Potty Training

I have been blog deprived for LONG ENOUGH. Seriously, when a girls gotta vent, a girl BETTER vent or next thing you know her husband will be missing an eyebrow. (Passive aggressiveness MAY run in my family). And maybe just plain aggressiveness.

 I have been showcasing my little 5 kids under 4 years old circus for a while. I play the clown that juggles. (If ONLY I had to JUST juggle FIRE). My juggling act usually consist of something vomit worthy. Like- at what point do little boys decide, “Ya know. Crappin my pants was fun and all… but I think I’ll move on to graffiti art with mom’s paints or hoarding cookies under my pillow.” Every time one of them, ages 3 and 2, has an “accident,” or a moment of quick decision that leaving the comfort of the outdoors to poo in a toilet is completely absurd, I make them pull down their OWN pair of pants. Make them wash their OWN poopy undies, and make them wash their OWN brown butts under the shower. They gag and/ or vomit EVERYTIME. (As do I). But stop doing it? Heck no. That would be completely ludicrous.

 HOWEVER, they go pee every five minutes to get a potty treat. Aka a choice piece of candy from Starling’s personal candy collection. (That he purchased the day after Halloween HALF price, which of course justified his buying an ENTIRE BUGGY of candy. Eh- at least if my husband MUST be addicted to something, it’s not crack cocaine). So. When I decided that the boys were a Kit Kat away from diabetes, I changed the potty treat rule. I even wrote it on the giant dry erase board in my kitchen. (The one I decided to purchase at Lowe’s on the windiest day in the history of MS, after discovering that dry erase paint is $75 dollars for a TEE-NINIE can. The giant board was $13. But it, of course, wouldn’t fit in my van because it was too long and too wide. SOOOOOOOO a nice man named Jose helped me GET the board TO my van, because the board flew away as soon I came out of Lowe’s. I, of course, was attached to the board and therefore experienced life as a tumble weed. And when I declined his request to let him FOLD it in half, Jose WAITED with my board and open van while I ran through Lowe’s begging for string. Of course when asked how MUCH I needed, I panicked and implored the little 20 year old to tie it for me. He told me to pull my van to the tie up station outside and he’d do it. THANKFULLY Jose, a frozen addition to the parking lot, at that point, was STILL guarding my board. And hadn’t stolen my van.  He drove the board on that rickety blue buggy contraption, ALL the way to the OTHER side of the parking lot, the wind blowing him to and fro, and I moved my van. Then Jose stayed while three brains attempted to plan a way to mount the flimsy board on top of my van so it wouldn’t take flight. Then Jose disappeared, but not before I thanked him repeatedly, told him he was an angel, the most blessed human I’ve encountered, and all but kissed his hand. Which may be why he left. That, or he actually went to Lowes to BUY something, not save Wendi: the great thinker. Then the other kid and I put our boy scout knot tying abilities to use. He wasn’t a boy scout and I’m a girl. So you can GUESS how that went. I did come up with a genius plan to let down my front windows, tie the board down with me INSIDE, then roll UP my windows to properly secure my loot for takeoff. I’ll have you know, I had to climb out the back of my van (since I was tied inside) when I got home, but honey- I MADE it home. And the board stayed put).

But where was I going with this? OH YES the changing of rules. So I wrote in BIG letters, for STARLING’s BENEFIT, since the boys can’t read, “REWARD SYSTEM: PEE PEE= toy from lock box; POO POO= potty treat.” (The lock box is another concoction of mine to make me feel good about my efforts as a maid and passively aggressively punish my children for being sloppy little turkey feet. When I notice the house is a wreck, with TOYS dropped around the house like confetti at New Years, I make an announcement. “TOY ALERT! TOY ALERT!” The kids have a small window of opportunity to put their toys where they belong. If they are trucking it, I let them have a long window. If they are playing with their toys, completely immune to my threat of losing every toy I see, I get my bags out and start loading up the toys to go in the “Lock Box.” It’s a pretty dramatic process. I make the toys scream in agony as I shove them into the bag and I announce EACH toy as it goes in. “BRY’S giant monster truck didn’t get put back on the shelf! ITS GOING INTO THE LOCK BOX!!!!” –manly gruffy voice-“NOOO not the LOCK BOX! WhY didn’t you SAVE ME BRY!!” Brooklyn cares. But none of her toys ever get locked because she’s basically a perfect child. Bry and Co Co sometimes help me fill the lock box bag. But now that they have almost NO toys to play with, I keep thinking they are going to understand they are getting PUNISHED for not CLEANING UP). Utter shock. My boys are having sugar withdrawals. “I don’t WANT LOCK BOX!!! I WANT POTTY TREAT!!!” Then put your poop in the toilet. It’s working. Pretty sure they both have hemorrhoids, but suddenly pooping in the toilet is a HUGE priority.