Aukai has one and only one rule regarding potty training: don't even try it until your boy is at least 3 years old. He adopted this rule from his mother who, after raising 13 children of her own, told him that training at 2 1/2 was too young. (After raising 11 boys, how can you argue with her.) So now that Ashton has finally turned three we have tried to kick up the potty training, checking out children's books on potty time, flaunting "big boy pants" as motivation, we've even offered gummy worms if he sits on the potty, but no bites yet.
The one thing all of this has done is heightened his awareness of his own bodily functions. A few nights ago he was taking a bath with the curtain half-closed. Suddenly, he got very quiet and peaked around the curtain. With somnolence, he pointed to the other side of the tub and whispered, "Mommy. There's Wee-wee's. Over there."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that if there was wee-wee's over there, it was everywhere.
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As my neighbors already know, bedtime in my house can be quite an ordeal.
A couple of nights ago, however, the fireworks were especially vivid. It started out with me putting Ashton's "wall-e" toothpaste on his toothbrush without prior authorization. You see, in our household, we can't just have 1 toothpaste. No, we have to have 4 different types collected from family gifts and dental visits, and even though Ashton consistantly prefers his "wall-e" it is necessary that we consult him each night to ensure that there has been no change in preference.
He did OK . . . at first, and then the next thing I know, I'm prying him off the pantry shelves with a crowbar because he knows if he eats he will get to brush his teeth again.
And then the fireworks start (by this time, it is past 11), and he has shut himself into the linen closet because he doesn't want to go downstairs because it is too far away from me but doesn't want to have to look at me. It is a complicated thing being a three year old.
At that point, I sat by the linen closet and tried to coax him to calm down enough to be able to talk to me. Finally, in shallow breaths and broken words he sniffled that he wanted to pick his own toothpaste. "Can you ask nicely?" Of course not, at this point it is a matter of principle.
But principle or not, he was ready to come out of the closet and talk to me. I asked if I could have a kiss. Again, on matter of principle, the answer was no as he ran towards me with his arms outstretched. And as he sat in my arms, a little ball of sniffles, I whispered in his ear, "I love you." Bursting into tears, his resounding reply was a simple, "me too" as if we were two lovers making up from a bitter fight. And I guess we were.
2 comments:
Oh you have no idea how much better I feel after reading your post. It is now 12:30 at night and we just finished a royal tantrum ordeal that involved one boy getting bitten, the biter suffering a black eye, more poop being smeared around the nursery (does that ever end?), screaming and wailing, daddy scrubbing poopy carpets and walls while mommy tries to bath two poopy children, and when we put the little turkeys back down and shut that door (them wailing behind it) we both just felt tired - so, so, tired! And I have to admit moments like that are hard on the parental self-esteem as I was about in tears wondering what in the heck I am doing so wrong?!?
Two (and it sounds like three year olds) age their parents at miraculous speeds. I'm excited to see you guys and swap parental surviving stories. Now I am finally off to bed and look forward to happier times with my little darlings tomorrow.
Heather, you know if this doctor thing doesn't work out, you definately have a career as a writer. I love to read your posts.
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