Naked Tuesdays

After getting the kids to bed a few weeks ago, I caught the beginning of David Letterman. It seems Dave is having trouble getting his son, Harry, potty trained, and he was asking Paul Shaffer for advice. The advice Paul gave was pretty odd-something about making up a potty song and singing it to make the kid go? Maybe it was a joke, I don’t know, but I found it interesting the lengths to which parents are willing to go to get their kids to take the plunge.

Cooper turned three last Saturday, and he still refuses to let go of the diapers. I let the issue die a long time ago, convinced that he would start using the potty when he was ready. Three days after his third birthday, he decided he’d give it a try.

When the four of us sat down for lunch that day, we were completely unaware that we were about to experience the incident that would forever after be referred to as “Naked Tuesday”. Leave it to a three year old to create a warm, family moment like this one.

After eating a little of his lunch that day, Cooper quietly dismissed himself to his room in search of a little privacy, as it is customary for him to do. After a spell of silence that was long enough to make us question the safety of our home and second born child, I was off to investigate.

As I turned the corner to go down the hall, I noticed that Cooper was standing in the dark, sucking his thumb, in a kind of awkward stance that seemed to insinuate that he was trying to tread lightly. I had no idea why until I asked the question I always ask when he mysteriously goes into hiding: “Cooper, are you poopy?”

His answer sent me reeling. As he stood there, wide-eyed and smiling, he said, “No, I just pooped on the potty, but I need a little help with this right here.” And he lifted up his shirt to reveal a massive wad of dung that was smashed between his sweatpants and his back.

As my own eyes widened and my chest began to ache from holding in my laughter, I walked him back into the bathroom only to find that yes, he had pooped on the potty, although he had left a few skid marks on the seat on the way down. And as I looked a little closer, I also saw that he had left his diaper in the bowl, along with the half-roll of toilet paper he had attempted to use.

I praised him for his effort and immediately put him in the bathtub, but not before I ran into the kitchen to release my hidden hysterics and drag Randy in to see what his son had just done.

We entered the bathroom to find Cooper in the tub, squatted down in a catcher-like stance, while letting the water from the faucet stream onto his backside. He looked up at his daddy, smiled, and said proudly, “I pooped in the potty, Dad. I’m a big boy now!” After a heavy poke in the ribs, Dad agreed and praised him as well, even though I know his mind was racing with laughter and a whole string of poop jokes just dying to come out!

I knew that this was a turning point in our quest for a diaperless bottom. How we handled this situation might well dictate the decision our boy made about continuing to use the potty vs. making a prompt return to the Pampers. I decided I’d simply follow his lead.

After sanitization, purification, and decontamination, the moment of truth was upon us: diapers, pull-us, or panties; the decision was his to make. To my surprise he picked option number four: the buff.

At first, I didn’t know what to do. I figured he would run around for a while, enjoying the moment, and then be ready to put something back on. I was mistaken, however, and ten hours later after he had used the potty five times, he was still naked as a jay bird. That is when I decided that if Naked Tuesday at the Smith house was what it was going to take to get this kid trained, then Naked Tuesday is what it would be.

I went to bed that night a little unsure of the progress we seemed to have made that day. Sure, the technique was somewhat effective while we were at home, but we couldn’t stay holed up in this house forever. What would tomorrow hold?

I’m saddened to say that while Naked Tuesday was a go, we had to put a halt to Naked Wednesday. We have strict rules against worshipping in the nude, even if he is just a little boy. Since then, unfortunately, his interest in being a big boy has significantly waned.

It’s easy to question other people’s parenting techniques until it’s our turn to do the job. Somehow making up a potty song no longer seems so strange. As parents, we do the best we know how at a game that’s sometimes nothing more than a combination of personality and dumb luck. In our attempts to do what may seem impossible, we sometimes have no choice but to think outside the box-to stretch ourselves to a place we may never have thought we would go. I suppose Naked Tuesdays would qualify.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

It really does take a village

For someone who is about as disconnected with politics as a person can get, I’ve recently come to believe at least one line that has come from the lips of one of our day’s most well-known politicians. As Mrs. Clinton has put it, It Takes a Village, and on this subject I’d have to agree.

Parents need help. And while I’ve seen the evidence to support this fact during my educational career, I’ve felt it in my career as a parent.

It became overwhelmingly apparent to me a few months back when my boys and I took a trip to Red Rock Canyon to visit with a former coworker and friend who we hadn’t seen in quite some time.

While I tried to prepare the boys for what we might see on our picnic, I am self-admittedly, ill-equipped to teach them very much about nature. This, however, is just one of my friend, Ginger’s, many talents.

From slugs to millipedes to colorful dragonflies-I was amazed as I watched my boys interact with and listen to her as she pointed out the beautiful and the not-so-beautiful sights in the canyon. She was able to show them and explain to them about all things natural-things about which I know nothing. And they were soaking it up.

As I drove two sleeping boys home from our outing that day, I came to realize that not only do I sometimes need help being a parent, but my kids also need the kind of help that only others can give. There are many lessons which I can help teach my kids, but there are so many more that I can’t. My children deserve the exposure to and the expertise of all the craftsmen in our “community”.

Simple things, like a baby’s first weekend alone with his grandmother, can bring into perspective what a necessity it is for children to have opportunities to lean on and learn from the wisdom and experience of all those who can positively contribute to their childhood and their understanding of the world in which they live.

Even the most knowledgeable and most experienced parent needs help. Just ask any teenager. I know I don’t possess the wisdom or the expertise in the many areas that it will take to help my children become the best they can be. That is why we have grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends.

There are many reasons to long for the days when all communities were like Mayberry and every family was like the Waltons. Those days are long past, but the lessons they taught us endure. Every kid deserves an Aunt Bea and a Barney Fife looking out for their best interests. And who better to teach the children about life than Grandpa Zeb and Grandma Ester? It really does take a village, and I’m certainly glad to have mine.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

Skills for a lifetime

It’s always rewarding when we spend time and effort teaching our kids a new skill and they are finally able to do it on their own. We’ve reached another of those milestones with our boys.

Experts say that repetition is one of the best ways to learn something new. But what if the skill you are trying to teach is more than just a physical action or reaction? I’ve learned that repetition, coupled with explanation, modeling, and lots of patience can help turn children’s “habits” into skills for a lifetime.

We started trying to teach Cooper how to pray when he was very young. We would sit in church, and during the prayers we would help him fold his hands in his lap, while folding our own and bowing our heads. As one can imagine, this technique didn’t take right away. It required much repetition. However, through time and a little explanation about what we were doing and why, he eventually caught on and just sorta went with it when we would prompt him that it was time to “say a prayer”.

While this is the kind of thing about which I could live with him being a follower, the “fake-it-till-you-make-it” philosophy was not my goal. But with the mind and thought processes of a not quite two year old, I knew we would have to take what we could get. So we did.

We continued to discuss and model praying in church and at home, but what this kid needed was outside influence. He needed confirmation from someone other than his parents that this praying thing was not just something to keep him quiet while the “nice man took a nap” behind the microphone. Thanks to the loving teachers of his Bible school classes who continued to model and teach the same things we were teaching at home, he had what he needed to be convinced that mom and dad weren’t crazy. If Miss Suzy was telling him it was the right thing to do, then it must be OK.

Although the desire to please was there, I knew he still lacked the intellect to understand why in the world he was being asked to try this praying thing. But he continued to go through the motions, and as time passed-and with much encouragement-he would even help say his prayers at bedtime.

In the weeks and months since his second birthday, the independent urgings of toddler autonomy have started creeping in (that’s the terrible twos for us simple folk). He has, in his quest for independence and self-efficacy, had a complete change of “habit”. He will still (usually) sit quietly during the prayers in worship services and will participate in bedtime prayers (some nights), but he has decided a thumb in his mouth is much more fulfilling than crossed hands in his lap. And for now, that’s ok.

Thanks to big brother’s short term example, he has set the tone for the little brother. Brisco has just recently decided to elect himself the charter member and poster child for the toddler chapter of the local Amen club. All we have to do is whisper in his ear, “Let’s say a prayer,” and he’s got his head bowed and his hands folded together…although sometimes he manages to hang on to that thumb with his mouth. And as soon as he hears the speaker say, “Amen,” he chimes in with his very own, “Ameen! Ameen! Ameen!”.

I don’t know how long it will be before our kids completely understand the true motivation and meaning behind saying daily prayers. I know sitting quietly with folded hands is not a prerequisite for “good praying”, but it is a good way to start teaching our boys about reverence and respect.

Hopefully through continued explanation and encouragement-and the development of abstract thinking-they will learn to change this simple childhood habit into a meaningful skill to last their lifetimes.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

Late-in-life parents

I had a conversation with an old high school girlfriend a while back who had just recently delivered a new baby. She and her husband also have two that are almost grown and I said to her, “Here you were, almost done raising kids, and I am just getting started!” She hinted that maybe finishing school and working on a career for a few years was “how it is supposed to happen.” I said yeah, right. I’ll be in a walker at my kids’ graduation, and on oxygen by the time they get married. We both just laughed. Of course with her new baby, she’ll be right there with me. At least she’ll have her older children to pick out her muu muus and keep her medical equipment up to date.

Not long after that, I saw another school mate and my old neighbor both of whom have boys around Brisco’s age. There’s nothing on earth like a proud Daddy. Now it seems it’s time for all hard working coaches in three counties to start having kids. I’m a little worried about the water we’re all drinking.

It’s funny how a person can get an idea into their head and, regardless of the irrationality of the thought, totally believe it is true. I grew up with parents who were so young (or at least young-looking) that my mother was always getting mistaken for a sister. She still does. She never missed a ball game; most of the time she sat in the dugout with us and kept the score book. She chaperoned all our school functions, and it never seemed like an imposition or a drudgery to have my mother along. Maybe that’s because I was such an angelic teenager…or more probably because my mother was still so young, and young at heart.

When I was in my 20’s, it seemed everyone around me was busy having babies and parenting kids. I was the only one who was left to my never-ending pursuit of education and the final answer to the monumental question of “what I really want to be when I grow up”.

Now it seems I am not alone in my (what some would consider) “late in life” parenthood. I had the amazing pleasure of reconnecting with two of my former classmates just last week, one who has a three year old son and the other a son who is only three weeks. While we all agreed our bodies may not have handled having babies as well at 34, it is a sure thing our minds are better off. I can only imagine the damage I’d have done trying to raise two boys at 22!

All things considered, I know that life-for the most part-is simply out of our hands. Yes, we must participate voluntarily, but in the grand scheme of things, we are not in control. And what a blessing that is. For what I thought I was capable of at 25, I know now at almost 35, that I would have no doubt found a way to make into a terrible mess.

I’ve also decided we are only “late in life” if we choose to be, regardless of our chronological age. I’ll be attending a 97th birthday party for my husband’s great-grandmother this weekend. I’ll bet she would agree.

And that’s All in a day’s work!