The dangers of potty training

Sometimes I think it would be easier to just keep her in diapers.

For instance, when we drove to my cousin’s house a few weeks ago for a family birthday party, that three-hour drive would have been much simpler with a baby in diapers. Instead, we had the pleasure of stopping more than once on the way there for potty breaks – and stopping to mop up a wet car seat on the way home.

Running errands is also a tad more difficult these days. Because my curious – and slightly conniving – little sweetheart insists on visiting every single public restroom in a 25-mile radius of our house.

Finally, I’ve recently discovered the danger potty training poses during timeouts.

Weekends are always difficult, partly because our schedules are different and that throws all of us for a loop. But it’s also due to the expectations we (okay, fine - I) place on the two days we have together. I mean, it’s our only family time. [I may have said that a time or twenty.]

Whatever the reason, most weeks present a struggle with patience and behavior and attitudes and obedience. Annalyn has some issues, too.

So last weekend, when my darling daughter spent several two-minute stretches in timeout, it was life as usual. What was new, however, was her decision to pee in her crib during timeout.

[Yes, she’s still sleeping in a crib. I know, I know. We have to move her to a big girl bed soon, but she hasn’t tried climbing out since that one time that scared both of us out of our minds. We’re on borrowed time, I know, but I’m enjoying it as long as it lasts. Bedtime is just so darned easy now!]

But back to the issue at hand: She peed in her crib out of anger!

My father-in-law said, “Oh, she just got so mad she couldn’t control it, huh?”

Um, no. She was mad and out of control, yes. But she decided to take control the only way she could – and PEED!

The second time she did it (so I had already stripped and remade her bed), she sat on her PILLOW and did it! She PEED on her pillow to get back at me for putting her in timeout!

Well, joke’s on her. Because have you ever tried to wash a pillow? It never comes out the way it started. It’s lumpy and fat and generally uncomfortable. So there.

Seriously. I anticipated wet pants and weeks of bare feet. Once I recovered from the initial shock, I wasn’t even that surprised about this episode. But I never guessed that my sweet little angel (ha!) would respond to timeouts by peeing on herself.

Crazy.

Then again . . . I guess I do some pretty stupid things when I get mad. No, I don’t typically stomp my feet, spit, throw myself on the floor, wail and whine, or otherwise act like a certain two-year-old I know.

But I do hold on to hurts and bitterness, instead of letting forgiveness and time ease them away.
I decide that fine, I’ll just be perfect from now on, so you won’t have anything to criticize – instead of apologizing for a mistake or explaining my viewpoint or decisions.
Or I eat. I push my feelings down with salt and sugar and a round of carbs for everyone.
Sometimes I clam up.
Sometimes I scream.
Sometimes I cry.
Almost all the time, I give myself a pounding headache.
I really don’t behave well when I’m mad.

Well, well, well. Once again, I’m forced to see the similarities between myself and a toddler.

How do you behave when you’re mad? (Please tell me you don’t pee in your bed!)

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Pink toes

Pay no attention to the Skittles on my mouth!

As I buckled her into her car seat, she said, “I have white toes.”

Okaaaaay.

Then, “Elise has pink toes. I have white toes.”

Oh! I get it now. Her friend Elise has painted toenails.

“Would you like me to paint your toenails pink?” I asked.

“Yeah!”

And just like that, I made her day. Actually, based on the way she showed off her pink toes and “stingers” [fingers] over the next several days, I made her week.

I couldn’t help but think just how easy it is to make her happy now. Two year olds throw fits over the most ridiculous things, but they also delight in the simplest pleasures.

Like pink toes.
Or princess band-aids.
Or a new bouncy ball from the store.
Or blowing bubbles on the front porch.
Or rediscovering a bucket of stuffed animals that have been neglected for six months.

It’s so easy now. But it won’t always be that way.

I think of the times my parents just couldn’t – or wouldn’t – do what I wanted to make me happy. I think of dance lessons we couldn’t afford and extracurricular activities they didn’t approve. I think of church camp and parties missed and rules and budgets enforced.

But then I remember hugs and lessons and support and love. And I know that they gave me everything I ever needed – and so much more. Like piano lessons and Camp Fire uniforms. Like a second pair of basketball shoes, after my first pair got stolen. Like a dress for a dance that I never got asked to.

And I know that my little girl will be just fine, even if she doesn’t get everything she wants.

Still, I’m glad I can give her pink toes.

This post will be linked to What I Learned This Week at Inmates to Playdates and Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

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Are you building a cathedral?

Image by ~MVI~

Last month I attended a professional development and networking luncheon. It was more interesting than it sounds.

Something from that lunch has stuck with me – and I don’t mean the dozens of announcements or painfully basic tips on getting involved in social media.

To read the rest of this article, please visit (in)courage today!

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On the other hand, I've got hitting the snooze button DOWN.

Yesterday did not start out well. After going to sleep more than two hours late (Thank you, Daylight Savings.), Annalyn woke up 45 minutes early.

[Side note question: Can anyone explain that phenomenon? At what age do we develop the skill of sleeping in to recover from late nights?]

So the early start turned into yelling (me) and frantic showering (me again.) and frustration over yet another chaotic morning (um, yeah, me.). Then, because I like to use stress as a reason to make poor food choices (feel free to turn away now, Losing It friends), I buzzed through the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way to take Annalyn to daycare.

This not only started my morning with 14 points under my belt (Thank you, dollar menu.), but also prompted my already cranky daughter to cry because I didn’t get her any fries.

The nerve!

It should come as no surprise, then, that I had a little – shall we say – incident in the daycare parking lot.

See, the thing is, those spots in that lot are really stinking small. And though I didn’t see it in the handbook, I’ve realized in the last three weeks that all daycare parents are required to drive SUVs or vans.

Anyway, back to my morning from, well, anyway. I found a spot and squeezed my wannabe-SUV into it. As I turned off the car, I was a tiny bit proud that I’d overcome the small spaces and SUV that was three inches over the line and a tiny bit annoyed that other people don’t know how to park.

And then I walked around to the other side of my car to get Annalyn out of her carseat. Juggling a package of diapers (Thank you, potty training FAIL.), her hat and gloves, and a sippy cup of milk, I looked up and realized that a) in my effort to maneuver around the SUV on my left, I had totally swerved into the spot of the SUV on my right, and b) the owner of that SUV on the right was standing on the sidewalk, admiring looking at my parking job in disbelief.

By that point, I’d already gotten Annalyn out of her seat. So I did the only thing I could think of and said, “Can you go stand by that lady, baby girl?”

Of course, even my small child couldn’t fit between my badly parked car and the badly parked car next to it. So we had to walk all the way around the car, stack all of our stuff on the sidewalk and say reassuringly, “Mommy will be right back. [I’m so sorry.] Just stand right here, okay? [Thanks. I do know how to park. I was trying to avoid that, oh, I’ll just move the car.] One second, baby!”

I’d like to say that’s where the humiliation ended, with me leaving my 2-year-old daughter with a stranger and backing out of a parking space.

But no. Then I had to turn a simple task – move from one parking space to another – into a 9-point turning ordeal. The other spaces were tight, too, okay? And it’s not as easy as it sounds to back up your car and re-park directly behind the original space.

[I wish I was as creative as my friend, Erin, and could provide you with a diagram at this point. I just know it would clarify any questions you might have at this point.]

Finally after at least 32 minutes (or 3.2 minutes, I’m not sure), I pulled my car safely into another space, gathered my daughter and all our stuff, apologize AGAIN to the lady who was not quite as friendly and forgiving as I’d have preferred, dropped off my kiddo, and left.

Ready to start my day. Or something.

Oh, and if you were wondering about my whole getting up early plan? Yeah. Not so much. Don’t get me wrong! It’s still a plan. And I still want to do it. But I haven’t. Not in several days.

Annnnnd this whole story JUST MIGHT be the perfect example of why I should start my mornings earlier.

I love it when I teach myself a lesson.

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Notes in the Margin: What I Learned This Week

Or, I should say: What I learned again.

Every now and then, I need to be reminded: nothing goes as planned. So plan for that.

See, I like to cut it close. From my monthly budget to the time I allow for getting ready in the morning, I like to plan each minute, each dollar.

It’s not a matter of getting a lot out of life. It’s more a matter of . . . laziness. And procrastination. If I can get ready, from shower to hair drying, in 30 minutes, then I can sleep in that much later. If I can account for every dollar of our paychecks, that gives me more money to allot for eating out and birthday gifts and clothes.

But what happens when things don’t go as planned? When Annalyn just needs her mommy to hold her for five minutes in the morning? When the car needs a repair unexpectedly?

I do this with my time in general, too. I cram my calendar so full of activity that it doesn’t leave room for spontaneous events. So, when a friend calls and says, “Hey, we’re headed to Wendy’s for dinner. Want to join us?” I have to decline. Because we’ve already got a birthday party and a concert to attend.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been reminded of how this madness keeps me from experiencing good stuff, as well as brings us too close to disaster for my comfort level.

So on Sunday, after we had chosen to take an afternoon nap when Annalyn did, and we were rushing around like crazy trying to get ready for having our small group over for dinner, I took a few minutes out of my carefully timed cleaning schedule. And I sat on the (dirty) kitchen floor with Annalyn and ate a chocolate snack.

It took maybe five minutes. And it meant that I didn’t end up fixing my makeup or – really, let’s be honest – even stop sweating before our friends arrived. But hearing my little girl say, “mmmm!” and watching her eyes light up at that treat – well, it was worth it.

And it reminded me that I need to leave some room in my schedule, my budget, my life. That’s what I learned this week.

What about you? Learn anything recently? For more stuff learned, head over to Musings of a Housewife. Also, for more sweet moments, visit Chatting at the Sky.

But first, please scroll down for a big announcement. You don’t want to miss this one!