potty talk


We are officially in the throes of potty training, and, at this point, I wonder if the scent of urine will ever leave my home. Seeing as I have two boys… I’m guessing not.

We decided to wait until Saturday morning for the fun to begin – that way I wouldn’t drown in the puddles of tee tee myself. The night before, I was casually perusing – aka stalking – Facebook when an ad geared toward potty training popped on my newsfeed. The message of the ad was the longer you wait to potty train, the harder it will be. Well, great. It was torture three months ago. It was agony two months ago. At this point, I was seriously considering who I could pay a million dollars to potty train my kid. Of course, I had to figure out where on earth I could get that kind of money. But, hey, that seemed easier than trying to teach Austin where to do his business.

The adventure began Saturday morning. To ready ourselves for the third attempt, I read and reread about dozens of methods. There was the one-day method or the three-day method or the naked method and more, plus hundreds of tips on how to be successful. Homework was done. We were ready.

But, really, when we started the day, I kicked them all to the curb. Let’s wing it, I said.

We spent half the day in the backyard with our wild man running around bare naked, hopped up on juice, and encouraged him to “water” the grass and trees. I’m quite thankful the three little girls who live next door did not try to come play this day. Potty training is not for the faint of heart.

After a semi-successful morning of naked freedom, we moved inside and strategically placed two potty chairs around the kitchen and living room. At this point, it was time for lunch, so I put the potty chair in the seat and scooted him up to the table. We were not going to miss a chance. I never in my life thought I would be so excited to have someone pee at the kitchen table. Ah, parenthood.

That’s when he had his first indoor success for the day. It didn’t matter that my child was literally relieving himself where we eat, or that a little bit splattered the floor and my foot. My child had peed in the potty, and I proceeded to cheer with no less enthusiasm than if he was the youngest recipient ever of the Nobel Peace Prize. And, M&Ms. There were boat loads of M&Ms. Maybe he wouldn’t be going to college in diapers after all.

To be honest, since then, it hasn’t been too bad. There have been far more successes than accidents, but I know we still have a long road ahead of us. And, now, I understand. He just wasn’t ready three months ago or even two months ago. It’s amazing the difference a couple months can make.

I’m not sure my sanity would have survived pressing through potty training two months ago, and I’m thankful that Facebook ad did not present itself then. Because, you know what, waiting a little longer has made this seem like a piece of cake. Cheers to the late potty trainers!

all aboard the potty train

Before I had children, I always marveled at the older two and three year olds who were still styling diapers. With a disapproving look, my smug self would wonder why their parents did not potty train their kid. They were OBVIOUSLY old enough. If I could go back in time, I would smack myself.

Here we are two weeks from my child’s third birthday… And, I’m still wiping his rear and changing out diapers. Welcome to reality. It’s not that I haven’t tried. We’ve tried a whole realm of possibilities – bribery with candy, toys, stickers; positive reinforcement; peer pressure; big boy undies. But, he’s uninterested, and up until this point, his “perseverance” has beat out mine.


Last year, about this time, I had big plans. As soon as he turns two, we are going to get this kid toilet trained… along with ditching the paci and evicting him from the crib in preparation for little brother coming in January. Ha. I’d like to blame that “optimism” on pregnancy hormones, but, really, I just get delusional about these things.

Now, to be fair, we did accomplish two of the three things before baby brother arrived. But, that left us nowhere on potty training. Several friends ushered warnings of regression after the baby, so with an ounce of convincing, the excuses began for putting off potty training.

As A’s preschool came to a close in May, it finally hit that my kid is not potty trained. And, he will be THREE in a few months. I became the mother that I judged and suddenly was filled with self doubt and embarrassment. Sure, life gets in the way, but how does everyone else do it?

I recruited my mother for moral support, and we issued Phase 1 of Potty Training. A was already accustomed to the plastic kiddie potties, as I had purchased one almost a year ago when I was feeling so ambitious. And, he had used the potty on a rare occasion. With those past successes, I was feeling pretty good about how it would all play out. And, we had even picked out these:


We were good to go. Ha. There was a lot of crying and frustration and moping… and, A, was even worse. By the end of the day, my mom and I both threw up the white flag and clothed him back in a diaper. Peace was restored. We’ll try again in a few weeks, I thought.

A few weeks came and went, and I was met with an equally awful disaster. That’s it, my kid is gong to college in diapers.

I haven’t tried again since the middle of summer and since then have made excuses using our travel plans. Which leaves us here: two weeks from turning three, starting preschool and a strong attachment to wetting himself. All aboard the Potty Train. There will be no turning back this time.

let’s talk CROCS


They are ugly. So. Very. Ugly.

In fact, I literally cringed when I saw a whole family in CROCS at the beach… Dad, Mom, and two boys. Maybe my reaction was actually a response to the fact that could be us in several years ::shudders::

Yes, I was the mom who always thought, “My child will never own CROCS.” Who cares if they are all purpose? Who cares if they are useful? Who cares if they come in every color under the face of the sun? They are U.G.L.Y. And, then it happened. I bought a pair for A. He LOVES them.

I didn’t actually realize two-year-old little boys had a preference of shoes unless it was plastered with Lightning McQueen or Thomas the Train on its side. I was so wrong. As soon as we walked in the store, A starts jostling around in the stroller, pointing and waving, yelling, “I want those shoes, Momma. Those shoes!” Wow. That was unexpected. Then, he proceeded to rip his sandals off his feet and beg for the lime green CROCS. I’m not 100 percent positive, but I may have purchased these shoes while suffering from shock… not only from his insistence on a pair of shoes, but the price for them as well.

But, we are now proud owners of CROCS, and I have to admit, he looks pretty cute in them. However, here’s to one day not being an entire CROCS family 😉