Potty Training for Dummies

You may or may not be aware that we are in the midst of potty training our fourth and final child.  When I was 25, being around piles of poopy diapers, getting peed on by someone other than myself, and having my skin actually touch someone else's vomit, would have made me physically ill.  Now, I am pretty sure I remember to wash my hands after dealing with various bodily fluids, but don't mind wearing the same clothes- for two days.  That is part of why we are potty training.  We want to regain some semblance of who we once were, and try to find that glimmer of youth that is hidden in the gray hair.  Plus, it is just time.  

Well, we have not made much headway with this one thus far.  He pees outside pretty good, but hasn't gotten the hang of what to do with his poop.  The other day, he pooped on the floor and then proceeded to stomp it to death.  The good news is that he killed the poor thing.  The bad news is that he probably killed the rug, and his shoes.  We are still waiting to see if the LW is going to make it.  He has not gotten the hang of not pooping on the floor, not stepping in it a dozen times, not grinding it into the carpet or smearing it on the walls, not picking it up in his hands and squeezing it until it gets between his fingers like it's a handful of lotion, and then not walking through the house touching everything under four feet tall.  The good news is that we finally figured out what is going on when we hear the other three kids run screaming through the house like they are trying to make it to the high side of the Titanic.  Sadly, it is a sinking ship from which few escape.  There are just not enough life boats.  You may not want to go into our train room.  Ever.  In fact, if you have a haz-mat suit, I would love to borrow it.  

The weird thing is that I want to go back to my childhood where you grab the offending dog that made the mess, stick his face in, pop him in the butt, tell him "No!" and then throw him outside.  You can't do that with a 2 year old.  It does not have the same effect, but is probably equally satisfying.  As a parent you just cant go there.  However, I have an experimental solution that I stumbled upon accidentally.  A couple of days ago his filled his shorts, which was great because it was contained.  But, it was all over his nether region.  So, I took him outside, stripped him down, and then hosed him off.  He didn't particularly like that.  The water started out warm and cozy because it had been sitting in the hose in the sun all day.  But, when that ran out it got pretty cold.  That'll teach him.  Now I follow him around the house with a spritzer bottle full of ice water.  Whenever I see him start to "leave the straight and narrow path" I give him a quick squirt.  Now, all I have to do is give him my "ice water glare" and he pops back in line like a Nazi storm trooper.  I don't think we are going to have any more trouble out of that one.  

Innocent Beginnings

Most incidents that occur in, or to, our family begin as innocent adventures.  We recently met our friends, the Maloof family for an afternoon of bowling and Mexican dinner, typically followed by ice cream.  If you have not heard of the Maloof's, get in the game.  They are the most understated family in Atlanta, but bring the most to the table.  Their four children and our four children match up and we all have a lot of fun together.  Well, it turns out that Mr. Maloof missed his calling as a professional bowler.  I had to hang my head in shame in front of my children as he bowled something close to a 200.  Not the perfect game, but might as well be for a guy who bowls once a year whether he likes it or not.

Once we left our family spanking at the bowling alley, we piled the boys in my car and the girls in Mrs. Maloof's car so we could make our way to Jalisco's.  We like to think of it as the finest Mexican restaurant in town.  What it lacks in authenticity, it makes up for in atmosphere.  And, when 12 people descend on a small place all at once, things can easily get out of hand.  But I digress.  That is not the point of this story.  We then walked next door for ice cream, which sets the stage for Act III.

There was a lot of excitement.  There were a lot of kids.  And there was a lot of dairy.  It is impossible to go to a Mexican restaurant and not eat copious amounts of cheese dip, followed by two scoops of something dark and sweet.  Turns out my one year old cannot turn down a bowl of cheese dip either.  Tie that in with all the excitement of the evening, and it explains the panic in my LW's voice on the way home.

We were in separate cars, and I was winning.  It is always a race.  

LW- "Where are you?!"

Me- "In front of Lovett.  WAY ahead of you I am sure."

LW- "Well, when you get home I need some help so get ready.  Win has thrown up all over the place.  The kids are about to climb out onto the roof and it stinks in here."

Me- "Yuck."

Yuck is right.  However, the vehicle that arrived significantly behind me- because I am a winner- was quite the sight.  Apparently it was tilted for at least part of the way as the kids took it upon themselves to reason that their safety was second to their proximity to their baby brother.  They had all unhooked and were as far away from him as they could be and still be in the car.  I could hear three of the kids screaming as they approached.  By this point, they were not even in the car.  They weren't on the roof, just running down the street.  When given the option to flee the premises, they did and ran the rest of the way.  

My poor one year old was in his car seat, still as a statue, arms raised, afraid to move or make a noise.  It was like the Germans were on his tail and his best defense was to act like a tree.  He could move his eyes, but any other movement would give his position away, and he did not want to be captured. 

I didn't even try to clean him up.  I just pulled the whole chair out of the car, put it in the tub, and showered him out of it.  I am not sure that seat will ever be the same.  I feel like most of my blogs are centered on my children's bodily functions.