So I tried to potty-train my son. Remember that?
I quit the day I blogged about it, because he was clearly determined to never acquiesce in this matter.
He was overjoyed to be allowed to crap in his pants in peace again, and I was a much better person for not trying to make him do otherwise.
And so, we moved on with life.
“He’ll do it when he’s ready,”
“Boys are different.”
Fine by me. I wasn’t particularly enjoying spending my time on the bathroom floor with a screaming clinching toddler who was gifted with sphincters of steel.
A week later, the kids went to spend the night with my parents.
The next morning at 8:30, I got a text from my Dad.
I chuckled viciously to myself, wondering why they were willing to do that to themselves.
I didn’t hear from them again until 10:30, when Mom shared the stranger aspects of my other child.
I assumed that meant that potty-training was an issue of which we wouldn’t speak any longer.
Until two hours later. When the messages started coming in every half-hour.
All day. The kid who had never peed a drop outside his diaper was going every time she took him.
Mom finally called me that afternoon.
I immediately asked the question I’d been wondering all day.
“What did you TELL him?? What did you DO??”
“Nothing really…I just told him we weren’t going to tee-tee in his diaper today. I only took him once an hour. And he went every time.”
I spent five days of HELL with that child, taking him to the bathroom every twenty minutes, encouraging, bribing, begging, pleading, cheering, giving his privy member every sort of frolicsome name possible (“Use your fire hose to put out the fire, Noah!”) and got NOTHING.
And she does basically zilch and has him perfectly potty-trained on the first try. Without a single tear shed by either one of them.
It was at this moment I remembered that my parents had taught BOTH of my children to walk, too. And I began wondering if I had the credentials it takes to be a mother, let alone a homeschool mom.
If I can’t teach them The Basics of Life (yes I hear 4Him in the background) then how can I expect to teach them long division?
Because I totally don’t remember how to do that kind of crap.
I fumed at the injustice and fantasized about interrogating my son as to his intentions with my sanity.
Meanwhile, my parents were celebrating their stunning accomplishments with streamers and confetti.
When Noah came home and I took him to the bathroom the first time, he actually said the words “I can’t – I can only tee-tee in the potty at Gramamma’s house.”
OH NO, son. OH NO YOU DIDN’T. You will pee and you will like it. Your cover is blown. BLOWN. BLOWN!!
He came around quickly, and has been practically 100% potty-trained ever since. Dry overnight and everything. AND INCLUSIVE OF POOP.
The moral of this story is: When random grandparents gaze reminiscently at you and your children and say sadly, “Enjoy every minute – it just goes by so quickly!”, THEY ARE LYING.
THEY are the ones living the dream.
Getting to spoil the grandkids and having nary a care about discipline.
Experiencing the euphoria of children responding to their every nudge or whim of leadership and being able to watch with joy as the children learn from their great aged wisdom.
And most importantly, they get to send those kids home right before they become brats.
So next time you see a Grandparent with their grandchildren, please look at them longingly and say sadly, “Enjoy every minute! It just takes us so long to get there!”