Pottytraining Diaries/Poopwatchgate: The Conclusion

Yep, that is what he's pointing at. It all came out yesterday, in a double header on the porcelain throne.

We'd given up hope. We'd tried logic. It failed. We'd tried peer pressure. That failed, too. We'd resulted to bribery. From the last diapered turd on Thursday morning until the ultimate splashdown, we'd promised Jack the world: New toys from Target, ice cream bars, M&M's, and, the coup de gras, Wii Sports Resort (I was rooting hard for this reason, alone.)

The wait seemed endless. Day after day we pestered him: "Don't you feel like you have to go poop?" The answer always the same. "Nope" he'd remark, "I'm fine." And he'd continue with his day.

Then, Sunday, the fourth day of Poopwatchgate, came. We were concerned about a blow-out. We worried that he might try to hold it in indefinitely and then his subconscious would betray him during the night. We contemplated suppositories (Sam had endured this fate in months past) to force the issue.

Sunday afternoon, I had resolved to make dinner and was perusing a cookbook generating ideas. Ashley noticed Jack had disappeared and had closed himself in the guest bath. Grunting ensued. Ashley claims she heard jack get off the toilet, pause and say, "YESSSSSSSSS." She believes he had to look to verify it for himself that he'd achieved his goal: using the toilet for its intended purpose.

Jack exploded out of the bathroom announcing the feat. Celebration ensued. I was sent to Costo. I ended up making an unintended journey through the Crip-town Rectum Mall when I learned Costco didn't carry the "Wii Motion Plus" accessory. Darn you COSTCO! [shakes fist angrily at Costco sign.]

I returned from my Costco-WalMart-GameStop-Back-To-Costco-All-While-Avoiding-Getting-Shot-Mugged-Or-Disemboweled-By-Not-Looking-Anyone-In-The-Eyes errand with the Wii game, and an over-sized bag of M&Ms (they measure this bag in pounds, not ounces, kids) [And some socks, a new golf shirt, a couple bottles of wine, and an 18 pack of Newcastle Brown Ale... Damn you Costco! [shakes fist at Costco sign again]] I learned that while I had been spelunking through Costo's caverns of colossal consumerism, Jack had added to the excitement with another deposit. He commented later that it was "really, really big" and that it looked like a "poop snake." Indeed.

We played Wii late into the night. Jack was beaming with pride. With the lone exception of returning home after the infrequent camping/hunting trip, I've never been more excited about the act of using the toilet.

Success.

It finally happened. Oh there is so much to tell. But you'll have to wait as I intend on telling the story, prospectively in reverse. Understood? So watch for new "old" posts. (Hint: I'll be post-dating them.)

Pottytraining Diaries/Poop Watch - Week 30: The Poop Camel

Jack's last "BM" was Thursday morning. It's now Saturday. We're genuinely concerned. He's not complaining that his stomach hurts or that he's in any discomfort or pain, but we're not buying it. We've placed him on the toilet several times to "try," but no luck.

I dub thee the Poop Camel, Jackson.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 30: Luck Runs Out

So Jack's diapers ran out this morning. We tossed the last of them in the garbage, full of its putrid load of human waste. I cheered quietly inside. I would have shot off fireworks inside my brain, but I was afraid of burning off the last of the brain cells to which I frantically cling these days.

Now we wait. And hope. And prepare ourselves for the inevitable midnight sheet cleanings...

Jack is upbeat about it. That makes one of us.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 29: Scarce Resources

Jack's realized that the fuse is burning out quickly and he has therefore gone into conservation mode. Instead of asking for a mid-day diaper to poop in, he saves up until the morning after he sleeps in one, and then depositing the "remains of the day*" in it. That way, he only burns one diaper per day (since he must sleep in one).

* Sincere apologies to Kazuo Ishiguro and James Ivory.

Some things I learned today.

Jack taught me the following things today:

1. The lyrics are not "He's got the whole world in His hands," but instead "He's got the whole world in his pants."

2. I didn't really fly all the way to Scotland to play golf in '07, I just drove to Scottsdale.

3. Superman is the only person who plays in Scotland because he can fly there whenever he wants.

4. Jack can hit his little USA Kids Golf driver 50 yards... with no formal lessons to date.

5. Cousin Ethan plays on a golf course in Tucson where they use only sticks and rocks.

Potty-training update: If potty-training had an economic equivalent, we're in stagflation: Potty-training progress is stagnated and my frustration with the issue is inflating.*

Sam is great. He turned 1 in late July. He points at you and waves to say "hi" and "bye." Then he sees something he can eat, his eyes grow huge, and he points directly at it, grunt-yelling until you give it to him. He crawls faster than people in Tucson drive and eats more than his brother does most of the time. He claps, usually when people on the TV clap, including golf claps. He loves to toss (roll) a ball back and forth with you as you sit on the ground. He is the "OMG! the cutest baby ever!" according to any female under the age of 17 behind you in line at the supermarket or behind the counter at Old Navy. {sarcasm} Yeah, I know, LOL @ OMG! {/sarcasm}

Lastly, this is quite possibly the greatest invention of the modern era. "Darn, that's pricey!" you are likely saying. Let me tell you that after a couple of those puppies, you will not care what it cost. The first time I saw it at a party, my eyes grew large, I pointed at it and then grunt-yelled until they gave me one. It was delish.

* I spent 10 minutes trying to decide if you can use two colons in this manner. I decided for it, and will let my fellow law school compatriots comment furiously in the negative, after having diligently solicited their grammar guides. After reading newspapers for the last few years, I've decided grammar in America is officially dead.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 28: The Ultimatum

So the gauntlet has been thrown down: Jack is operating on a dwindling number of diapers. The pediatrician has asked (required) that he be using the toilet for all activities in the near future. So the fastest way to that goal is to remove all obstacles: no more diapers after the current supply runs out.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 24

Just a short update: He's now insisting that he be closed in the bathroom by himself while he goes in the diaper. While on vacation, I found him in the bathroom, perusing golf magazines, using the "diaper." I had to smile.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 22

We're not advancing one inch. He holds it all day, asks for a diaper, throws nuclear fits if they are refused, and even repels offers of increasingly expensive rewards. I'm ready to buy the kid a Mercedes if he'll just abandon his diaper in favor of the porcelain. It's become ridiculous, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking of all the repetitive advice I've received: He'll do it when he's ready. (By the way, that advice never goes over well with a Type-A people like Ashely and me.)

He goes #1 with ease and on his own volition. So we continue to wait, hoping that repeated encouragement and prodding will finally break through the concrete and steel barrier that stands between Jack and his graduation into society as a proper defecating member. I never thought that the longest running battle I'd have with my son would be the use of the toilet.

In Other News,

So we can't bribe, threaten or cajole Jack to use the toilet for #2, but oh sure, your robotic vacuum cleaner will. Life is just laughing its rear off at us right now.

Pottytraining Diaries - Week 16

Peeing in the toilet is now generally accepted convention in our house.  #2, however, is not.  In fact, it's willfully avoided.  Nowadays, Jack wears underwear during the day, and a "pull-up" diaper at night.  He likes to drink water and/or milk before bed and he routinely urinates in the night so we've retreated to the use of a pull-up during the bedtime stretches.  Interestingly enough, he does not release #2's in his underwear, and recently has been waiting for bedtime to relieve himself.  

This week, however, Jack had an unexpected surprise: the need to "go" long before bedtime.  Ashley tells me that while she was tending to some laundry, Jack disappeared into his room and closed the door (nothing to be surprised by, he will take "personal time" for 10-20 minutes at times, playing peacefully in his room as he desires.)  This time, however, he remained in the room for almost 35 minutes before Ashley, sensing something was askew, knocked and asked what he was doing.  She could hear the noises of his handheld computer game, so she cracked the door.  He announced, "I have poop."  

Ashley was shocked and disappointed, thinking that he had fumbled and let fly in his underwear.  But upon closer inspection, she discovered he was wearing a pull-up.  Apparently, Jack had retreated into his room, removed his shorts and underwear, climbed up onto the top of his dresser (where the pull-ups are kept), donned the training pants, dropped the Cleveland Browns off at the Super Bowl, and never missed a beat.  

The one bright spot from all of this is that he's learning how to dress/undress himself.  

Our Little Existentialist Veterinarian

During a recent outing, Jack and I had the following conversation.  To preface it, you have to understand that with potty training in full swing, there's a lot of talk about pee-pee, poo-poo, and the various tools and mechanisms linked to those activities.  

The conversation began when Jack told me, not five minutes after leaving the house and not six minutes after I had asked him if he needed to use the facilities before we left the house, that he needed to relieve himself.  This conversation ensued:

TJ:  "Jack, can you hold it buddy?  We have about five more minutes left in our drive."

Jack: "Yes, Daddy.  I have a gate in my penis."

T:  "[chuckling] Oh really?  That's good.  Please put a lock on your gate until we get to the park."

J:  "Okay.  [pause]  Jesus put the gate in my penis."

T: "[now a little confused at how we arrived here] Is that so.  I'm glad he did that.  Please use what he gave you."

J: "Okay.  Jesus made my penis."

T:  "Well, sort of in a round about way, yes. But... [I had no idea where to go from there, so I just faded off.]"

J:  "God made Jesus."  [Ed. Note:  Romanians agree.]

T:  "Well, not exactly, but we'll cover that ground when you're a little older and we can discuss the Trinity."  

[a 90 second pause.]

J:  "Daddy, who made God?"

T:  "Uuuuhhhhhh..." 

I tried to explain that "some" believe that we (man) created God (the "opium of the people" and all that jazz) and that others like us believe that God just is and was.  A little deep for a three year old, but I did my best to put it in his terms.  Thankfully, he chose to change the subject shortly after my mini lecture:

J:  "Daddy, when Mommy and me went the mall a few weeks ago [it was more like two months ago] we saw doggies.  One of the doggies ate his own poop.  Then he prolly threw up 'cuz when doggies eat their own poop, they throw up."

Existentialism and veterinary advice all in one 10 minute drive!

The Potty Training Diaries - Week 9

So it's been a few weeks since I've written about our struggles with pottytraining. Frankly, it's been sort of a "Battle of the Bulge-esq" "please-for-the-love-of-everything-that-is-good-and-holy-pee-pee-in-the-potty" slug-fest, with both sides deeply entrenched, while the icy hands of frustration clasped us all.

Then, as it did in the Ardennes, the bad weather lifted, and the "good guys" prevailed. Jack seemingly "decided" on his own that he was going to emulate his dad, lift the lid and pretend to make yellow snow. So far, we've gone about 4 days of this practice, and to the extent that he was able to achieve "new scooter" status on his Potty Chart. So there's been lots of scooter riding in the past couple of days.

In fact, yesterday (Thursday) I returned home to learn that he had been "dry" (i.e. no incidents in his diaper) all day and that he had used the toilet four times.

We're still working on #2. Much to his credit, he's tried, but he claims it just isn't working. (The line from the Austin Powers movie comes to mind, "WHO DOES NUMBER TWO WORK FOR!?!?!?!" "Yeah, you show that turd who's boss.")

Things I Had Hoped I Would Never Hear Myself Say.

As you know, we're in the process of potty training Jack.  Boys are notoriously harder than girls to train (yes, that's our excuse for having a three year old wearing diapers), and it has been a challenge with Jack.  Complicating matters, he's strong-willed, so on good advice, we've been letting things take their course, encouraging the issue with promises of treats and rewards for repeated use.  He's warming to the idea of the potty, er... toilet, and he has even been asking to wear his "big boy" underwear that we bought him for his birthday in January.  

Long story short, Jack was with me in the kitchen tonight, hanging out while I cleaned up bit, sitting on his favorite stool, in nothing but a tee shirt and his big boy undies.  I looked over, saw activity I didn't condone (and certainly did not want to foster over the long term) and said, in a firm, stern voice,

"Jack, stop playing with it.  It's not a toy."

Yes.  The "it" is what you think it is.  

This Blog Isn't Just About Kids, People.

I realize, looking back over the last few posts, that not much has been said about my two little boys, the title sponsors of this rodeo.  If you come here to read nothing but cute stories about young children, you've come to the wrong place.  This is pretty much my pet project/ventilation system/stream of consciousness, so you'll just have to deal with it, and get your kiddie info as it comes.  For "inquiring minds," I offer the following:

Sam:  Tonight, while I ate my face-charring-spicy-bowl, Sam played contently with the paper bag that it arrived in.  (He was unharmed while I consumed molten lava.)  He seemed to really dig the paper bag, so we'll revisit that toy sometime soon.  I now recall that Jack at this age always loved "non-toy toys" and, if you recall, his first taped session of ongoing belly laughter was created with the assistance of an Old Navy shopping bag.  [Editors Note:  Despite this, my requests to return to Target ALL of the stuff we gained in baby showers and use that money to buy an Xbox 360 continue to go unheard.  Alas...]  He is still suffering from on and off constipation issues, but I've saved you from "Poop-watch 2009" because my posts would have been a stream of complaints about his fussiness, and you've all heard that before.  He's such a cute baby (yes, a picture would be nice) and, when he's not eating/crying/sleeping/fussing, he's a joy to be around and lights up the room with his smile.  To quantify it, he's awesome 2/5ths of the time.  Another 2/5ths of the time, I let him live.  The remaining 1/5th, he's sleeping.  

Jack:  Still not potty-trained.  Underwear is just another fun "dress up" item.  I'm sure he thinks, "Hey look, Lightning McQueen occupies space on my rear!"  To add to the complications of life, he's now slowly dropping his nap, which means that some days, he naps (and can still rock a 2 + hour nap, yielding a bedtime around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m.) and sometimes he doesn't (yielding a battle royal and, mostly, a 7:30 to 8:00 p.m. bedtime).  He's a stellar baseball player, though, and I assure you that he'll win a batting title when he's old enough for tee ball.  He's got two tee-ball tees, and one that even shoots balls out at him which he then smacks back at me.  His fielding is still rough, but we're working on it.  Also, he's starting to get the hang of chipping golf balls in the back yard (much to my delight) but likes to steal my golf balls and then hit them toward me or the house/windows (much to my chagrin).  Don't tell him, but pretty soon, he'll get a bike with training wheels.  That should be fun, since I love to bike, too, and hope to get him into an active lifestyle (since, you know, I am the poster boy for active lifestyle).  

Jack and I are all alone this weekend, as Ashley and Sam leave for a Beth Moore (I just threw up a little in my mouth) conference with her good friend Jamie from college.  We've got some things on the calendar, but it's going to be interesting.  Thankfully, when Ashley leaves, Jack knows that he has very little rope and I have no patience for destructive frivolity, so he's generally very well behaved.  So I've got that going for me this weekend.

The Potty Training Diaries - Week 1

Jack turned three on January 23rd.  For months, we've been telling him that he had to start peeing/pooping in the "potty" when he was three.  Since he is the master procrastinator, he repeatedly and readily agreed.

His third birthday came and he was given underwear for his birthday.  Hardly something to get excited about under normal circumstances (aside from the male-female exchange of "exciting" undergarments at the festival of love known as Valentines Day, of course) but Jack was fired up.  He instantly donned them and celebrated.  (I would provide a photo, but pedophiles make me sick and I will not subject my kids to their viewing.  So here's *half* a picture.)

He wore them for a solid seven minutes.  Then back to diapers, where he could urinate and defecate to his hearts content.  The potty, I think, is somewhat of an annoyance to him, a speed bump in his otherwise light-speed pace.  (Someday, he'll learn the benefit of a savored "pit stop" with proper reading material or "Bubble Breaker" cell phone game.)  

So we're only about five days into Week 1 of the Potty Training Excercise, but so far there's been only one accident.  Having donned the new undershorts, he was playing with playdough at the table, stood bolt upright on the chair, let the jet stream flow, and then remarked, "oh no, oh no, oh no!"  Luckily, the pee was contained on the chair and didn't find its way to the carpet.  And, thankfully, so far no "#2" incidents.  

Adventures in Potty Training: Episode 1

I believe I have blogged before (but am too lazy tonight to go re-read all of my musings) that we are trying to potty train Jack.  We have had limited success.  "Limited" means that he will "consider" using the potty, but never actually execute when on it.  He sits on it, but does not release anything.  He has, I'm told, stood up in the bath and peed in the bath.  He found that quite amusing, actually.  But since the bath is not, technically the potty (although some opinions might differ, particularly those who find it acceptable to pee in the pool) it cannot be considered a successful attempt.  

In the process, however, Jack has learned how to remove his pants and diaper.  He does this repeatedly, but not frequently.  I guess you'd call it "irregularly" so we don't consider it a huge issue.  He has an exhibitionist streak in him, so we tolerate it.  It's good for some well-placed laughs, especially when you insert Mormon missionaries into the mix, but that's never happened so it's just a funny daydream I've had, at best.  

On October 27th, the cleaning people had come and blown a fuse in our kitchen, rendering our fridge inoperable.  Ashley was frantically trying to find a fuse (we have a 1952 fuse box, not yet upgraded to the new, "switch" type fuses that they installed later in the century, so to reset the fuse, we have to replace it), when Jack approached her and said, "Mommy, there's poop on the carpet."  

This was no cause for alarm.  Routinely, our furry wastes-of-space (some would call them "cats") will upchuck on the carpet, usually as a result of, and in combination with, a hairball.  Jack thinks it's poop and calls it as much, even though we tell him it's cat vomit.  Regardless, Ashley grabbed her tools for cat vomit extraction and went off to the living room to begin the clean up operation.  Sam, distraught over something unknown, continued to cry loudly and incessantly, raising Ashley's stress level even more.  

What she found, however, was quite different than cat vomit:

Jack had removed his diaper and dropped a deuce on the carpet.  

I am SO GLAD I have a day job.