Silence is Golden . . . and results in clean pants

At the risk of blowing the whole deal, I hear by announce that Zane is potty trained.

(Knocking on press board desk, basement paneling, and nearby shelf).

No, really, ye of little faith, my son has finally grasped the concept that sitting it wet pants, or hauling around other fragrant loads, is not actually very fun.

If you recall, because I'm vain enough to believe that you have been keeping up with our saga, I vowed to "Shut-up" on the entire topic of potty training on December 9th. Less than a week later I realized that my strategy was actually working and embraced the idea of firing myself from training Zane. No, I didn't hire someone else to do it . . . I simply let go and told Zane he was a big boy.

Over and over and over I told him. I rewarded attempts. I ignored mistakes. I continued to tell him how much I loved having a big boy.

On January 10th, his 4th birthday, Zane announced that he was now "big" and stopped messing in his pants. Since then, we've had the typical "I don't want to stop playing so I'll have an accident" accident, of which he ends up changing his clothes himself.

So, December 9th to January 10th . . . who knew?

If I were to write a book on potty training it would begin and end like this: "Just shut-up and get out of your child's way. Let them bask in the reward that THEY experienced personal success, rather than having it forced on them." The end. I'm not thinking anyone is going to give me a book deal.

Just yesterday:

"Mommy, I am so proud of myself. I am such a big boy."
"Yes, you are Zane. I always knew you were a big boy."
"Mommy, I am so proud of you too, because you use the potty. I am proud of both of us. I'm just proud of everyone!"

There is something to be said for Zane making his own decision to use the bathroom - he experienced personal success. His confidence shot up, not because of me and my constant compliments, but because he learned that he is indeed big and capable of conquering tough, scary stuff. He knows that HE DID IT.

So, aside from the occasional accident, which will happen from time to time, and aside from bedtime, which we're not even touching, we're done.

He did it. I did nothing to further the process other than:

• Positive rewards
• Shutting up

Thank you Lord for zipping my big mouth.

Layoff

Apparently, this approach really does work.

The term layoff is horrific when referring to employment.

But attach it to the subject of potty training, and I say, "Bring on the pink slip!"

My son needs to believe that he is in control of using the potty. He needs to think he is in charge of this. And wouldn't you know that he has been accident free for 2 days now. And that includes EVERYTHING, people. EVERYTHING. I think the boy has actually shocked himself.

I only began this new approach on, what? Tuesday?

No, no, no, I certainly don't believe we are done. We have however, turned a corner. Today we actually traveled down an entirely new street.

I am calmer. Zane is more calm. George is more calm. Everyone has just calmed down. We don't focus on it. And, as a result, potty training has lost its "power".

Quite simply, Zane just took himself to the bathroom each time he needed to go today. He then washed his hands, announced that he had gone, and visited the treasure box. I said a very subdued "good job", told him what a big boy he was, and then dropped the discussion and went about my business.

I shut up.

I shut up and got out of his way.

I laid myself off.

I look good in pink.

The Rebel Resistance is Strong

Success!

Regress.

Success!

Regress.

No more diapers!

Underwear!

Back to Pull-ups.

More Pull-ups.

Underwear!

Back and forth and back and forth. And up and down and down and up. And yes. Nope. Got it. Don't.

The US Gov't should use potty training a 3 year old boy as a means of torturing our enemies. Forget water boarding. Want to break a terrorist? Order them to potty train Zane. It'll reduce them to tears and make 'em talk.

Toilet Training Resistance. What is it? Really, do I need to go into a formal definition? For the sake of time, let's just state that THIS is the problem with my son. Zane is clearly winning the battle for control and power.

And after combing the Internet and talking to mothers, teachers, myself (scary), and Zane, I've decided to take a completely new approach.

I will shut-up.

I will transfer all the responsibility to Zane. I will not lecture. I will not remind. I will not scold. I will give incentives . . . today we made a "treasure box" full of small items from Constructive Playthings - LOVE THAT PLACE - that he chose. We decorated the box, poured in all the toys, candy, and STAR WARS POSTCARDS, closed it up, placed it on the dining room table, and voila! His choice. He can either have something from the box or not.

I will not lecture. I will not remind. I will not scold. I will, however, help, and reward.

I've got a whole other list of suggestions, from a pediatrician, on how to handle resistance. And mainly, they caution ME about running my mouth too much about it.

I had one last talk with Zane today, as suggested. I told him that he was going to be 4 and that he could make the choice whether to go in his pants or in the potty. I told him I loved him, that I would help him, and that I would enjoy opening the treasure box for him whenever he goes.

A few accidents later, plus a few trips to the treasure box, and everyone is more calm. No fighting, no "Why, Zane?", just "Oops, accident! Let's get you cleaned up" and "Great job! Let's get the treasure box!"

We'll get there.

We'll get there.

We'll get there.

Ok, I'll shut up now.

Pants Shmants

Zane is totally into Start Wars right now. We're finally up to watching Episode 6: Return of the Jedi.

Zane wants to be a Jedi.

He has several obstacles in his way.

First, we only own one light saber.

Secondly, potty training involves the stripping down to the skivvy's while hanging out around the house in order to make things easier to manage.

This second obstacle does not sit well with the young master Zane.

"MOM! I can't be a Jedi without pants!"

True, my young apprentice.

But, I also believe that Jedi's do not poop in their underwear. I'm fairly certain about this. Pooping in one's drawers is only done by those who have joined the dark side. Is that what you want? To join the ranks of the dark side?

I think not.

And thus, you will overcome these obstacles.

A second light saber we can obtain.

Continuing to be known as the pantless Jedi?

The choice is yours.

Use the force little man.

You Mean It Was This Easy All Along?

Seriously?

Targets?

Nutella?


Zane has been using the potty successfully for about 3 days now, due to a new found love of Target Practice.

I remember reading somewhere that little boys need help with aim. Well, Zane's aim has always been fine. His issue isn't with hitting the target, but rather just wanting to use the target in the first place! Sooooo . . . the other night, as I was gently prodding him to use the potty upon realizing that he was a tad bit wet, I had blinding flash of the obvious.

Throw funny things into the toilet (of the flushable and floatable variety) and turn training into a game.

We've now learned that Cheetos and elbow macaroni float. Zane has a container of targets in each bathroom and can grab one, drop it in, and then go to town. The reward, of course, being Halloween candy.

Duh.

I know that Cheerios are great for this, but Zane doesn't like them, and thus, there is no allure to throw them in. Cheetos and pasta, however? Perfect. I hear there is a product one can buy - shapes that dissolve in the toilet . . . but isn't it so much more fun to find things in the kitchen that can float and be flushed? Complete silliness.

And Nutella. Who knew that Nutella tasted great on carrots, red bell pepper, and other various vegetables? Well, I don't, as I'm on the 21 day detox and thus I didn't even lick the Nutella off the spoon after putting some in a bowl for Zane. But Zane knows. He loved dunking carrots and apples in it today.

Duh.

So, targets . . . good for successful potty adventures.

And, Nutella . . . good for successful vegetable adventures.

And a big Mom DUH!

So, Its Come To This?

Zane Atkins. You little blackmailer.

This potty training adventure that we've been on is getting really old.

And then, suddenly, you oblige. Twice.

But not without cost.

I should just hang a sign around your neck that reads, "Will poop in the potty for new Transformers."

Or,

"Will poop in the potty as long as I'm at SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE!" Like Justin Stein's.

Hey bud. First of all, I don't have extra cash hanging around to purchase you a new Transformer every time you unload in the pot rather than your pants.

Secondly, Justin is only home on tour for a few days and don't think I'm about to keep driving up to Glencoe just so you can use his bathroom. That's like . . . stalking.

Jellybeans used to do the trick. What happened?

You are just holding out for more loot and fame. I'll think about getting you that new Transformer when we see daily progress over several days. And weeks. Maybe a month.

And as for fame? Kissing up to Justin will get you nowhere. You are all cute with your singing along to his songs, but really, his back-up dancers have been hired.

"Thanks. We'll call you."

When you are POTTY TRAINED!

Stinker.

I love you.

I Surrender

Yeah, I wish this were some deep post about how I am learning to give all to God; to surrender my own ambitions and desires for His glory.

Nope.

It is just a post from a desperate mother who has decided to raise the white flag of potty training.

Zane has had a successful start to potty training and continues to show interest in using it, and yet, we are now locked in a battle of wills with regards to, well, a very particular area of potty training.

A particularly dirty area.

And frankly, I'm tired of cleaning it up. Plus, I don't want him to feel as if he is continually missing the boat. Which he is. Everyday. I hate that the kid feels as if he needs to hide in order to do his thing. It's either hide or sit in the bathroom for 30 or so minutes while Harper reads book after book after book. And even then, movement is not guaranteed.

Thus, I'm relenting. We are going back to pull-ups during the day and diapers at night.

And before you jump all over my case about the use of pull-ups and diapers, let me just say, in my own defense, that I have really tried. We have been in underwear for some time now, and this particular area is just not improving.

So, with all respect to those of you who seem to be able to handle the cloth . . . we just can't. It's a great idea . . . but we are not homebodies and the bags of underwear full of particulars are getting to be too many to handle. My utility sink is full.

Yes, yes, yes, I have tried all the Internet "tips" that are sprinkled throughout various parenting websites. 100% effort has been made here. I'm not just crapping out.

Pun.

Perhaps Mike Rowe should take this job.

Or I could check out one of those potty training boot camps that are advertised these days.

Better yet, why not just give the kid a break and return to it when he feels more comfortable?

Radical.

The First Time Ever Zane Saw Her Face

Ahh, the beauty of young love.

Really.

Young.

Love.

Zane met the first gal of his dreams this weekend at Family Camp in Saugatuck, Michigan. In years past, we have either had our own cabin, or shared it with a family from our church, but this year, cupid intervened and booked us into Elderberry with the Gaertner's, a family from Glen Ellyn.

We really did click with with them, but apparently, it was Zane who came away most changed from his new crush on eight year old Emily, who, in Zane's words, " . . . has a very nice face."

And while the weekend schedule didn't allow time for a discussion about arranged marriage, we're hopeful.

Harper and Emily hit it off as well, and it warmed my heart to hear her ask, "Emily, is 2nd grade hard?" They had a blast making funny video's on my camera, and I think meeting Emily inspired Harper to hit the books, as evidenced by her needing to tackle Chapter One of another Magic Treehouse book late one evening at 11:00 PM. There was no convincing her to start the book the next day. Nope. 11:00 PM it was.

Zane has asked several times when we're headed back to Family Camp, which he described as "perfect". I'm glad you think so little man.

One tip, son. Get that potty training done. Come on now. You know what I'm talking about. Truly, it will make you even more irresistible.

It's just a thought.

I don't mean to meddle.

Commencement

Sorry for all the philosophical posts. Yeah, my head has been spinning lately.

So to make up for it, here's some news about the kids:

• Harper is officially a second grader now.


• Zane can pee standing up and his aim is quite good.

Happy?

Used What?

Yep. I've posted yet another pic of boy's underwear.
Why?

Because apparently, my site is just ripe for shoppers who need boy's underwear. Even used boys underwear.

Not to tick of the nice folks at AdSense, as this is my first day posting ad's on my site in the hopes of getting even the tiniest of extra dough for my shameless plugs, but used voys underwear? Really? Used?

Ok, yes, my son does wear hand me down underwear from his cousins. But, you know, that's keeping it in the family. I am a huge consigner of my kids clothes, but I don't send my children's used underwear off to Hand Me Downs for resale.

I don't know, maybe I'm missing yet another money making opportunity. Pre-owned Spiderman trunks. Gently Used Buzz Lightyear Tightie Whities. Can Barely Make Out the Stain Shrek Drawers.

Ah, but truly they would need to be pristine and, well, Zane is having a difficult time with a certain type of potty training of the messy variety. So, I'm afraid his drawers wouldn't help the family budget.

Enough with the potty talk? Sorry, you're here and this is my life. If you've been reading, I warned that while Zane's potty training is "done", "done" has a very unique definition.

"Done", with respect to Zane, doesn't quite mean what it implies. We're still at it.

Oprah A-ha moment! Maybe I should get some used underwear for him to wear during this transition time. This way we won't mess up the really nice one's. I could just pitch 'em if the outcome is too much to bear.

And I'll give up caffeine!

No, on both counts.

Wait! The ad's have now changed to coffee sites.

Much better.

The Full Monty: The Preschool Years

Zane ran to the bathroom at school yesterday on his own initiative in order to, well, go. His pants weren't soaked all the way through, and yet, he didn't like that he was even a tiny bit wet. So, he removed his pants.

He removed his underwear.

He did his thing, and then reentered the classroom in the buff from the waist down.

"Can someone get me some pants?"

"Do I get jellybeans?"

Payment for nudity. That's my boy!

Milestones

Back on April 2, we went the cold turkey route of potty training Zane. Just a bit over a month later, he is in underwear everyday, and aside from the bout of normal constipation which can indeed occur with potty training, we're done.

Done, meaning, that Zane no longer wears diapers during the day.

Done, meaning, that he will still have accidents (as no kid, no matter what anyone says, is really completely toilet trained until right around 5).

Done, meaning, that he will continue to wear diapers during nap time and bedtime.

Done, meaning, that we do have to be responsible for taking him to the bathroom about once an hour, as a reminder that he does need to go.

Ask a toddler IF they have to go to the potty, and inevitably their answer will be "No." Tell a toddler that it is potty time, and they will pretty much follow you there. Especially if following you there, doing the deed, and washing one's hands secures that jellybeans will follow.

Zane knows that he gets 3 jellybeans every time he goes. We do not hold back jellybeans if he has an accident, nor do we scold him for it. We learned our parenting lesson from the first time around (with Harper) that punishment doesn't further the cause at all. Only positive reinforcement works. So much so, that yesterday, Zane asked if he could have four jellybeans if he pooped. He has been terrified of doing so, and thus constipated. After using some miracle over the counter relief, everything is relaxed and moving again. And, apparently the stuff also helps your kid with math as Zane knows that one more jellybean makes four. Isn't he smart. He poops AND he adds. Brilliant.

So, while done doesn't mean "good luck with all that", it does mean that we've moved forward from changing diapers everyday.

I believe it is time for the diaper genie to retire. She's had a good run of 7 years.

Anyone who would like to congratulate Zane may purchase him some cool briefs. He has whitie tighties, spiderman, elmo, shrek, and cars. But through the potty training experience we did just opt for throwing some away rather than attempting to wash them . . . so now I'm on the lookout for batman, superman, micky mouse, and construction vehicle underwear.

Feel free to give Zane the gift of big boy independence! He's a 3T. No Nascar please. I just can't handle my cute son walking around in something that reminds me of Will Ferrell in Talladaga Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. ("Dear Baby Jesus . . .") On the flip side, Anyone who can find Super Why (the PBS show) underwear will be the talk of this house for years to come.

Next up . . . crib removal.

Cold Turkey

Today was not a museum day, but rather a catch up day . . . Harper's hair needed some immediate attention, there were library books to check out and books to return, there were prescriptions to fill.

I tried to make it as fun as possible. Harper's haircut went without a hitch, although she was a bit nervous about venturing out today with the bruise on her nose that she got while attempting to fly like one of the Superfriends last night. Thank God it's not broken, as when she slammed headfirst into the couch, I thought, "OK, when she gets off the floor, don't overreact", as I honestly felt she was going to come up looking like a boxer.

I digress. The hair is great. Zane swept the salon while Harper sat in the chair. She has amazing hair. Zane sweeps very well.

Then, it was off to the library . . . what I've failed to mention is that today, I put Zane in underwear. We've just had it with diapers, so today, I decided to just stick him in underpants.

Cold Turkey.

Of course he had an accident at the library, I was actually expecting one, but at least HE TOLD ME HE WAS HAVING ONE, and then said, "Quick, Mommy!" as we dashed to the bathroom. We didn't make it, but I praised him anyway.

The kids got great books, I got the last copy of Atonement, I paid all my fines (including the hefty one for a Bob the Builder page ripping incident), and then took the kids for Portillo's as they were pleading for hot dogs.

They didn't eat their hot dogs.

I ended up eating my hot dog and their hot dogs. And their fries.

After the Hershey store from yesterday, the bag of chocolate I bought yesterday, Portillo's and the movie popcorn that I'll be having tonight at Horton Hears a Who, I will need to go on some sort of diet.

The Cold Turkey diet.

I think it's called Slim Fast.

OK, so then, we go to the pharmacy to get Harper's prescription filled as she only has one more capsule left for tomorrow. Little did I remember, that this is a controlled substance, and thus, I must get the prescription filled within 7 days of it being written. It has been 9 days. Would Harper now have to come off of the medication cold turkey until we could get our hands on another prescription? The prescription can not be faxed or emailed, and thus, George is driving down to Children's tomorrow morning to get another one, as we couldn't trust Chicago mail to have it here by Friday. On top of this, our pharmacy doesn't carry this particular medication, so I spent the afternoon calling around to find another one that does.

I wasn't, um, pleasant at the pharmacy.

I called to apologize. Admitted to them that I was terribly rude. It wasn't their fault that I'd forgotten that a controlled substance off which one can make a mint on the street had to be filled within a certain timeframe. They were just following the law as enforced by the DEA. I, however, freaked out on them.

So an apology was completely necessary.

I'm such a turkey.

I'll Spare You the Details and a Photo

Not completely sure where Zane first heard and adopted this new phrase, but the other day, while shopping in Target, he proclaimed,

"This store has a stinky violation."

Ok, so I didn't find Target to stink. And upon investigation I found that Zane didn't stink either. So I'm not quite certain of the origin of this statement and why he chose to use it in Target.

The phrase has now evolved to mean just what it insinuates. A stinky violation has now adopted the definition of what one would initially imagine it to be as communicated through the words of a 3 year old who is still primarily in pull ups or diapers.

"Dad! I have a stinky violation!"

I do have to proudly report that Zane has had two stinky violations in the potty.

Wow! Enough of this. I can't believe I am actually posting about pullups/diapers, potty chairs and the deposits found in each.

Now I'm the one who has committed a stinky violation.

Crap.