The one thing I always dreaded even before my first child was born was potty training. After years of working in nurseries, babysitting, and having younger siblings, cousins and nieces I knew that potty training was one of a parent's least favorite activities. And so when I was preparing for this event with my first child I wanted to get it right from the start. I wanted to be encouraging, positive, and efficient. Helping my daughter to accomplish this milestone as quickly and painlessly as possible. And so I read books, looked through various internet sites that offered advice, and discussed it with our pediatrician. (I probably should have consulted with my mother,she did manage to have 5 kids successfully potty-trained, but I wanted to be more modern.) And so after research was done,and my daughter indicated an interest with all the correct signs of readiness, we plunged into the realm of potty training.
Unfortunately it was not the quick, clean, success I had envisioned. What I didn't account for in all my research and consultations was the great variable PERSONALITY. My daughter and I suffer from a bull-headed stubborn personality syndrome causing potty training to be more of a battle of wills than a simple milestone to accomplish in the toddler years. We battled daily, washed a lot of clothes, cleaned up a lot of puddles, had a lot of crying (on both ends) but eventually she learned how to use the bathroom.
Now one would think that after a laborious and not so successful venture I would examine my methods before attempting this task again and yet with my second child I dove in with the same determination and list of tactics. Because of course I figured it was my daughters willful determination to control things that made the first venture a disaster, not a lack of proper plan. And though my second child was more agreeable the process was not any faster, easier, or was there less laundry. In fact since my daughter was still in the midst of things when my son started the whole thing was overwhelming.
Finally when both were potty trained I took a deep breath and relaxed. But only for a moment because my third child was moving into this territory that I now dreaded with every fiber of my being. This time, however, I decided to take a new approach. I pretty much did nothing. I did start when he was about 18 months old talking about the toilet and what it was for, setting him on it occasionally while preparing for a bath or getting dressed, but other than that I really didn't even suggest he needed to be potty trained. Then one day we went shopping he came across some Scooby-Doo underwear that he wanted and I agreed only if he could keep it dry. And guess what he did! By this time he was about 2 1/2 years old and once he put that underwear on he never looked back.
And so with my 4th I decided to attempt the same method as with the 3rd. Amazingly enough it worked again. I waited until she was almost 3 yrs making only a few suggestions and trying underwear occasionally, then a week before she turned 3 I handed her some underwear and said it's time to be a big girl. And she did great!
So now that I figure I know what I'm doing I actually looked forward to tackling the process with my 5th. Being done with diapers and having the freedom of walking out of the house without having to pack a diaper bag or wonder if I brought enough diapers for our trip. And so the process began after he turned 2 I began discussing the bathroom, experimenting with having him spend short moments on the toilet, letting him wear underwear occasionally and a couple of months before he turned 3 I let him pick out some underwear at the store, handed them to him and said it's time to be a big boy. And Voila! he was potty-trained. Or so I thought.
Again what I failed to factor in was PERSONALITY. Unfortunately for me, he also suffers from the same bull-headed, stubborn personality syndrome that my eldest daughter and I have. So after a few weeks of successful bathroom trips he one day decided that it wasn't working for him. He began wetting his pants every time, fighting me each time I asked/suggested/told him to go to the bathroom and finally after 3 months I gave up and put him back in diapers. I then began to use different tools and techniques I had heard discussed. Rewards, stickers, praise etc. It soon became clear that it wasn't a lack of skill or know how it was simply a refusal to do what he was being asked. And so I took the reward/ discipline approach. If he kept his underwear dry he was rewarded if he did not he lost a privilege. And yet again another plan failed.
This week I decided to try a whole new approach. I told him that if he wanted to continue to wear diapers that would be fine, but he had to change them himself. So on Monday morning when it was time to get dressed I handed him a diaper and said go to it. After about 45 min he came out with his diaper, crooked but on. And we went through the same process every time a change was needed that day. On Tuesday we repeated this sequence. My hope was that he would get so tired of trying to put on his own diaper (I don't know if you've ever watched somebody try to diaper themselves, but it's not easy) he would eventually figure out that underwear was easier and more convenient. So after two days of this, on Wednesday morning as we were getting ready I asked him if he had told his dad what he was doing with his diapers. He looked at his dad and said "I can put on my own diaper, isn't that cool Dad?" My heart sank. He wasn't supposed to think it was cool. And so I said "I think Daddy would think it was cool if you wore underwear like him and kept it dry." My little one looked at me and said "That's not cool mom, that's just boring."
And so I sit here racking my brain as to what to do next. How will I ever get this boy potty-trained? My one hope is that he'll cave before kindergarten.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Grief
Grief is defined as deep mental anguish; to be sorrowful.
Grief is a subject I've thought much about this week. I've watched a lovely woman suffer the loss of a brother this week and it's brought back a flood of memories for me of the loss of my own brother. For those of you who don't know my brother Morgan was killed in 2004 while serving in Fallajuh, Iraq. He had joined the Marines right out of high school, went to Iraq in 2002 and was serving in his second deployment when he was killed. I can remember the day I received the call from my dad and then the next few weeks are a complete blur. I vaguely remember the memorial service in Indiana and the funeral that was held in Tennessee. At the time my grief was overwhelming. I couldn't believe this had really happened and I couldn't understand what had gone wrong. I recall thinking when Morgan left for this second tour that there was a real possibility that he wouldn't return. We were hearing everyday of men and woman being killed while serving and I knew that he was one of the men going in on the front lines. And yet a piece of me stilled didn't register that this could truly happen to someone in our family. But reality hit me hard on Nov. 12, 2004.
Even though it's been almost 7 years I still deal with the grief of that event day after day. In that time I have learned a great deal about grief (at least about my grief).
Grief began as an unwelcome guest that burst through my front door with no warning and no chance to prepare. He ripped at everything around me trying to pull it down and shake the foundation of my life. For me this guest stayed for several weeks. But then I began to take control again and tried to set things in order.
Once he had lost his element of surprise Grief morphed himself into a bully. He would show up at the most awkward moments mocking me with a word, a movie title, a magazine cover, or sometimes just a pack of M&M's (one of my brother's favorite treats) that would make the feelings of loss and despair come rushing back and the tears and sobbing come pouring forth. Many times this was in front of a cashier, at a bible study, or at a gathering of friends. This was probably one of the most difficult times for me and I'm sure those around me. No one seemed to know what to say to me so they either acted as if nothing had changed, made an effort to be comforting usually saying just the wrong thing, or simply avoided me all together. I then would be hurt by those who were casual with me, offended by those who said the wrong thing (and I would be hard pressed to know what the right thing to say would have been), and angry with those who avoided me. This version of Grief often took turns with the next two versions so he was able to anchor himself in my life for much longer than I would have liked.
He was quick to change into a cave in which I hid. This variation allowed me to hide away, conceal myself from others, eat to numb the pain, and gave me plenty of excuse not to participate in life. During this period I looked for reasons not to spend time with my friends, I overlooked my duties as a wife and a mother doing only that which was necessary to get by and used food as a crutch. Like I said before Grief would change between the two and then after a few months threw in the third member of his party.
"The do everything thing you can to avoid feeling anything" side of Grief. At this point in my life I signed up for everything I could get involved in, ran my kids all over town, cooked and baked constantly, actually cleaned my house on a schedule, and had a fourth child. Though nothing I did was hurtful or destructive, it certainly provided me with an opportunity to escape any feeling of loss. I was just too busy or tired to deal with the reality.
These three faces of Grief worked through my life for several years. But now Grief has a new function. He is my friend. Someone I can prepare to visit with and even when I don't know he's coming he is a welcome guest. He gives me moments of pause to recall the life of my brother, remembering fond moments and thinking about what Morgan would have enjoyed about me and my family. He makes me to see in my kids the heart, soul, physical features and mannerism of a man they will never know but helps me share him with them. There moments that happen each day that I think Morgan would have enjoyed that, or Morgan would have thought that was funny. Many times tears are still involved but many times smiles as well.
What I have discovered most about Grief is that it is what we feel when those who we truly loved are removed from our lives. Though I wanted him to go away and leave me alone when he first appeared, now I want him here because it is Grief that helps you to remember the love.
Grief is a subject I've thought much about this week. I've watched a lovely woman suffer the loss of a brother this week and it's brought back a flood of memories for me of the loss of my own brother. For those of you who don't know my brother Morgan was killed in 2004 while serving in Fallajuh, Iraq. He had joined the Marines right out of high school, went to Iraq in 2002 and was serving in his second deployment when he was killed. I can remember the day I received the call from my dad and then the next few weeks are a complete blur. I vaguely remember the memorial service in Indiana and the funeral that was held in Tennessee. At the time my grief was overwhelming. I couldn't believe this had really happened and I couldn't understand what had gone wrong. I recall thinking when Morgan left for this second tour that there was a real possibility that he wouldn't return. We were hearing everyday of men and woman being killed while serving and I knew that he was one of the men going in on the front lines. And yet a piece of me stilled didn't register that this could truly happen to someone in our family. But reality hit me hard on Nov. 12, 2004.
Even though it's been almost 7 years I still deal with the grief of that event day after day. In that time I have learned a great deal about grief (at least about my grief).
Grief began as an unwelcome guest that burst through my front door with no warning and no chance to prepare. He ripped at everything around me trying to pull it down and shake the foundation of my life. For me this guest stayed for several weeks. But then I began to take control again and tried to set things in order.
Once he had lost his element of surprise Grief morphed himself into a bully. He would show up at the most awkward moments mocking me with a word, a movie title, a magazine cover, or sometimes just a pack of M&M's (one of my brother's favorite treats) that would make the feelings of loss and despair come rushing back and the tears and sobbing come pouring forth. Many times this was in front of a cashier, at a bible study, or at a gathering of friends. This was probably one of the most difficult times for me and I'm sure those around me. No one seemed to know what to say to me so they either acted as if nothing had changed, made an effort to be comforting usually saying just the wrong thing, or simply avoided me all together. I then would be hurt by those who were casual with me, offended by those who said the wrong thing (and I would be hard pressed to know what the right thing to say would have been), and angry with those who avoided me. This version of Grief often took turns with the next two versions so he was able to anchor himself in my life for much longer than I would have liked.
He was quick to change into a cave in which I hid. This variation allowed me to hide away, conceal myself from others, eat to numb the pain, and gave me plenty of excuse not to participate in life. During this period I looked for reasons not to spend time with my friends, I overlooked my duties as a wife and a mother doing only that which was necessary to get by and used food as a crutch. Like I said before Grief would change between the two and then after a few months threw in the third member of his party.
"The do everything thing you can to avoid feeling anything" side of Grief. At this point in my life I signed up for everything I could get involved in, ran my kids all over town, cooked and baked constantly, actually cleaned my house on a schedule, and had a fourth child. Though nothing I did was hurtful or destructive, it certainly provided me with an opportunity to escape any feeling of loss. I was just too busy or tired to deal with the reality.
These three faces of Grief worked through my life for several years. But now Grief has a new function. He is my friend. Someone I can prepare to visit with and even when I don't know he's coming he is a welcome guest. He gives me moments of pause to recall the life of my brother, remembering fond moments and thinking about what Morgan would have enjoyed about me and my family. He makes me to see in my kids the heart, soul, physical features and mannerism of a man they will never know but helps me share him with them. There moments that happen each day that I think Morgan would have enjoyed that, or Morgan would have thought that was funny. Many times tears are still involved but many times smiles as well.
What I have discovered most about Grief is that it is what we feel when those who we truly loved are removed from our lives. Though I wanted him to go away and leave me alone when he first appeared, now I want him here because it is Grief that helps you to remember the love.
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