The Lady No Longer Protests

For 22 years I've despised Valentine's Day.
For several reasons. The following list only skims the surface.

1. I hate mush. Can't help it. And a holiday full of declarations of love and romance and all sorts of crap tends to make my stomach turn. And back in my teens, it made me down right seasick. If somebody ever threatened to whip out a guitar and attempt to serenade me through song, I would've laughed and then hit him over the head with his instrument. seriously. and don't even ask what happened when somebody tried to write me a poem. Hell no.
2. I'm cynical. I tend to find it to be a non-holiday, overly commercialized by Hallmark and other offenders (FTD...) who capitalize on the demands and impossible to reach expectations of many women and some men who want to be adored and celebrated and attended to, and who then set themselves and their loved ones up for failure because it wasn't perfect.
3. I'm cheap. I don't want flowers for $75 that should only cost $20. Can we talk about the florist in town that was selling Hydrangea for $15 A STEM last year. for that price, I bought 3 potted hydrangea plants and stuck them in my backyard and enjoyed them for many months, not 24 hours before wilting. And I'll dip my own strawberries in chocolate, thank you very much.
4. It's a sad time of year. I've lost 2 dogs the day before Valentine's day. Last year, and in the 7th grade. Bums me out.
5. It's inconvenient. Either can't get a babysitter or a reservation, and we vegetarians struggle with the fixed price fixed course meals that restaurants stick to. Since Alex's arrival, I looked to take out - but... restaurants don't do take out on V DAY!
6. It's fattening. Chocolate. Enough said.
7. It's cumbersome. Do you know many valentine's you have to have ready when you have grandparents, great grandparents, school teachers, administrators, and 23 preschool classmates? I need a secretary.
8. Color. I just don't look good in red.
9. Pete. If we knew each other in college, you were familiar with his track record. Just not that good at Valentine's day back then.
10.

But this year, I felt a little different. I woke up cheery, dressed Alex in a red and grey sweater, had his teachers' chocolates purchased in advance from our local chocolatier and ready to go, slapped on some pink lip stick, chilled the bottle of Schramsburg that Pete got me from for my birthday a couple week ago, and spent the day planning our dinner menu.
If Valentine's Day is about love instead of this hyper-cliche version of what Hollywood thinks romance is supposed to me, than I'll take it, since love is what we've got in this house, and I've got 2 pretty darn amazing guys.



So when Alex got home from school, we got our plan of attack ready, and started making dessert first - Raspberry Almond Parisian macaroons. He helped me pulse the almonds to make the almond flour, and puree the raspberries which we folded into the egg white and sugar peaks - Alex is pretty handy now with the numbers on the mixer. We took a break so he could name all the continents on the world map after piping the Quarter sized rounds, and began the baking process. In the mean time we got batter prepped for the crepes, and chopped up all the veggies and shredded the Gruyere for the filling, and waited for dad to get home from San Diego.
Pete has been working like crazy (what's new) and so I notified him on the 13th that he gets a pass on V Day - I don't want any flowers, I"d rather go to the plant nursery and get stuff this spring to add to the front yard. So when Pete finally got home, I pulled the appetizers out of the oven, and i enjoyed a beautiful dinner with my men folk; of course Alex and I got Pete chocolates, which we will proceed to eat ourselves anyway, and Pete, sweet thing that he is, didn't come home empty handed - a love bottle of Roederer Champagne completed by French themed dinner (he didn't know the menu, but I guess he knows his wife...)
So maybe I'm starting a new trend. Valentine's Day, not so bad when you have 2 boys to love.

Partying, Alex's Way

As soon as Alex learned his birth month and date sometime last summer, he became obsessed with planning the ultimate party. And for several months, we thought long and hard about what to do; the theme was obvious: Star Wars, but how to implement a Star Wars party beyond a mere theme stamped on paper plates and napkins was the tricky part.

Originally I was considering having the party at our house: bounce house in the backyard and a couple of actors dressed up as Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi (yup, it's available) but December weather can be tricky, and I was worried about Plan B in case of rain... 19 kids running around my house was a stressful proposition. New plan.

Fast forward to October and a mom-friend who I see every T/Th during karate mentioned that she had her son's birthday party at the Dojo and it was fabulous.

Cue music and moment of brilliance.

Alex was going to have his Star Wars birthday party : Jedi Training Academy at the Dojo, emulating what Disneyland offers: it was perfect.

I ran to talk to the owner of the Dojo, and a quick deposit later, the ball was rolling. 2 hours of black belt supervised activities to include lightsaber training, running around, a bounce house, lunch and cake.











As we got closer to the party, I started to get excited, and Party City became a regular stop on my errand runs. I managed to find 22 inflatable light up lightsabers, 22 Darth Vader masks, Star Wars party favors including pencils, sharpeners, lollipops, character plates, cups, napkins, center pieces, balloons, table covers, you name it, it's available, and of course, there was the 6 feet tall Darth Vader cardboard cutout I ordered on Amazon (he now lives in the billiard room.) I ordered the cake, but had to special order the cake toppers with the light up lightsabers because it just wouldn't be right without them. The kids were getting pizza, but I catered antipasti platters, salad, and deli meats and cheeses for the parents, and of course, I baked 6 dozen star wars cookies the night before.

finally the 2nd Saturday of December rolled around, and it was party time. And it was a huge hit. We had 19 kids between the ages of 18 months and 5 join us at the Dojo to celebrate Alex's 4th birthday, and I have to say, as a mom, nothing can warm a heart faster than seeing a little boy's birthday party come together, the gargantuan, constant, smile on his face, and on his friends' faces as they go totally crazy, laughing and running, full of happy shrieks, and their parents, many of whom I'm meeting for the first time, are taking time out of their day to celebrate my kid. Warm and fuzzy all over.







The kids had a blast. Half the group went into the bounce house with a member of the black belt club supervising, the other half suited up with masks and lightsabers, and Sensei Marco, Alex's awesome karate instructor, put the soundtrack on and began instructing the kids in swordplay. It was the most fabulous, hilariously awesome thing I've ever seen. If you ever wondered whether four year olds with masks and swords could behave themselves, follow directions, and not clobber the crap out of each other, the answer is a miraculous yes. 25 minutes later, the groups switched, before I knew it the pizza arrived, we were eating, singing happy birthday, cutting cake, and then the kids, with full bellies, returned back to the bounce house (nobody puked!) and back to the Jedi Academy.

Alex got his Star Wars party, and after 2 hours, I got to go home happy. And the biggest bonus was the kid actually slept through the whole night without awaking once. That never happens... worth every penny.

Bathroom Talk

The last couple of days, it's been blistering hot here in SoCal. i'm talking triple digits coastal; yesterday, my car registered 102 degrees at 330pm, today, it was 92. Luckily, we have access to pools, so after giving up at the playground (it's covered in shade giving circus like tent tops, but even in the shade, our little ones were turning pink from over-heating) we headed to our community pool. I had bathing suits and towels packed since I figured after karate and park, we'd end up in those clear blue highly chlorinated community waters, so Alex and I get to the clubhouse and change in the main bathroom, instead of the perpetually damp icky bathroom that smells like bleach right next to the pools.

The bathrooms is very clean, smells like citrus air freshener, has a nice Tuscan design, and I warn Alex not to touch anything, not even the walls because I'm still petrified of the semi-public restroom, but have over the years improved my relationship with such facility due to necessity (motherhood, it'll do it... little kids have to poop at the most inconvenient locations...)

So I'm changing. Top and bra off, bikini top strapped on. Alex picks up my bra out of my bag. He's giggling, he knows that it's a little naughtier than a t-shirt... I'm looking at him, waiting to hear what gem comes out of his mouth.

"Is that a pirate booby trap?"

Yes.

"it's like Panda and Master Shifu at dinner."

Yes.

If you've seen the movie, you get why he was trying to put it on.

I guess from now on, I wear a pirate booby trap.

Roughin' It

I am not a camper. I just don't like it. I wish I did. But I don't. And I know this because of I have gone camping hundreds of times. Why would i do that since I don't like it? Peer pressure, academic requirement, self-inflicted misery, that's why.

I went to this funky converted tobacco plantation eco-hippy, and in my opinion, occasionally hypocritically snobby and lacking self-awareness, private prep school in Annapolis, from 5th-12 grade. From the 6th grade on, we had "mandatory" (private schools really can't force you to do anything...) camping trips spanning from two nights to a week long, which included everything from backpacking through the Shenandoah Mountains in late Fall (let me add, that means it can be sweaty hot during the day, and freezing cold at night), sleeping TENT-LESS in 40 degree or colder temperatures, (oh yes, you read that right), weeks at Wye Island, biology trips on Assateague Island, and Point Lookout, canoeing creeks, bays, and mucking waist deep in marshlands, taking samples of flora and fauna, keeping field guide journals, collecting bugs, sketching frogs (this one I enjoyed) foraging (we had field experts, don't worry), building fires, eating lots of peanut butter, and weathering mass lighting storms in May, huddled with the other 30 kids in your class under a single tarp and desperately trying to dig a moat around the perimeter so as to minimize sleeping bag soaking. Oh yeah, let's not forget hanging of food in trees because of wild animals, and that time those pesky not-so wild horses took down a tent. Don't get me wrong, the views were beautiful, I love hiking, I don't even mind cooking outdoors and filling a canteen out of a creek. What I don't like is the hygiene/sanitation/sleeping on the ground situation. Just not my thing.

I have a problem not uncommon to many, and unfortunately, Alex inherited it: shy bladder. Hate public restrooms, and no restroom, sometimes even worse, although not always... I have peed in a wheat field, behind a tree. over a bush, and hated every second of it, trying to convince myself that I was not about to get bit on the ass but some forest creature nor fall over into a growth of poison ivy. And for whatever reason, I always had to pee late at night, in pitch cold black, in the middle of the mountains; luckily I had wonderful girlfriends who were all too familiar with my paralyzing potty fear, who'd go with me, hold the flashlight 10 feet away, and wait patiently, chatting the whole time to help me calm down, so I could go... and I don't even want to discuss the fact that once puberty hit, for whatever reason, camping trips always fell on that time of the month, for my whole class. That was awesome.

Then the shower. I like to shower. It makes me feel awake, better, relaxed. There are no showers in the woods. And then there's a mosquito problem. I'm from the mid-Atlantic, humid, marshland, brackish water. Heaven for the tiny flying vampires. Ever take an outdoor shower in September in 90 degree heat and 90 degree humidity? You're dinner for the airborne bastards. And after hiking up Old Rag and sweating up a storm, it would be nice to bathe, or at least rinse off, before getting into PJ's and tucking into a mummy's wrapping... or sleeping bag. But nope. Technically, not an option - except that I was also the (step) daugther of an avid sailor - who kindly provided me with my first ever solar shower, a 3 gallon plastic bag to fill with freshwater and hang from a tree to warm up all day in the sun light. Come dusk, it's time to take the little hose, a bottle of biodegreadable body and hair wash, and rinse off. Yup, I did it. I was the first student in Key's history (my school was Key...) to bring and set up a portable shower during the week long 8th grade May trip to Wye Island. I smelled lovely. My hair was fluffy. One of the boys professed his love for me. Camping was bearable that week. The following year, the trend caught one.

i also do not love trying to sleep while frozen. About half of our camping trips were tentless. Those would be the late Fall ones in the Shenandoah Mountains. Days are warm. You get sweaty hiking. There are bugs. Nights... Cold. Instead, my whole class would pile under a giant tarp with no sides, sleeping huddled like sardines to stay warm, and yes, it did snow a couple of times. I'm a light sleeper, and always cold. A thin pad and a thermal sleeping bag do not a bed make. Total and absolute misery. Then there were the late spring trips. It can be very storms, as in crazy thunder and lightning storms with torrential sideways rain and whipping wine. It can be very hot and humid. It can also drop to brutally cold in the same week. That's the unpredictable mid-Atlantic. It's not fun to sleep in any of those conditions in a hot tent or tentless, unprotected.

And I'm a contact lens wearer. Big pain in the butt when there's not standing mirror, no sink to wash hands, no place to balance lens case while removing lenses in pitch black, fumbling for glasses. It's easier on a turbulent flight.

For the record, I loved weekend on my parents' sailboat, overnights along the Chesapeake Bay, anchoring in small inlets, eating as the boat gently rocked, showering with a hand held shower head in 3 square feet of space in the only bathroom (yes, I know it's called the head) on board. The mosquitoes didn't bother me so much, the jellyfish were a different problem... so I'm not all high maintenance.

Anyway, luckily I'm married to an equally big princess (Peter despises camping more than I do, believe it or not) and so it's never been an issue for us. And I feel like I got a preview of how miserable Peter would be on a camping trip if forced for whatever reason to go, during last week's mass power outage that put 2.5 million SDG&E customers at the mercy of a September heat wave.

Of course the power went out when we had a massive spell in the 90's, very unusual for these parts. Temperatures in San Clemente reached 99 degrees, and the day of the outage, it was 95 degrees in my courtyard. I had the ceiling fans on, but trying to manage without using too much electricity, I opted to keep the a/c off, figuring that the power grids were already getting overloaded. Turns out, they weren't, but we still had an outage. (Human error in Arizona.) Next thing i know, all power off, and we are sweating bullets in the house. I call Pete; newport has power, different electric company. Go figure. A couple of hours later and a couple more increasingly frustrated calls from me, he's on his way home, promising to stop at Whole Foods on the way home to pick up dinner (since opening our fridge during and outage is a no no.) I got the candles, matches, flashlights and batteries all lined up, and Pete got home before Sunset, grocery bag in hand.

I had to laugh.

He brought home baguette and brie, marinated mushrooms, good quality dried salami, tomato and spinach pasta salad, and a beautiful bottle of French sparkling rose for me. We had a bag of left over ice from last week's party in the secondary freezer, we pulled out our galvanized drink tub, filled it, shoved in some bottles of water, my cocktail, Alex's milk, Pete's beer, laid out our picnic, watched the Brie melt onto the bread in the heat, set out Alex's fully charged portable DVD player, and once the sun set and the temperatures dropped to the high 60's, the candles were lit, as was the outdoor fireplace, Despicable Me was on, and Peter even managed to grill some chicken apple sausage for Alex by flashlight.

This was our style of camping. This, was fun.

Power came back on by 10.

Officially a School Boy

Alex on his 1st full Day of School!


"Mommy, this is Earth." Then Earth fell off the base and rolled across the floor.

It's Official! Peter and I are now parents have a school boy. It's a funny feeling, a mixture of shock, excitement, a hint of sadness with a pinch of bittersweet. My little baby isn't a baby anymore, he's a big boy who's potty trained, carries a lunch bag and a backpack, has friends whose names I have yet to learn, and he now has a 2 semester schedule - welcome to the real world kid!

I was pretty nervous about how this week was going to go. All summer I've been trying to talk up preschool, that it'll be just like camp but more fun with more friends. He wasn't buying it, and his unyielding response was to loudly protest the topic of school and proclaim vehemently his refusal to attend. I wonder if he was sabotaging potty training simply to avoid going?

Peter was getting ready to leave for business in Chicago, Babka is in Italy, and so I knew on Tuesday morning, it was just going to be me and the monkey. He had new student orientation on Tuesday from 10-noon, so Monday night we chatted, and before bed I told him that he needed to get a good night's sleep because he had a big day coming up, that he and I were going to his new preschool (which we visited several times over the last few months so that he could get used to the idea, meet some of the staff, see how awesome it is) to meet his teachers and see his new classroom. For whatever reason, this didn't elicit the usual rebuff, so I was hopeful.

Tuesday morning we got up at 6am, got showered, dressed, ate a good breakfast, packed a lunch, walked the dog, and with time to spare ran a couple errands, and at 945 we were in the reception of his new school. Every other prior visit, we'd walk in the door and Alex would shut down, refuse to speak (highly unusual) and try to run out the door. This morning, he recognized a couple familiar faces, said high, and sat on the kid-sized sofa under a lovely paper Maple Tree wall art and waited patiently for 10am. At that point, his lovely new teacher came to see us, introduced herself officially, and led him into the classroom, where he immediately began to explore the stations set up consistent with the school's philosophy of learning (my little free spirit will thrive in this environment for preschool, as he's not ready for a more academic, structured setting. I started off in this type of program too and loved it.) A few minutes later, 3 rambunctious boys arrive, Alex introduces himself, and with one little boy in particular, I could see the bond forming - they both picked up counting rods, turned them into swords, and proceeded to play Jedi-Power Rangers. It was love at first site. After taking him down to the playground and showing him all the fun that awaits him, we left for the day. I felt good about how things would turn out.

Today, was the first full day of class with no parents. Again, I was extremely nervous, unsure of how he'd react to me leaving him there. After we dropped off his backpack into his cubby, put his lunch bag on the lunch shelf, we made our way to intake on the playground; I saw a lot of teary faces, kids with the 1st day blues or nervous about being left behind, and I was sure that Alex, who's usually a little barnacle, would be attached to my hip and screaming for me.

Um. Not quite,

I asked him for a big hug and kiss, and he actually said no, turned away from me, and walked to the play equipment.

I sat there frozen, squatting in the wood chips, wondering what just happened.

No goodbye hug. No big scene. No tears. My kid was already 8 feet off the ground in his spaceship, chatting with other kids, hands on the steering wheel, and on his way down the slide. I went to his teacher and told her that he just kind left me there hanging, unsure of what to do.

"You can go if you want."

So I left the playground, not quite knowing how to deal with my first glimpse of parental irrelevance, and stood up the hill overlooking the playground for about 15 minutes, making sure that Alex didn't all of a sudden realize that I left and freak out.

15 minutes later, he was still happy as a clam. And I became the mom of a school boy.

Waiting for Orientation to begin.

What did I do with all that free time? Ha. 3.5 hours flies by, especially since his school is not in our city.
I sat in my car for another 10 minutes, a/c on (it's in the 90's this week, yuck) and emailed Pete, unsure of what to do. He missed this whole 1st day, which really disappointed him, but I'm grateful to Alex that he took the anxiety out of the whole process by just being his wonderful, playful, excited to meet new friends self.

I ran to the gym for an 1.5 dance class, changed, ran to the post office. And poof. Back on the freeway for pick up.

And I can't believe that for whatever reason, the child who doesn't nap, is fast asleep upstairs.

So this is how people navigate more than 1 kid... NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING TO SPECULATE ABOUT...

Pre-Travel

The night before a trip, husband and wife are packing.
Or rather, they are supposed to be packing. Wife is packing. Husband is nowhere to be found.
Wife is standing over her very small luggage trying to figure out how to fit clothing for cool and warm weather, day and night outings, appropriate shoes, plus liquid cosmetics.
Wife has laid out several full outfits of the same color palette with accessories so that she can double dip shoes.
Cosmetics are categorized on the bathroom counter according to material (powder, cream, actual liquid), ounces, and divided into carry-on, check-in, and double baggy.
Travel day outfit, reading material, and phone charger are placed within small carry-on along with wallet, cell, 4 days itinerary and driving directions to all appointments,

Husband still not packed. Husband's luggage still unzipped, empty on floor of closet. Wife concerned. Wife specifically requested that husband pack the night before, not the day-of, as his is usual practice which induces wife's stress to new heights.

Husband sheepishly walks in to master bathroom where wife is ziplocking cosmetics prior to placement in secondary lined cosmetic bags.

"Can you help me?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I can't turn on the washer."

Wife pauses. Looks at husband.

"Why do you need to turn on the washer? I told you I was doing laundry today, you were supposed to give me whatever you needed for the trip."

Husband purposefully sidesteps question, knowing full well the statement was accurate.

He repeats request in an amended format.

"Can you show me how to turn on the washer?" Slightly embarrassed, pleading tone.

Wife can't help herself.

"You seriously don't know how to turn on our washer? We've had those machines for 15 months."

Husband puts on innocent face.

"I've never turned on the washer before."

Wife starts adding months up in her head.

"You are telling me that you haven't done a single load of your own laundry in as least the last 15 months?"

Husband smiles. Big.

"I have you." Hug.

"Yes. i Know..." Wife is fully aware husband has not done laundry in the last 15 months.

"Will you wash this small pile for me?" Sweet pleading.

"It's 9pm. After the wash cycle which will take just under an hour, you need to dry your clothes, another 20-30 minutes. I don't plan on doing laundry at 11pm, which is why I did laundry earlier today, and asked you to make sure you gave me whatever you needed washed. In fact, that's what the rectangular white wicker box next to the shower and your sink is for. It's called a hamper. It's where we put dirty clothes so they get washed."

"Please."

"Come downstairs with me, carry your own dirty clothes, and I'll show you where the power button is."

Sincere question:

"There's a power button?"

"Yes. It's a big round button that reads 'power.' There was your problem, I'm betting your second problem was where to put the detergent. Do you even know where our laundry room is?"

Husband feigns hurt feelings.

"Of course I do. It's next to the room where you make dinner."

To this day, husband has yet to do a load of his own laundry in the new house.

Potty Training 101

When new parents say that they wish that the baby was born with directions, veteran parents soothe those debutant nerves with the reassurance that instincts will soon kick in, and the rest, well, we figure it out.

I have been on both sides of that conversation. The lost new mom. Feeling helpless. Totally in the dark. Screaming baby, crying baby, hungry baby, soiled baby, tired baby; each cry means something else, apparently, supposedly, but when was I going to be able to identify which cry signals which problem? Eventually, I the ability manifested. And then he learned to communicate, and then he learned to actually speak (mommy, this water gun looks like a geyser! Mommy, this tastes yucky…,) and now, while navigating toddlerdom is a different beast from the infant days (thankfully!), that overwhelming sensation of cluelessness has dissipated, and I’m not longer stuck in that fog of panic otherwise known as, “I am just trying not to break the baby…” (How many new moms knew how wiggly a newborn could be?) And as recently as this week, I got to be the friend who sincerely meant it when telling her friend of a 6 weeks old, it gets easier. Much much easier. (Well, depends on how you define easier… what I meant was, you get the hang of it.)

I wish that I could say the same thing for potty training. That it gets easier. That being a parent for the last 3+ years clues you into the mysteries of why poop in the potty is such an up hill battle.

For me, 3 years was totally inadequate preparation for the 7 months that I can now proudly say are behind us.

For this, there needs to be a primer. Here is mine.

And I don’t mean Dr. So and So’s suggestions, declarations, methods, and guarantees, available in hardcover, soft bound, signed, 2nd and 3rd editions, kindle, glossy excerpt from I’m A Better Parent than You magazine, and the lecture with visuals available on You Tube… I mean, the “Hey, I totally understand that the sticker chart and M&M reward route didn’t do a damn thing to get your kid potty trained; here’s the helpful suggestion for training the impossible to train toddler who should otherwise be trained.”

Yup. That’s us. And why shouldn’t it be? Not like Alex has been easy, typical, or generally quiet, calm, or compliant with any other aspect of daily life (um, let’s not even talk about staying put in his own bed…) it just wouldn’t be as fun…

1. The sticker chart. Months 24-36.
Yes. We tried this from the beginning. Right after his 2nd birthday I purchased a snazzy little pea soup green Baby Bjorn potty (it matched the walls on the master bedroom in our other house) and kept it in the master bathroom. He used to sit on it fully clothed, pick it up, walk around with it, put it on his head (never used at this point) but the interest stopped there. After showers and first thing in the morning I started sitting him on the potty, letting him see that there was nothing scary about it, hoping that he’d take to it. He’d pee once in a while. Sometimes he’d just sit there for 10, 12. 14 minutes, watching Seasame Street or some other mind numbing educational children’s program. (Who the hell developed Wonder Pets? Shoot Me Now.) Since he was a) young b) boy, I didn’t push anything, and it became clear to me, potty training was not at all on the child’s to-do list. But we kept at it all year, mornings and evenings on the potty to pee. That’s about it. He’d get a sticker for going pee, and at first he cared about what sticker he would get, but after a while, the sticker phenomenon got old, he realized, it’s just a sticker, you can’t play with a sticker, it doesn’t make a noise, it doesn’t taste like chocolate, and you cant’ really throw it at mommy or the dogs, so it’s really not much of a reward. Turns out, the child really doesn’t care about stickers. Stickers = bust.

2. Elmo Goes Potty. Months 24-36.
I naively thought that if Alex watched the DVD I purchased, Elmo goes potty, he’d want to emulate the behavior. I was so stupid.

3. M&M’s. Months 36-38.
Not really wanting to introduce the child to candy, I did my benefit/risk analysis, and figured savings in diapers outweighed fear of dental complications (and our dentist told me his teeth looked great on our last visit thanks to his general distaste for hard or gummy candy and lack of love for juices), so I bought a giant bag (as in, multiple lbs) of M&M’s that to this day is kept in our master bathroom above a vanity cabinet, and as of his 3rd birthday, if he went pee pee in the potty, he’d get to choose 3 colors. This started to show some progress. In the meantime, we moved into a bigger house, so I realized we needed more than 1 potty if we wanted to reach the goal in time. Two more potty purchases later (1 for the car, 1 for the downstairs bath, the other upstairs) and I was ready to go. We continued the M&M reward method until we had a huge bag of M&M’s, minus all the blue ones. Apparently the blue ones tasted better. It was sometime February, and while he’d pee on the potty when sat there and bribed, he still wouldn’t go on his own, wouldn’t forewarn us, and usually fought the whole process. Things were not going well.

4. Shooting Pee.
Boys like to shoot things. It’s something inherent in the DNA, even if you don’t let them play with guns, they manage to turn everything into a gun – Alex first learned about guns at Disneyland of all places… Thanks to the Buzz Lightyear ride. It’s like a lightbulb went off in his head, his testosterone kicked into high gear, and well… as a girlfriend put it plainly, they were raised to be Spartans, can’t fight the Gladiator urge. So, I tried the recommend method of telling him to “shoot” pee into the toilet. I even had thin paper based toilet friendly targets that you throw into the toilet so the kid can take aim. He didn’t buy it. Bust.

5. Naked Potty Training.
A lot of parents swear by this method, and so of course, we gave it a try. It’s usually much easier to master in the summer with the obvious benefit of warm weather, and the trick is to stay at home on lockdown for a weekend or week, keep the kid out of pants and diapers all together, usually in the backyard with a potty in reach, and after a couple accidents, the kid should gravitate towards the potty, recognizing the feeling of the need to go and associating it with heading to the potty to do the Doo.
Not as simple as it sounds. And I will illustrate with actual examples.
The following is true.
a) Naked potty training on a warm early spring day. Naked child runs through mom and dad’s bathroom, asks dad to open the door to the master balcony off the bathroom. Dad accommodates, takes son out onto balcony to view backyard. Dad starts laughing hysterically. Mom walks out on the balcony to find out what’s so funny. Mom witnesses toddler peeing off the balcony, finding it extremely funny, laughing hysterically, dad can’t keep from laughing along. Mom mortified. BUST.
b) Mom put child on potty, who goes pee. Mom pleased, flushes pee, washes son’s hands and her own. While washing her own hands, son runs into hallway. Comes back into the bedroom.
“I made poo poo.”
Confused look on mom’s face.
“You made what?”
“I made poo poo. Big poo poo.”
“What do you mean you made big poo poo? Where?”
“Out there.” Son points to doorway.
I don’t even need to finish the story. You can figured it out. Mom mortified. BUST. We gave up on the naked potty training.

6. Months 38… On… Big Ticket Bribery.

Finally, I had to take matters into my own hands and use what I knew would work with our son – the gift of lightsabers that actually make noise and light up, water guns, large scale lawn mower bubbles makers, toy cars (yay for the $1 bins), trucks, books, cheap DVD’s, gooey chocolates in blue wrappers (Dove coconut Easter candy), and pool noodles. Mind you, this was still cheaper than a month’s worth of diapers, so it was worth a shot. I made massive purchases at Toys R Us and Wal-Mart of the above-mentioned items, put them in a huge box in the downstairs guest room in plain sight of the adjoining bathroom, and explained to Alex that if he peed in the potty (and we finally switched to the regular toilet, much easier, cleaner, and would get him used to public restrooms faster) he would get a small toy, and if he pooped in the potty he would get one of the big ticket items (as in lightsabers, bubble blower, Star Wars Storm Trooper guns, etc…). Soon enough, Alex was peeing in the potty, and amassing a fine collection of water guns (pack of 5 for $1 goes a long way). By this point, we were heading to Florida, and I was getting desperate. Poop still wasn’t happening in the potty.

7. Star Wars Cookies



An obvious reward tactic is finding something that your kid loves, and running with it. Obviously, my box of tricks was going to run out and I really didn’t want to spend a fortune restocking toys for a toddler who is already a tad bit spoiled, slightly over-indulged, so I needed a Plan B. (And yes, I know my kid is terribly spoiled in some respects. We’re addressing this slowly…)

The easiest and economical solution: Williams Sonoma just happened to come out with Star Wars cookie molds – and voila! Every pee in the potty landed him his choice of a Star Wars shaped cookies – Yoda, Darth Vader, Boba Fett, or Storm Trooper. But poop was still a problem.

8. Feeding the Hungry Potty.

I bet you didn’t know that some kids have major anxiety about potty training, something to do with the flushing sounds, and not understanding where everything goes. I started to understand that this was most likely Alex’s major obstacle, and I needed a creative solution to properly deal with it. This is where having amazing mom friends comes in very handy. I bumped into a girlfriend of mine and her girlfriend, and we get to talking, and we all have boys, potty training topic naturally comes up, and then they enlightened me on the brilliant methodology for dealing with a kid who was clearly anxious about the process; tell the child that the potty is hungry and needs to be fed, his mouth his wide open and ready to eat, and when he flushes, he says thank you. First, I couldn’t stop laughing when I heard this because it was so simple, slightly ridiculous, kind of gross. But, desperate as I was, I was willing to try it. Believe it or not, this worked for us. Alex started to sort of befriend the potty, it wasn’t a scary thing but a hungry household staple, and needed to be fed. The anxiety began to lessen, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, one day before karate, I knew he had to poop, he did the dance, a short of shimmy with a nervous face and attempted to run away from me to go hide under the billiard table (don’t ask if you can’t figure it out), I caught him and ran him to the bathroom, and for 30 minutes I begged and pleaded for him to poop in the potty, I brought out the big ticket bubble gun blower that was shaped like a lawn mower trimmer thing, let him hold it, pleaded with him to feed the potty… AND WE DID IT! (I think I cried.) We were ready to head to Florida.

9. No Other Choice. Months 41+

In the Keys, we were in the pool for hours at a time and at the beach, and we explained to Alex that he wouldn’t be allowed at either activity if he didn’t go on the potty. He loved the warm waters of the lagoon, ocean and pool and the friends he got to play with - we didn’t have the big box of toys but we had the threat of going back to the hotel room and staying there. Who knew all we needed to do was go on a tropical vacation to get the ball continually rolling?

10. Contiued reward, accolades, applause…



From his 3rd birthday, it took a solid 7 months to really nail down the whole process, to get him to tell us when we needed to go, and to actually sit down and go without major argument. To this day, he still says “No Thanks” when I ask if he has to go, and then direct him to the potty anyway only to see that yup, he had to go… he just didn’t want to stop whatever it was that he was doing. We had a lot of accidents along the way, and once in a while, they still happen – which is why I always carry a change of clothes in the Darth Vader back pack. We remind him that Jedi’s go in the potty, and we’ve even called Yoda to tell him about poop in the potty, and Alex is very proud when he learns that Yoda is impressed with his achievement. It took patience I didn’t think I had, and sometimes… didn’t actually have – there were plenty of times when Pete got frustrated and desperate emails from me, not understanding what I was doing wrong, why other kids potty trained in 3 days, 2 weeks, and we were struggling for months; I needed to make sure this happened, since a prerequisite to his new preschool which absolutely HAD TO HAPPEN was a diaper-free status. I had known he was ready since for the last year he stayed dry through the night, but it took me a while to understand the right way to go about doing this.
I actually learned a valuable lesson through this rather frustrating milestone process. I was reminded that kids are not cookie cutter, and what works for one may not work for another; and the fact that one kid was trained by age 2, and another trained in a weekend, has absolutely no bearing on what our experience will be like, and it’s unfair of me to make any sort of comparison.
I’m beyond thrilled to be out of diapers, although it’s a funny feeling – he’s definitely not my little baby anymore… now he’s my big ol’ baby… 41 lbs, 41 inches. It’s a relief that we’re in Buzz Lightning undies and preschool starts this Fall!