Last week was busy and mostly really lovely...What is to follow is the not so lovely part...
My mum came to stay and for those of you that don't have your parents living down the street, you will know what I mean when I say "it was so nice to have an extra pair of hands to take the load off!". Those extra pair of hands were a especially a blessing as we attempted (take note, that I said attempted, wont you?) toilet training my son who turned 3 last week also (more on that fun in a later blog!).
I was starting to recognize when the Boy needed to go to the toilet because he would start doing what my husband and I call 'the poo dance'- if you can imagine a young Michael Flatly (king of the Irish dance) you would have a pretty good idea of what I am talking about. He was also waking up dry from his day sleep which also supposedly indicates readiness for the big switcheroo from nappy to pants.
So on Day 1 of 'Mission Toilet Train' we put the big boy pants on the little Boy. He was pretty excited with the train on the front and I was hopeful that this whole toilet training thing would be a breeze.
There my mum and I were, asking my son every five or so minutes wether he needed to go to the toilet and when we first took him to the toilet for the day he did a little 'dribble' when we asked him too and we were so chuffed with him and ourselves... until about 5 minutes later when the rest of what needed to come out did so, on the kitchen floor and the hallway floor and the...well I think you get the picture. This continued throughout the day whereby we were giving high fives for little sprinkles on the back lawn and then commiserations and reassurances for big downpours on the pavement 2 minutes later!
Day 2 and we thought a new tactic was in order and so every time we needed to go to the toilet we would tell the whole house of our plans and left the door open so that the Boy could wander in and check out the scene if desired (yes, I know what your thinking, and yes all your dignity goes out the door when you were pushing your baby out into the world however long ago it was!). We encouraged the boy to tell Mama or Mum when he needed to go to the toilet, so with that in mind we all went happily about the day. Mama and the boy were playing shops and he starts yelling at her 'Mama, Mama, Mama' and she is wondering what he is on about. The boy comes out to see me with a puddle trailing behind him.... hmm... new tactic required. Perhaps we had better tell the boy just to yell out 'wee, wee, wee' or 'poo, poo, poo' as the case may be! Surely then there will be no possibility of misunderstanding...
Day 3 and misunderstanding is paramount, wether that is from the Boy or from us, I just really don't know anymore. It is decided that hubby needs to step up and take this toilet trainer under his wing and show him how it's done. Sometimes a woman just doesn't have what it takes (literally) to teach their children about the world and all the gadgets in it.
Day 4 of 'Mission Toilet Train' is underway and my poor husband is being plied with every beverage under the sun, so he can show his son what's supposed to happen. (needless to say hubby is getting grumpier and grumpier for the lack of privacy he is getting especially when the mother-in-law is in the house!) My poor son is getting more and more terrified of going to the toilet to the point of kicking and screaming at the site of that white porcelain bowl. Meanwhile I am getting more and more frustrated at the amount of washing and cleaning up I have to do.
It is decided to abandon the leaking ship for the safety of the entire crew on board. Morale is down and I think we all need a bit of time on dry land before we attempt to go out again into those unchartered waters of growing up!
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