Potty time

As I walked in the door from work on Tuesday, I was greeted by two tired little boys and a temporary, stay-at-home pop. Seems a snow day with dad (and mom at the office) really had them all tuckered out. But they’d had fun, and they were glad to see me, so it seemed all was right in our world.

As we sat down for supper, we were met with some fun, mealtime conversation from our own little live-in comedian. At Dad’s prompting, it seems Brisco couldn’t wait to tell me that he had been using the potty all day. I looked at Dad for confirmation, and sure enough, for whatever reason, the child had decided it was potty time.

For a moment as I sat there, I was torn. Of course these words were music to my ears. I’d been waiting almost three years to hear them. What with the rising cost of diapers, cold wipes on hot buns in the middle of winter, and those embarrassing moments when someone else notices my child has messed his pants--these are all moments of childhood I’m happy to see go. But I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy at the timing.

I can’t count the hours or days I’ve spent with this child on the topic of “going” in the potty. Shouldn’t I be the one who is up close and personal-to bear witness to that “halleluiah” moment first hand? But I put on a smile and gave the kid a high five and looked closely at my husband, who I was certain had no idea how I was feeling. “We’ll see how long it lasts,” I thought silently.

Tomorrow came, and with it more snow, ensuring one more day of daddy daycare. I gave it little thought as I was out the door early, but as I slid into Wal-Mart to stock up on diapers, I wondered how things were progressing at home. I decided to buy the large box of Huggies just in case.

I guess I wasn’t very confident in the youngest of our clan; I mean let’s face it, I’d been witness to one day without diapers. So when I bought the package of little boy undies-the same exact kind that Daddy wears-I figured my biggest little Randy would just be thrilled, and I couldn’t wait to get home and surprise him. But the biggest surprise of the day was for me.

Upon my return, I was met by my little boy B. who was simply teeming with pride. The child was two for two.

I was certainly glad, and somewhat in shock, so I decided to ask Dad how he did it. “Well…he’s been getting a few treats when he goes.” And I knew exactly what that meant. CHOCOLATE! But what is a mom to say? It seemed to be getting the job done.

Later that evening, I gave Cooper his new underwear. He couldn’t have been more excited if it was Christmas! And when the littlest of my two little Randy’s saw what was inside, he stripped down to nothing and danced around naked until, exhausted, he begged to put them on.

After all the excitement, we tried to settle in for a good night’s rest, knowing that tomorrow the pressure would really be on . Dad would return to work, and I would have to keep the ball rolling on this perfect-potty operation.

The first few hours of the following day, I was really on top of my game. I’d remind the boy every few minutes that he wasn’t wearing a diaper so he’d have to go pee in his potty. He loved this game and would simply smile and say, “OK, Mommy!” As the day wore on, I began to feel like the one being trained. I was completely certain that Dad didn’t do it this way, so I left him alone and kept watch from afar to see how he progressed on his own.

Out of the blue and to my surprise, the boy began making repeated trips to the toilet. He’d run through the house letting everyone know, “I’m going to sit on the potty!” He’d duplicate this procedure every few minutes, and of course I thought he had lost it. But I let it go, glad he was still interested and thankful that we were yet to have a full-frontal soaking at some off-the-wall, embarrass-your-mommy moment.

By lunchtime on the third day, the boy was batting a thousand; shooting for the triple crown; a cool, one hundred percent. I was suddenly very thankful. Thankful for cold weather. For snow and sleet and ice. For 20 below wind chills, slick roads and school closings. I was thankful for chocolate and the power of persuasion it held over my child. And I was thankful that we could finally save the whales, sail around the world, and buy a condo in France with all the money we’d be saving on diapers. And just as I was about to say thanks for fairies and unicorns and Puff the Magic Dragon, Cooper ran in the house, yelling, “Mommy! Brisco just pooped in the yard!”

Startled back to the reality that is my life, I ran outside to find the apple of my eye crouched under a tree, in 30 degree temperatures, with his pants down around his ankles. I heard through my shock and horror the voice of the little one pleading, “Cooper, you pick it up and throw it in Caitlyn’s yard.” My only comfort was in the fact that our four-year old refused to scoop the poop. Consequently, I covered the culprit’s bottom and decided it was time for a talk.

Needless to say, our streak has been broken. We are no longer batting 1000, but I’m told that’s a goal which is beyond reach in any game, occupation or stage of life. But we are making progress. And I guess we’ve learned a few things along the way.

1. It doesn’t matter who does it, as long as you get the job done.
2. No guideline, detail or specific instruction should be omitted, regardless of how ridiculous it may seem.
3. It's all about the timing. Perfect, potty timing…that and a little bit of chocolate.

And that’s All in a day’s work!