Dispatches from the Field: Potty Training
T-minus 14 days
Have acquired potty training operations manual from local library. Book helpfully explained myriad ways in which I have sabotaged myself by waiting until almost age 3 to begin potty training. Threw book angrily onto coffee table next to random collection of five plastic baby spoons and one mutilated Cube-Bot. That book isn't the boss of me. It can't tell me what to do.
T-minus 12 days
Dropped off toddler's preschool registration documents, which clearly state that said toddler's attendance is contingent upon ability to use a toilet successfully without assistance. Retrieved discarded potty training manual from table where it was concealed beneath December issue of Thomas & Friends magazine.
T-minus 9 days
Procured book for toddler referencing one Daniel Tiger and his urination proclivities. Features not-at-all-realistic sounding toilet flush when button is pressed. Toddler seems to enjoy pressing button, but refuses attempts to actually open book.
T-minus 6 days
Appropriated book featuring furry red monster, a.k.a. Elmo. Purported to be like "crack for toddlers." Book features 30+ flaps to lift and look inside. Toddler appears to recognize crimson beast, but ignores flaps and occupies himself with other activities while book is read aloud under guise of being interesting to parent.
T-minus 2 days
Re-read potty training operations manual. Took extensive notes on three-phase tactic (bare bottom, commando, and Finally Getting The Hell Out of the House) including words/phrases like "normalize" "self-initiation" and "poop goes in the potty now."
T-minus 1 day
Reviewed notes for operation and forecast with partner. He is mission-critical and on board. In the morning we hit the head.
9:30 a.m.: Toddler seems skeptical. Unlike Tom Green, he does not want to put his naked bum on anything.
12:10 p.m.: The canary has landed in the bowl. I repeat, the canary has landed.
1:00 p.m.: The canary is on the chair. Remediation teams deployed.
1:35 p.m.: Canary has returned to bowl. Jubilant celebration promptly shushed by toddler dictator demanding quiet for no apparent reason.
2:15 p.m.: The canary is in the bowl again. Toddler demands silence *and* no lights on. Latter request denied for logistical reasons.
2:35 p.m.: Upon being diapered for nap time, toddler reports, "My penis is cold." Toddler then observes, "Momma is laughing."
4:25 p.m.: Following nap time, canary again landed in the bowl after toddler stared at own crotch and commanded, "Come on, you!"
4:50 p.m.: Canary in the bowl under the following conditions: 1. Door closed. 2. Momma go away and Daddy come in. 3. Speak in whispers only. 4. Dog come too. Toddler's demands were met.
5:20 p.m.: Toddler ran to potty on his own and put a canary in the bowl. When asked if he was finished, toddler responded, "Ruff."
5:25 p.m.: When informed that "We don't show our penis to strangers," toddler reasoned, "It's too hot." Duly noted; reconsidering impending delivery of pizza.
6:00 p.m.: Commending the professionalism of the pizza delivery boy, who saw the toddler's pepperoni.
7:15 p.m.: During second self-initiated potty break, toddler rejects Elmo book as "a little scary."
8:45 p.m.: Report to friend: "I commend you on handling this naked toddler situation. I don't like it and it's weird."
Friend reports back: "Yeah, she is currently without pants, putting lipstick on her dad."
Conclusion: it could be weirder.
9:45 p.m.: There is a distinct possibility I am too tired to drink.
7:45 a.m.: Please no more. My head. I have a pee hangover.
8:30 a.m.: "Jack need pants!" I wholeheartedly agree, kid, but that's not what the book says.
10:00 a.m.: Yoga break. Subject being observed by second operative. God speed, partner.
12:45 p.m.: Atmosphere is growing tense. The novelty has worn off; fatigue and crankiness are setting in. Toddler seems fine, however.
4:40 p.m.: Toddler now fights and cries when we sit him on the potty. Digging deep to find tough love.
5:20 p.m.: Pay no attention to the woman crying quietly in the kitchen. Nothing to see here, folks.
7:20 p.m.: Baby head-butted me in the face. Action believed to be in retribution for paying too much attention to toddler.
9:00 p.m.: Both kids installed in bed. Palliative booze and ice cream being consumed.
8:10 a.m.: Commencing Operation Commando Pants.
10:50 a.m.: There is much confusion. Nobody in the whole house has peed since pants went on.
11:10 a.m.: The darkness has lifted. The canary has landed once again.
1:00 p.m: Too much together time is making us all feel stabby.
3:10 p.m.: If you must rock in the corner, try holding the baby. This makes you appear less broken-down-woman and more caring mother.
7:40 p.m.: Toddler has exhibited 100 percent compliance during the last 48 hours. Troops are cautiously optimistic.
10:00 p.m.: Over the last three days, we have experienced many highs and lows, many successes, and a few failures. Tears were shed. Words uttered that cannot be taken back. And the toddler still claims his penis is cold. This shall be my last journal entry. But make no mistake; we will push forth triumphantly and continue to build upon this potty training foundation. For the fate of preschool relies upon it.
Have acquired potty training operations manual from local library. Book helpfully explained myriad ways in which I have sabotaged myself by waiting until almost age 3 to begin potty training. Threw book angrily onto coffee table next to random collection of five plastic baby spoons and one mutilated Cube-Bot. That book isn't the boss of me. It can't tell me what to do.
 |
| Target identified. |
T-minus 12 days
Dropped off toddler's preschool registration documents, which clearly state that said toddler's attendance is contingent upon ability to use a toilet successfully without assistance. Retrieved discarded potty training manual from table where it was concealed beneath December issue of Thomas & Friends magazine.
T-minus 9 days
Procured book for toddler referencing one Daniel Tiger and his urination proclivities. Features not-at-all-realistic sounding toilet flush when button is pressed. Toddler seems to enjoy pressing button, but refuses attempts to actually open book.
T-minus 6 days
Appropriated book featuring furry red monster, a.k.a. Elmo. Purported to be like "crack for toddlers." Book features 30+ flaps to lift and look inside. Toddler appears to recognize crimson beast, but ignores flaps and occupies himself with other activities while book is read aloud under guise of being interesting to parent.
T-minus 2 days
Re-read potty training operations manual. Took extensive notes on three-phase tactic (bare bottom, commando, and Finally Getting The Hell Out of the House) including words/phrases like "normalize" "self-initiation" and "poop goes in the potty now."
 |
| Actual notes |
T-minus 1 day
Reviewed notes for operation and forecast with partner. He is mission-critical and on board. In the morning we hit the head.
9:30 a.m.: Toddler seems skeptical. Unlike Tom Green, he does not want to put his naked bum on anything.
12:10 p.m.: The canary has landed in the bowl. I repeat, the canary has landed.
1:00 p.m.: The canary is on the chair. Remediation teams deployed.
1:35 p.m.: Canary has returned to bowl. Jubilant celebration promptly shushed by toddler dictator demanding quiet for no apparent reason.
2:15 p.m.: The canary is in the bowl again. Toddler demands silence *and* no lights on. Latter request denied for logistical reasons.
2:35 p.m.: Upon being diapered for nap time, toddler reports, "My penis is cold." Toddler then observes, "Momma is laughing."
4:25 p.m.: Following nap time, canary again landed in the bowl after toddler stared at own crotch and commanded, "Come on, you!"
4:50 p.m.: Canary in the bowl under the following conditions: 1. Door closed. 2. Momma go away and Daddy come in. 3. Speak in whispers only. 4. Dog come too. Toddler's demands were met.
5:20 p.m.: Toddler ran to potty on his own and put a canary in the bowl. When asked if he was finished, toddler responded, "Ruff."
5:25 p.m.: When informed that "We don't show our penis to strangers," toddler reasoned, "It's too hot." Duly noted; reconsidering impending delivery of pizza.
6:00 p.m.: Commending the professionalism of the pizza delivery boy, who saw the toddler's pepperoni.
7:15 p.m.: During second self-initiated potty break, toddler rejects Elmo book as "a little scary."
8:45 p.m.: Report to friend: "I commend you on handling this naked toddler situation. I don't like it and it's weird."
Friend reports back: "Yeah, she is currently without pants, putting lipstick on her dad."
Conclusion: it could be weirder.
9:45 p.m.: There is a distinct possibility I am too tired to drink.
7:45 a.m.: Please no more. My head. I have a pee hangover.
8:30 a.m.: "Jack need pants!" I wholeheartedly agree, kid, but that's not what the book says.
10:00 a.m.: Yoga break. Subject being observed by second operative. God speed, partner.
12:45 p.m.: Atmosphere is growing tense. The novelty has worn off; fatigue and crankiness are setting in. Toddler seems fine, however.
4:40 p.m.: Toddler now fights and cries when we sit him on the potty. Digging deep to find tough love.
5:20 p.m.: Pay no attention to the woman crying quietly in the kitchen. Nothing to see here, folks.
7:20 p.m.: Baby head-butted me in the face. Action believed to be in retribution for paying too much attention to toddler.
9:00 p.m.: Both kids installed in bed. Palliative booze and ice cream being consumed.
8:10 a.m.: Commencing Operation Commando Pants.
10:50 a.m.: There is much confusion. Nobody in the whole house has peed since pants went on.
11:10 a.m.: The darkness has lifted. The canary has landed once again.
1:00 p.m: Too much together time is making us all feel stabby.
3:10 p.m.: If you must rock in the corner, try holding the baby. This makes you appear less broken-down-woman and more caring mother.
7:40 p.m.: Toddler has exhibited 100 percent compliance during the last 48 hours. Troops are cautiously optimistic.
10:00 p.m.: Over the last three days, we have experienced many highs and lows, many successes, and a few failures. Tears were shed. Words uttered that cannot be taken back. And the toddler still claims his penis is cold. This shall be my last journal entry. But make no mistake; we will push forth triumphantly and continue to build upon this potty training foundation. For the fate of preschool relies upon it.
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