Dry Pull Up's and Ice Cream

Of course, these two things go together!!

Anyone who has tried to potty train a small toddler sized, human being, knows this simple fact:  BRIBERY is the answer!

Most adults, are content to wake up feeling dry, fresh, and not smelling like pee in the morning.

This same logic does not pertain to a 3 or 4 year old.  They have absolutely no qualms about wallowing around in their own feces.  Urine or otherwise.  And so, this involves a bit of  "positive trickery" as a parent.

It seemed that Charlotte's 4th birthday would be the perfect time to gently encourage her to keep a dry Pull Up for the morning.  Charlie has been potty trained for a long time now.  But as it was with the other girls, it's always the night time Pull Up, that is the last to go.

And as a parent, if you really want this to come to fruition, it is your duty to say inspirational half-truths, in a sing-song, voice of encouragement, like, "Big four year old's stop drinking milk and water after dinner."  And "Big four year always go potty before bedtime."

And here comes the money, the big ticket item, sealing the deal: "Big four year old's who wake up with a dry Pull Up for 5 days get ICE CREAM."

That was all she needed to hear, and Charlotte darted towards the bathroom, resembling a girl at Mardi Gras in search of beads, ripping off her clothes, and leaving them in a strewn pile, to run to the toilet before bed time stories.

Imagine her disappointment, when she woke up this morning, and her Pull Up was wet.

There were tears, people.  Tears.

As long as the Confessional is open for business, while pushing Charlie on the swing  at the park yesterday,  I pulled her right off, by her ankles.  And she landed, with a thump, on her head.  Don't ask me how or why.  Because I am not exactly sure what happened, myself.  Mental note:  adults are supposed to push, not pull their small children on the swing.

The lady next to me,  pushing her 2 year old, while cradling her newborn,  just sort of looked at me with concern, head titled sideways, like "WTH just happened?"

 So I did what any incompetent mother would:  I scooped up my inconsolable Preschooler, and what was left of my pride, and we scurried away into the safety of our car, where a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich would make all right with the world once again.

I apologize for sounding repetitive, but this parenting thing is really hard.  I feel like I am in this constant tug-o-war between wanting to keep it real, and then wondering, "Oh man, did I tell them too much?"  Or "Did I handle that situation correctly?"

Case in point, I gave Cosette "The Talk" in about 5 minutes flat just the other day.  Yeah, I get the whole "Keep it simple" philosophy, but maybe I kept it too simple?  But then, I also didn't want to completely repulse her.  Like I said, it's a slippery slope.

While driving to the library, (where we had over 100 items checked out - yes you read that correctly! Even the Librarian informed us that she had never seen that before, but I digress), Bella asked me for twenty bucks.  And her reason for wanting it was legit.

 Calmly, I explained, that I am not made of money,and she has been babysitting for awhile now, and she could earn it the old fashioned way.

Pleading her case, she said, "Mom, haven't you noticed that I have been putting forth all of my time and effort into studying and doing well in school?  I just haven't had time to babysit."

And truly, she was spot on.  She really has been burning the candle at both ends.

And so I replied, "Yes I have noticed.  And I'm extremely proud of your diligence.  So why don't we compromise?  I will loan you the money, and you can pay me back?  I just don't want you and your sisters to be those people who get everything handed to them.  Kids like that don't appreciate what they have,"  and under my breath, said, "And they tend to be little assholes."

On cue, "MOM!!  Little ears in the car, here!" Bella yelled, gesturing to Charlotte and Cosette.

Tom is much better, than I, in this parenting department.  He is all calm, and peaceful, and like, Zen.  He's like a mini Jesus, or Buddha.  Or just someone who emanates patience, and tolerance, and everything I LACK.  I don't think Tom would ever pull Charlotte off the swing by her ankles at the park, or (gasp) drop a four letter word in front of the girls...just saying.

 Besides, his go-to saying, is "Oh my stars!"  How can I compete with that?  NO ONE has a better all-American saying than that!

Lately,  I find myself, getting fired up about things, that I never even cared about before.

For example, we have a very "everybody helps out" attitude in our home.  So after sorting, washing, and folding laundry for our family, I don't think it's irrational to ask my children to put away their clothes.  Did I mention that the laundry is clean, and folded, and neatly placed in their baskets?

One of my daughters, whom shall remain nameless, thought this was a preposterous idea, one evening, this past week.  And who knows?  Maybe she had a bad day.

Or perhaps, she had just lost her mind.

It's neither here nor there.  This story does not end well.

Little did SHE know, I was in the bathroom, located right next to her room, and heard her ungrateful complaining,  "Well THIS isn't mine.  And THIS isn't mine," as she removed articles of clothing from her basket,   "Gee Mom, thanks a lot for doing my laundry."

I sat, dumb founded, on the toilet, mid-pee, my rage starting to rise from deep within,

Really?  Really?!  Oh no, she didn't.

I stood up with such a start, that I didn't even stop to pull my pants up, or finish urinating,  As I stormed out of the bathroom, and down the hallway, my body was tense; my eyes full of anger and fury.

I barged into her room, startling her, with my pants down, and said,  "You know what?  You do not have to ever worry about the wrong articles of clothing being placed in your basket.  Because I will never being doing your laundry again.   The next time you're going to say unkind things about me, make sure your damn door is shut!  AND, you owe me an apology."

Yeah, I'm still waiting for that apology.

And so I ask you, dear reader, why do I lose my mind over a child who's been caught being ungrateful?

When you figure that one out, meet me at the Elks Lodge.  Because that's where it's always Happy Hour, no matter what time it is,

Has any parent ever figured this one out: when one of our children misplaces something,(hypothetically speaking, their one and only uniform skirt), it becomes our problem?

One day about two weeks ago, I patiently observed, as she frantically scurried around the house, resembling a crazed mad-woman.  In those wee morning hours before her ride left for school,  she searched under her bed, only to come up empty handed.   She started  tearing  up when the skirt was not located in her Volleyball bag,  Finally, in a last ditch effort, she dumped the  dirty laundry basket, wailing out, like a wounded animal, "I don't know what I'm going to dooooooo." Sniff. Sniff.

To which, I replied, "Be a problem solver.  Whether you have to borrow a skirt from the office.  Or email your team mates to see if someone picked it up for you.  You will figure this out."

Now I'm going to let you in on a little secret:  I had an extra, brand new uniform skirt in my closet.   Did I offer it up?  No, I did not.  When the tears started,  I wanted to,  When a Mama watches their kiddo losing their mind, you can't help but want to save them.  But what happens the next time she misplaces it?

Which she did.  A week later.  And she borrowed a skirt from our neighbor, problem solver, that she is.

Sigh.

One early morning, as the twins sat eating their pancakes at the breakfast table, I asked Bella, "Did you know that I am at Notre Dame on Tuesdays for my Women's Spirituality Group?"

She looked at me, half-awake, and said, "Not really, Mom," as any teenager would, because how or why would she care to know that?

"Would it be okay if I popped into one of your classes, and called you guys 'my little poopsies' in front of everyone?"

I do this, because it works just like it did for Ursula the Sea witch in The Little Mermaid...they are repelled and run away from me.  Which I absolutely love.  Me calling the twins, "my little poopsies" is like Kryptonite.  And I file and use it, especially if I want to embarrass them.  I think that's only fair, don't you?

"OH MY GOD, MOM!!!!  Please DON'T do that!"

I held back a chuckle, "Why not?  I grew you with my own body for ten months.  I have kept you alive for fourteen long years, and you won't even let me come into your class to say 'Hi'?"

"Now, you're totally making me feel guilty, Mom," she pleaded.

"Well, I am Catholic.  Just doing my job."

And we both started cracking up.  Parenting is a hard job, this much is true.  But if I can remember moments like these, I can keep going.

And I hope that one day, a very long time from now, I will convince myself that if any or all of my girls end up in therapy, I did my job JUST the way I should have.  Because I can't handle any more guilt, guys.

Sigh.