Learning to Use the Potty Chair

Allie has been “potty training” for over a year now. We bought her a little potty chair in February of last year, and she peed a few drops in it once that month, and has only peed in it one other time since then. That second time was a fluke, however—I conned her into sitting on it while watching Cinderella, and sure enough in the 90 minutes of the movie she accidentally “let it flow.” She got up, I checked the pot, and cheered at the cup or two sitting in the bowl. She looked over my shoulder stunned to see something in there—she had no idea it had even happened. So that went nowhere. We made a potty chart, complete with star stickers for every time she uses the potty. I gave up on that one after a few months, and started just giving her stickers for at least just sitting on it. It didn’t take long for her to start to think the stickers were a gimpy reward, so not even those would entice her in the least bit to sit on the dang thing.

The next major attempt came when out of desperation I declared whatever day it was in August, I think, “Happy Potty Day.” I blew up balloons, we made a potty reward chart full of her favorite treats, I got down some crazy sunglasses and a cute hat she could wear while sitting on the potty, we made up a cheer (“Where do you go peeps and poops? In the…” “Toiwet!”), and I let her watch whatever movies she wanted while sitting on the potty chair. How many times did she empty herself in the pot? Well, let me put it this way. Each time she would watch an hour-long video, she’d finish it, I’d check to see if she left any “presents,” just for her to get up, walk two feet from the toilet, and pee all over the floor. Lovely.
After seeking advice from articles and friends and family, I liked the idea of potty training with a doll to give her the idea of what she’s supposed to do. You know, play out the scenarios. I took her pink bunny, gave it a pair of Tinkerbell underwear, and would sneak a few raisins along with some lemon juice into the potty chair when Allie wasn’t around. Then in front of her I would declare that bunny said she has to go bathroom. I’d whisk the bunny to the chair, have her sit on it for a few minutes, pull her off, and congratulate it for relieving herself so well. I must admit Allie was a bit shocked to see her stuffed animal, which she totally knows is not a living creature, leave “poops and peeps” in the potty. I could see her mentally scratching her head, trying to figure it all out. She knew I was messing with her head, and didn’t buy into it. She would encourage me to put bunny on the potty chair, but refused to sit on it herself.

Then a couple weeks ago in talking with Kev he mentioned something that got me thinking. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was along the lines of helping her “ease into it.” Hmmm. Suddenly it came to me. What if we did just that? What if we had her pick out a pair of big girls underwear from her drawer to wear for just a couple hours each day, increasing the amount of time to wear it little by little, week by week? That just might do the trick. So, that past couple weeks, we’ve been doing just that. Don’t get me wrong, she’s definitely not potty trained yet. After all, just an hour ago, she suddenly started peeing all over her feet, her quilt, the floor, her two Disney Princess backpacks, and her singing frog “Lilly”. I heard it from the other side of her room, yelled for her to get on the potty, and she peed all the way over, and had nothing left for the pot. But at least she sits on the potty again, and while she hasn’t done anything in it she is at least getting better at holding it in (or controlling it), since she really hasn’t enjoyed it the last few times she has peed her pants and had to clean it up.

I came to the conclusion, though, that the reason why it is so hard to potty train that kid is because, while some kids are empowered by independence like I was, other kids, like Allie, are empowered by getting other people to do things for them. She is a princess through-and-through. I’m starting to understand why my grandparents have nicknamed her “The Little Paris Hilton.” While I don’t want to put that kind of a horrible, horrible label on my little girl, they both have that princess-syndrome, which is why (for all you out there who think we’re mean and “too hard on Allie” for trying to teach a three-year-old to clean her room) we’re attempting to nip this one in the bud. We refuse to raise a spoiled “heiress” that doesn’t know how to do anything for herself.

Although I sure hope Paris knows how to use the toilet.

It's All in the Past

I know I'm supposed to write an update, but I've already written two posts in the last two days, with this being the third. I honestly don't know if there's much left to write about. I figured I'd talk a bit about the birthday party we threw for Allie and Sami earlier in March.

After Allie's birthday came and went, I realized I was rapidly losing time if I wanted to plan something. I had previously had this idea of having a pajama-themed party, and I thought, "Why not?" So, I went with it, got on the computer, made an invitation in flier form, and emailed it the all the girls' friends from the ward-- the kids that had been in Nursery with Allie, and then the babies born the same year as Sami. The party started in the morning, and everyone was to come in their jammies. I made a big pancakes/eggs/bacon breakfast, and hid "golden" pancakes around the yard for the kids to find. We had a "Craziest PJs" contest, the winner being Todd, one of the dad's who wore some cool PJs from Africa or something. Then the kids settled down and watched Veggie Tales, which I had checked out for FREE from the library. The best parts? I didn't have to make a cake, and the rule of the party was that no one was to bring any gifts for the girls, which totally worked since they don't have a clue about that birthday-party tradition anyhow. Personally, I really enjoyed it.

Yearly Check-ups

I took the girls to see Dr. Nguyen yesterday for their 1-year and 3-year check-ups. While I was nervous about the visit for Sami, with all of her due vaccinations, I was kind of looking forward to the experience for Allie. I knew she wasn't due for any shots, since the doctor told me she's not due for another 'til before Kindergarten, and this would be her first check-up as a "big" kid-- no baby scales, no measuring "length" with a measuring tape. I just wish she'd really take on that "big kid" status and lose those dang diapers. I laughed when they tried to measure her height up against the wall.

"Okay, Allie, stand up against the wall." She stared at the wall, and slowly walked toward it, very deliberately, face first.

"No, honey, turn around." She slowly and carefully turned around, making sure not to move her neck, only moving her eyes to look at me and find approval that she was following directions. Too bad she was still a foot away from the wall at that point.

"Back up, sweetheart." So she leaned her head up against the wall. Of course her feet didn't move.

"All right, now move your feet back." One foot goes back. "Now the other one, too... that's right." Then as they moved the marker down to her head, she stood perfectly still, anxious as if her life depended on that very moment. After all, she had no clue what they were doing, and she still doesn't. All she knows is that Mom didn't seem worried about it, and that she came out alive-- must not be too bad!

Unfortunately, after talking with the doctor, I found out Allie really was due for a shot. Dang! So, after the doctor gave them their check-ups and left the room, I got the girls dressed and told Allie in a very matter-of-fact way that she would be getting a shot today. I was hoping she wouldn't remember the flu shot she got in December. Although, I was also hoping she'd react in the same way. After that shot, she winced, and then shouted for joy about the cool Tasmanian Devil Band-Aid the nurse gave her. So, I asked her if she would get her shot before Sami, and show Sami how to be a brave big girl. I scrunched up my face a bit, anticipating a negative reply, when she said, "Okay, Mom!"

The nurse came in, and I lifted Allie up to the table. I held her arms, and the nurse held her legs. The nurse warned her she feel a little owie, and then BAM! She nailed her. Allie winced and grunted, then... nothing! That was it! No crying, no screaming! And she looked down just to make sure that cool Band-Aid was there, and, yup, there it was-- a Sesame Street one this time. Wow! I was so proud of Allie. The nurse was hoping Sami's reaction would be the same, but I knew better. Sami screamed and screamed as the nurse drove two needles into her thighs. Then I picked her up and held her so the nurse could jam one into her arm as well. Sami turned and saw the third needle and screamed, clinging to me hoping I would protect her. It broke my heart-- little did she know that's what I was actually trying to do in allowing such pain. Perhaps that's what it's like for our Heavenly Father, who allows us to feel pain and sorrow because of the tailor-made lessons we have the opportunity to learn, which are far more valuable to us than if we had never felt pain at all. It's ultimately for our good, but like Sami in this case, it's often times difficult to understand that when, in the grand scheme of things and compared to the Almighty, we really understand very little. Isn't it interesting the insights we gain just from reflecting upon the day-to-day?

Anyhow, the girls survived, and getting a sticker at the end made the shot more than worth it for Allie-- it doesn't take much to turn her frowns upside down. And since I felt so bad about them having to get stabbed so ruthlessly, I took them to McDonald's for a McFlurry. Although, Allie was disappointed she wasn't getting a lollipop.

My "Favorite" Day of the Week

From what every seasoned parent I know tells me, every stage of parenting has its own set of struggles, as well as its own rewards-- each being unique to that particular part of life. I have come to realize one of the reasons why the toddler/baby stage is hard. If you have never attempted to attend church with your kids, you're not really going to be able to relate, but feel free to read on nonetheless-- you might learn something.

Every Sunday we go through the same routine-- wake up, eat breakfast, bathe the kids, fight Sami into to her dress, avoid a fight with Allie picking out what she wants to wear, put Sami down for a nap, get ourselves showered and dressed, eat lunch, get in the car and head to the church. The only detail varying being whether or not Allie is in a "mood." After getting to church, I spend the next hour leading ward choir practice while Kevin attempts to sing and chase children simultaneously. Then comes Sacrament Meeting, a meeting we Mormons understand as the most important meeting of the week-- the time where we not only are spiritually fed by one another, since we all are given opportunities to give "sermons," but we also partake of the sacred ordinance of the sacrament, a crucial ordinance that allows us to renew our baptismal covenants to the Lord. I remember the days when I would come away from Sacrament Meeting feeling renewed, re-energized, recommitted. I felt "on top of the world." Now I come away from Sacrament Meeting physically and mentally exhausted, and mortified at the thought of our screaming children possibly having driven others to anger, disappointment, or even inactivity. Many a Sunday I come home and wonder, sometimes aloud, why on earth we put ourselves through that. Why do we even go?

I end up feeling guilty that I come away from church so often not feeling that spiritual renewal I felt at one time, figuring it to somehow be my fault-- that I'm just not trying hard enough to multi-task.

This past weekend was the semi-annual General Conference for our church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We watched the first two sessions on Saturday over the internet. Then as a tradition, for the first session on Sunday we got in our Sunday best and went to watch the broadcast at the church building. I got so much more out of the Saturday sessions, since Sunday Kev and I spent the whole time ushering screaming kids out of the chapel. That experience frustrated me, and is actually what got me thinking about all this again. I am going to church now, not so much because I know I'm going to get anything out of it, but merely out of obedience, all while trying to having faith that the Lord will bless us for the effort. But, you know, this is what I realized...

The Lord knows it's hard. He knows it's hard on the parents, and he knows it's hard on the rest of the congregation. And he knows it's hard on the little ones themselves, having to learn to sit still and quietly for a really long time, all the while only catching a word or two that he or she understands at all. I truly believe, too, that He doesn't really expect me to get all that much out of the meetings, and that I'll have plenty of time in later years for that. This is just a test of my faith, to see if I can be obedient even when it's difficult and when the blessings are not readily available to me. I need not feel guilty, because in reality, I am doing my best, and sometimes we are just expected to do the right thing when rewards are not immediate. That's a lesson in patience...

...which is another quality I'd really like to possess one day.