing in a dirt patch in the corner of the gated space, my son calls out to me, "PEEPEE! Pee pee in the toilet!!", as he literally held himself, knees locked.  It was his first out-of-house bathroom moment.  I tossed my six month old to my friend (yes, thankfully I had company) and ran to him, yanking down his pants and training underpants and directing him to the nearest bush.  Nothing.  Not a drop.  False alarm, or so I thought.  Then I realized what was about to happen and it was NOT urination.  "The potty!!", I screamed to my friend, "the potty is under the stroller!"  She ran to help me, the baby flopping and spitting up everywhere because of course she was nursing when I tossed her into new hands in the first place: but it was too late.  My son had graced the little dirt patch with an offering to make proud any local pooch.  "I MAKE IT!", my son gushed, beaming from ear to ear.  "Wow", he sighed,  still gazing down at his achievement, "that was hard".  I almost cried from suppressed laughter (my friend had to walk away...her laughter was not suppressed).  "I am SO PROUD of you", I managed with a straight face, "so PROUD".  He puffed out his chest and went back to playing; I scooped the poop and found my mini hand sanitizer.

Since then we have had general success and I'm not sure who's enthusiasm is greater.  I know it's different for every child and every family, but so far things have been great and I say just take the plunge and go for it.  What's the worst that could happen? :)

Mother's Day...

Today was my third "Mother's Day" as a mother, but my first as a mother of more than one child.  There were no gifts or cards exchanged, but we spent the day out as a family and now at the end of the day I feel a sense of contentment.  As I think back over our day, searching for this source of peace, I realize there were no tantrums or screaming fits; no bruises or cuts; no arguments or yelling; no throwing; no throwing up; no spitting up; no throwing food; no peeing or pooing beyond the confines of one's diaper; no blatant disregard for parental authority; no spousal impatience; no public embarrassment; no lost toys; no lost shoes; no lost pacifiers; no lost "special" sippy cups; no coveting of toys; no television; no destroyed house; no destroyed clothes; no dirty dishes; no laundry; no cleaning; no bills; no cooking; no errands; no doctor's appointments; no wishing to be anywhere but here...

...not much to speak of, anyway.

Great Expectations

Recently I've been witness to the results of expecting more from your children.  When my son was less than two years old, maybe 18 months, my husband came home one day with a little tykes basketball hoop for him.  But it wasn't the age-appropriate miniature one, it was the one for older children, the one that at its lowest height was still two feet above his head.  "I don't understand", I said shaking my head, "why couldn't you just get him the one for his age.  It's frustrating and discouraging to fail with toys too advanced for his age."  My Israeli husband gave me one of his "you-crazy-uptight-overeducated-American-mother" looks and set up the basket.  Over the next few months he showed ("coached", "trained") our son how to throw the ball into the hoop and, still to my disapproval, every time he showed signs of mastering the basket, my husband would raise it a notch.  A few weeks ago, with our son only two and a half, my husband popped that basket up to the highest possible notch, leaving it standing a good ten feet off the ground.  And I, much to my secret delight, watched as our son played shots with my husband making not all but most of his baskets.

About a month ago my husband insisted, with the forecast of the season's first beautiful weekend, that we go out and buy our son a real bicycle, albeit with training wheels, but none of this tricycle "nonsense", as he would call it.**  For a week he barely touched the bicycle.  He'd sit on it and want us to push him, and then every time we'd break our backs bending over he'd accidentally hit the breaks...over and over and over again.  "The pedals go around and around," I'd keep telling him.  "Look," as I pointed out all the cyclists by the river, "look how they push the pedals round and round."  He got that part in his mind fairly quickly; the next time we took him to ride by the river he just stood next to the bike coaching on all the grownup cyclists whizzing by: "C'mon! Push! Push the pedals round, round an' round!" he'd say to them.

Then, like magic, one day he just got it; he just sat on that bicycle and started pushing his legs around and around and he was off.  Today we took him to ride by the river and I watched my husband shake his head as he ran after our boy who was whizzing away from us so quickly we could barely keep up.

Now to teach him how to stop...

(**note: the story about how we drove 30 minutes at 10 o'clock at night with a 2 year old and a 5 month old to go GET the bicycle will be saved for another post)