Deputy Underpants

I'm not quite ready to promote him to captain yet, but he has been wearing them all week. To school. In bed. And my Lord the laundry. Oh it piles up. But I figure getting this done is worth the sky-high water bill we are inevitably going to have. (Man reading the water meter: "What are they doing over there, showering a yak?")

At first he had a few accidents a day, and then by the end of the week it was one. And it was one yesterday (I think). He has gotten his shoes a few times -- thankfully they appear to be machine washable -- so I just got him an auxiliary pair to keep at school (their suggestion), just so he can still go out on the playground even if his shoes are wet. Hey, I'm shopping at Payless. It's not like he's drenching hundred-dollar Nikes.

A couple days ago, to help him remember which end of the underwear goes in back, I showed him the little emergency opening in the front and explained what it was for. Side note: Really, guys, how lazy are you that you need an emergency hatch in your underwear? Because pulling the whole thing down is somehow too much work? I didn't even realize the emergency hatch is in every single pair, until I started helping kiddo get the underwear on. Anyway kiddo was especially intrigued by the hatch, and when he hit up the potty after breakfast, he was in a hurry and used it. Highly impressed with himself, he explained to us, "When my penis gets in trouble, I can use this!" And we promptly had a giggle fit over that behind the bathroom door. Oh no! The penis is in trouble! To the emergency hatch!

A more mature person would not be so quick to embrace the toilet humor. I am not that person.

There's still the inevitable "but I don't WANNA use the potty" whine after meals and after "Phineas and Ferb" is over but it seems at least a little halfhearted. And he is genuinely using the potty, nearly every time.

I even daringly brought him to a birthday party yesterday, in underwear. At one of those kiddie play places that had a bounce house and video games, either one of which could keep him occupied (and not remotely focused on his bladder) for hours. I brought extra shorts and underwear, just in case, and did not need them. Granted I had to time him more or less precisely, then corral him and drag him to the bathroom, but it worked. Huzzah.

So we'll see how this week goes. I am, finally, optimistic.

Every single parent I talk to, no matter the generation, says potty training is the worst part and they were so happy when it was over with. So ... it gets better from here?

Potty war: A new hope?

Yesterday morning, I prodded him over to the potty for his usual post-breakfast constitutional, and he looked distinctly like something big was coming. He asked me to leave. More precisely, to "go somewhere." Which was a strange bit of delicacy, but I complied. After several long minutes, he triumphantly announced, "I pooped!" And oh boy he certainly had. There was enough left over for an auxiliary potty.

He was highly pleased with himself and the world, until we'd gotten the whole production into the toilet and flushed it. Seems the whole production was too much for the toilet, and it promptly stopped right up. Then made some ominous gurgling noises. Kiddo backed off, a little spooked. And then a stray bit of leftover production fell out of wherever it had been hiding, and kiddo stepped on it. With his new sneakers on. That I had just bought him 24 hours ago.

Fortunately everything cleaned up nicely and neither kiddo nor the toilet seem to have developed post-traumatic stress disorder.

Honestly. I'm reasonably lucky in that my work hours are a little flexible. What do parents do when they're on a stricter time clock, and this sort of thing happens? What do they say? "Well, my kid and the potty and the poop was everywhere and cleanup and, you know, sorry I'm late."

Kiddo also announced at school/day care yesterday that he needed to pee, then ran into the bathroom to do so. And then used the potty three times after getting home last night. Then while climbing into bed, announced that he needed to use it again, and climbed back down and did so. All promising signs. His teachers think give it a few more days, then send him to school in underwear and see what happens.

In the meantime, kiddette is now capable of informing us that she needs a diaper change by pointing at her butt and saying "poop." Which her brother never, ever did. So I'm thinking once kiddo is finally off the pull-ups, we start right in on kiddette. I'm envisioning a world of no more diapers, of retiring the Diaper Genie permanently, and it's a beautiful world. Also a cheaper one.

Pretty fairy wings and pee talk

So there was, I am not fibbing, a fairy festival in town last week. Co-sponsored by a local dentist - tooth fairy, get it? -- and our school/day care, so I thought we'd check it out.

Oh, who am I kidding? They had me at "fairy festival." Because I am a geek girl from way back and to me, fairies are cool. What's the difference between a girl and a geek girl? Girls go through a horse phase. Geek girls go through a unicorn phase, with a side of Pegasus.

Anyhow, we get to the park and it is a small ocean of girls in fairy wings. Sparkly dresses. Tinker Bell outfits. Blue and green wings. Purple wings. Red and yellow wings. Just wings and curly ponytails and glitter as far as the eye can see. It was the cutest thing ever. If you were somehow allergic to cute, you would have died on the spot.

What amazes me is, this was the first-ever fairy festival and all these families just showed up with their girls already bewinged, meaning 1. they bought the wings specially or 2. they already owned the wings. I'm guessing 2. because 1. seems like way too much effort. Who knew you were supposed to make sure your little girl was equipped with wings, just in case a fairy festival should break out? Shouldn't someone have mentioned this at one of those hospital classes? Shouldn't there be a space on the baby registry for Wings, Glitter or Non-Glitter?

Fortunately they were also selling wings at the festival, so I got kiddette a pink pair, and properly equipped, she proceeded to run around the field with a lacrosse stick in one hand and a hockey stick in the other, being most un-fairylike.

Yes, there was lacrosse and hockey, preschool version, obviously so the wingless boys had something to do. (Apparently human children are like Gelflings, in that only girls get wings.) There were also arts and crafts, pony rides (we at first thought the ponies were wearing fake unicorn horns, and were slightly relieved to realize it was just ribbons in their mane), "fairy dancing," jewelry for sale, grownup fairies in princess outfits posing for pictures, a hot dog stand and "fairy treats," aka the ice cream truck.

Kiddo had a fine time taking shots at the net. DH pointed out how natural his stance was, even comparing him to a slightly older boy next to him who didn't quite have the movement down. Which means, of course, we need to sign this kid up for sports. Preferably not hockey, since I like him with all his teeth. Maybe he'll like baseball.

Eventually he realized he wasn't the target market for this event and he and Daddy wandered off to the playground. Fairy kiddette made a fairy flower -- alas, they were out of wand materials -- danced a little to what I'm pretty sure was the soundtrack to that Tinker Bell movie, and then told me she was thirsty. She did so by trying to grab random other kids' sippy cups. She also explained that she wanted to sit by wandering over behind the school's display table and climbing into the nice school person's chair. (Fortunately the nice school person was amused.) So kiddette and I plopped down on the grass and split a lemon ice. And then kiddo and DH discovered us, and split their own lemon ice, by which I mean DH got about a spoonful.

It was a pretty nice event, actually. I'm betting they do it again, considering the turnout.

On the way back to the car, kiddo, clearly annoyed that kiddette got wings and he didn't, whined, "But I want to be a fairy!" DH assured me that's just what every dad wants to hear from their son.

The next day kiddo and I went to a classic car show, which was basically cool old cars lining the streets of the town, so you could look at cars and window-shop. Or someone not accompanying a kiddo could window-shop, because he was in full-on drag-you-behind-him St. Bernard mode. "Look at this car! Look at that car! Wow! What kind of car is that, Mommy?" And if I didn't see the make listed on the rear, I had to deflect the question, because I know precisely nothing about cars. But they did look cool. I love those fins.

We had lunch at the "lunch store" and were on our way back when kiddo announced he had to pee. Which is information he has never, ever volunteered for any reason. And of course, the first time he chooses to volunteer such information, we're in the car.

"OK, kiddo, we'll be home soon. Can you hold it until then? Say 'Pee stay in.'"

"Pee stay in." Pause. "The pee wants to come out."

"But tell the pee it can't come out yet and it has to wait till you sit on the potty. Say 'Pee stay in.'"

"Pee stay in." Pause. "The pee is crying because I'm talking to it."


"Um, OK."

We got home and rushed him onto the potty, and as far as I could tell, he made it. Then he told me the pee was happy that it was in the potty. So really, everyone was happy.

There are no conversations quite like the ones you have with 4-year-olds.

Potty war: The continuing saga

So we turned a bit of a corner. I think.

We were up at Grandma's for the weekend, and we brought the potty with us. Have small plastic toilet, will travel. It's a little like when we used to bring the cat places with us and we'd pack her litter box. Periodically through the weekend we would declare potty time and have him sit -- and when I say "periodically" I mean there was a little timer constantly ticking in my head, counting down the minutes between the last potty time and the next potty time, between a meal and the next potty time, between a nap and the next potty time. Because really, could there possibly be anything else more interesting to occupy my brain? He peed occasionally, but reluctantly, since potty time was taking valuable Grandma's-toy time away from him.

And then ... he pooped. I mean he really pooped. I mean it was bigger than some of the dogs we'd seen at the park that morning. DH, I believe, is scarred for life just from the sight of it. And kiddo was thrilled. It was the first time ever he'd fully, willingly pooped in the potty, and he was apparently delighted to have survived the experience.

Since then he's pooped in the potty two more times, and he's peeing nearly every single time we get him to sit. He's way more excited about it than he was before. The pull-ups seem to be drier a little longer. And once he's on the potty, he stays on it, even if we get up and leave the room. He may scooch the potty out of the bathroom and into the hallway to retrieve a toy that rolled away, but he is, technically, still on the potty.

We're still holding the doctor's "special prize" over his head, because it works. I fake-called the doctor one more time, and since then I just have to threaten to do it and he yelps, "No, I don't want you to give the prize to the other boy!" Sometimes he gleefully talks about how he's going to get the prize and the other boy won't, and the other boy will cry. He's decided the mythical other boy is one of his buds from school. Not sure why he wants to make his friend cry. Is this a guy thing?

I've been quizzing his teachers on it, and they're not so much impressed with his progress. He still fights them on sitting, especially before nap. It's true he's still not volunteering to use it on his own. But I clued in one of the teachers about the doctor-prize strategy, and at school today he peed and pooped. So we'll see how this weekend goes. I figure on sticking him in underwear again to see how he does. Unless of course the world ends, in which case I may be a little annoyed that this is how I spent my last days on Earth.

Potty war

And oh man is it a war. He doesn't want to do it. Won't have it. Doesn't care if he pees or poops his pants, even when wearing underwear instead of pull-ups (so all the books/magazines/web sites that endorse that method, please take a flying leap). I took all the toys out of his bedroom and told him he would earn one back each time he used the potty. Which he'll do, and he's happy to get a Matchbox car or a Thomas train back, until the next time we tell him to use the potty and he throws a screaming fit and runs away from us. Even though it would obviously earn him back another toy.

The doctor noted he's clearly strong-willed in general (as in, if you give him the chance he'll walk all over you, something every single authority figure who's ever dealt with him has learned at some point) and recommended counseling. For us, not him, to give us techniques on dealing with him. Not sure how that works exactly. We get on the couch and they say, "Hi there, sucky parents! Here's how to do everything you've been doing wrong!" She also told him that she was going to call every night to find out if he'd used the potty, and if he had, he would get a prize. So dragging that line out has helped some. Although it's gotten to the point where I faked a phone conversation with the doctor yesterday, explaining that kiddo would not use the potty and she would just have to give the prize to the other boy. Kiddo freaked out and immediately got on the potty. I told the dial tone I would have to call her back later.

Then of course he asks for the prize, and I tell him he has to use the potty for a whole day and not pee his pants if he wants the prize. And then 20 minutes later he pees his pants.

We didn't force it while he was having trouble pooping and we had to put him on Miralax. We didn't force it when his sister was born, because that was upheaval enough. Then we moved -- even more upheaval -- and he started a new school (or day care) with kids he didn't know. Not to mention this new bedroom he was sleeping in, with a bed instead of a crib. So we would try to get him on the potty, but we didn't try that hard, because he was already having problems settling into his new class. But now he's 4 and the only one in his class still in pull-ups. Enough is enough.

Yesterday, I let him watch a little TV because he'd used the potty, and sometime during the show, he peed his pants again (and knew it, clearly, because he was standing instead of sitting on the couch and trying to squeeze his legs together). So no more TV, I think, since clearly he won't leave it to take care of business. I was so furious I hauled him upstairs and left him in his room, pantsless, with the potty, and told him he could come out after he'd used it. He did, almost right away, and then asked, with complete sincerity, "Are you happy now?"

And then I felt like the world's biggest schmuck because all I do is yell at him.

So that was my Mother's Day, how was yours?

The sick that wasn't

People told us that kids get sick a lot when they start day care, and oh boy did they understate the case. Viral infections. Ear infections. Stomach viruses. Strange unidentifiable illnesses that vanish after lasting just long enough for you to yank them out of school and haul them to the doctor. I feel like I should prerecord myself saying, "Kiddo/kiddette is sick and DH took them to the doctor, so I need to leave early to pick up kiddette/kiddo from school," and just hit "play" whenever I need to inform my boss. Saves wear and tear on the vocal cords.

So this time around, we'd just gotten kiddette in for a follow-up visit after her ear infection -- all looked much improved, but he said to keep tabs on it -- when kiddo developed his own ear infection two days later. A round of drugs for kiddo. That evening, kiddette started fussing and crying, generally acting in pain, slight fever, refusing food, and we both thought, the ear infection returns. Arrgh. I called the pediatrician, but by the time he got around to calling back, I was halfway to the ER, because it was Good Friday and we were not going to wait out a holiday weekend on the off chance her ear really was worse. Naturally, she fell asleep in the car. Which probably should've clued me in right there, in retrospect.

Fortunately the ER wasn't packed, and they have a separate sitting area for kids, which we spent zero time in anyway. I guess they didn't want to keep the small child waiting. So the doctor -- who I think might've left his bedside manner in the pocket of his other white coat -- came in and checked her over, declaring her ears looked fine and it was probably a viral infection. Duh on me. So, looking at me like I was a crazy person to panic over my kid having the sniffles, he told me to give her 130 ml of ibuprofen. And left.

While waiting for the discharge papers -- yes, apparently we needed some, and no, they didn't say THANKS FOR WASTING OUR TIME, YOU NUMBSKULL -- I checked with DH, who noted that our bottle of kiddie ibuprofen measured in mg, not ml. So I asked the nurse about that when she bustled back in with the paperwork.

A note about the nurse. I don't know if she was on loan from the grownup ER, or if she just does the kiddie ER thing on her way up to becoming chief of surgery or whatever, but seriously, if you're going to treat ill children you should have some sort of way with them. Shooting up your voice 15 octaves and talking in exclamation points does not cut it. Don't get all cutesy-poo about how adorable my kid's pink coat is. She knows. But she doesn't know you, and no power on this planet is going to make her crack a smile for you unless and until she decides you're cool by her. And why are you trying to get a smile out of a presumably ill and unhappy child, anyway? Where do you think you are, the playground?

Anyway. She bustled in and I asked her about the mg/ml thing. She seemed startled that I was talking, because clearly that's not how discharges are supposed to go. But then after hemming and hawing about it, she said mg and ml are the same thing. And that 5 ml equals one teaspoon. Thus having explained the math for us, she went back to her prerecorded discharge speech, collected my signature and left.

So I got kiddette home, and we looked at the label for the ibuprofen again and realized the amount the doctor had said to give her would've been about 15 times the amount you'd give a 2-year-old. So either he gave me the wrong number, ml and mg are completely not the same thing or the kiddie ibuprofen they use in hospitals isn't the same as what you buy at CVS. (A quick Googling tells me the answer is #2. Also, that you can't convert one to the other because milligrams are mass and milliliters are volume.) We gave her half the amount of the dosage for a 2-year-old -- that's half a teaspoon -- put her to bed and hoped for the best.

She seemed, of course, completely the usual the next morning, except her fever was still a little high. We even made our family playdate, since the other kids' parents figured, if our daughter was going to infect their son -- her classmate -- she would've done it already. And a fine time was had by all.

And then the mom made the most obvious point in the world: "You know, she could just be teething."

Why yes. Yes she could. Since she's had a couple teeth coming. And her behavior tracked much more with a teething episode than with an ear infection (no tugging on the ears, for instance).

Seriously, next time before I call the doctor, I'm just going to call all the moms I know and see what they think. It'll save me some angst.

Socializing, 2.0

Mixing and mingling and small talk have never exactly been my thing, since I'm the introverted type who won't open her mouth without having something specific to say, and since my extra-low voice won't carry in large groups. I'm pretty sure both of my kids could out-shout me at this point. Not that I'm telling them that.

But I realize I have to step it up a little and be more social, being that we live in a new area where we don't know people, and being that the kids our kids are in school (day care) with are probably the ones they'll be going through kindergarten/first grade/etc. with, so now would be a good idea to make friends with them. Which, I've realized, at least partially depends on me making friends with the other moms. Because 21st century/changing gender norms/more involved dads doesn't mean jack when it comes to preschool world. Moms still rule.

So I've actually been pretty eager to go to all the birthday parties kiddo gets invited to, even if I'm not sure he actually plays with or likes the birthday child in question, because he gets used to hanging around the other kids and I hang around the moms (and the occasional dad).

It's been going fairly well. The other parents seem nice. Although I hate to admit to them that I think of them as "Soandso's mom" or "Suchandsuch's dad" because I still don't know their first names. I so, so hope they're doing the same thing with me.

The real test, I figured, was kiddo's own birthday. Would any of his classmates show? Would it go well? Would my goodie bags stack up to the other goodie bags (because man, do these things get elaborate)? Would the parents be happy or annoyed if we didn't serve pizza?

The answers were yes, yes, I think so -- judging by the gleeful shouts as the kids peeked inside -- and happy, I think, since a fair number of bagels got eaten and the cream cheese was entirely devoured.

It was kind of a funny mix of classmates, one or two younger siblings of classmates, friends of ours and their kids, and assorted family members. The kids were instantly entertained because it was at a kiddie play place and they were let loose to run around and climb and lob balls at each other in the ball pit. These places are the best. The first time we went to a kiddie birthday party at one of these places, we thought, an hour and a half party? What a rip! But now we are older and wiser and know that that is the perfect length of time for a small child's party, so parents can get their kids up and out before they get too whiny or bored or before the sugar crash sets in. Besides, you don't have to clean anything up. Bonus.

So the kids are running around and it occurs to me, as the de facto hostess of this shindig, I should "mingle." I don't think I ever passed Mingling 101 but I think I performed adequately. I talked to one group of moms about the upcoming parent-teacher conferences, I checked in with our friends and their kids, I talked to a few other moms. I made jokes. Really, it was like I was social or something.

Most embarrassing moment: Being five minutes late to our own party. It takes forfreakingever to get everyone out of the house on a normal day. When you're also toting a very large cake, a bag of goodie bags, bagels, Goldfish and fresh fruit? Forget it. And that was with the grandparents helping.

Most adorable moment: When kiddo's bestest buddy from school waited outside the play room for us because he refused to go anywhere until he had personally handed me kiddo's gift.

Most secretly hilarious moment: When one of kiddo's girl buddies was in the ball pit with him, and they were climbing up onto the ledge on the side and jumping into the balls. I guess he was taking too long, because she shoved him right off the side and then jumped in after him. Oh, he is going to be ruled by girls. I can see it now.

Most idiotic thing I could possibly have done: Giving them noisemakers. I have no idea what I was thinking. Because of course the girls working the party put one out at each plate, and as soon as the kids came into the food room and saw them, the room was filled with HONK HONK HONK for the rest of the party. "What did you do?" one mom mouthed to me. "I'm so sorry," I mouthed back. You'd think they would've eased up once they started eating, but you'd be wrong. (C, dryly: "I understand the geese are migrating early this year." Heh.) One little girl actually started crying, and I thought, oh great. The noise hurts her ears. Then her mom came over and explained she was upset because her noisemaker didn't work, and did I have any more? I didn't think so, but checked again and indeed yes. I gave it to the girl and all the moms around her applauded so she would stop crying.

I even apologized to a couple of the moms individually about the noisemakers, but they said, eh, don't worry about it. We'll "accidentally" lose it on the way home. Resourceful!

So now I just have to write a bunch of thank you notes for the lifetime's worth of Matchbox and Hot Wheels kiddo is now the proud owner of, and then moving on.

Well, sort of. We have another birthday party next weekend.