Monday, June 24, 2013
Kelly's Potty Training Boot Camp (Part 1)
It was a cold, wet Monday, dreary and
miserable as spring days in Canada often are. Just before 7am the cars start
pulling into my driveway—a parade of parents dropping off their kids at my home
daycare in their rush to conquer morning traffic, tackle their own personal and
professional challenges, and fight the battles the crappy weather brings into
their lives and livelihoods.
“Good morning, my lovely Seays.” I say to
the first family to arrive. These good people have become some of our best
friends. I patted the 9-year-old boy on the head as he zooms by, intent to get
in 10 minutes of battle on the Wii before I shuffle him and my daughters off to
the school bus. I squeezed the 4-year-old Miss Seay who has wrapped herself
around my waist in the day’s first bear hug. My girl. Even if she wasn’t
technically mine, she was practically a twin to my youngest daughter, and they
both look like mini-versions of my older one. I adore this sweet child who has
been with me for three years now. Her mother and I grunt at each other in the
mutual understanding that we are not morning people and respect that about one
another, neither of us expecting conversation before coffee, tea, and well,
noon to hit.
The next car. The 5-year-old boy runs into
the house first, slamming the door behind him so his 3-year-old brother has to
struggle to open it himself. The mommy-person gets the shoes and jackets off,
organizes the backpack, and reminds the school child to remember his hat. She
performs the 3-year-old’s necessary ritual of verbal reassurances before
closing the door behind her, doubtlessly thankful for completing one more
morning chore. Kids delivered. Check. Now off to work.
And the final family arrives. The mommy
and the adorable toddler girl cross the patio hand-in-hand, matching grins and
sparkling eyes, the daddy just a step behind. More of my special peeps. I have
grown tremendously fond of this family as well as My Seays. These are The
Birnies.
“Good morning, good people of mine! How is
everyone this fine gray morning?” We chat for a few moments about our weekends,
the mommy presents the bag of goodies I’ll need for the week, and all the
bigger kids come down to fuss and fight over hugging the toddler. She’s not
spoiled at all. Being Queen of Kelly’s House at 21 months of age is all part of
the charm, rights, and passages of my home daycare. Every child gets a chance
to command the minions. This child has a particular talent for it—a mere grin
will bring several older children offering a choice of toys, a smile will start
a scramble for hugs and cuddles, and a full-out giggle induces infectious
hilarity among all the children in the house. This is heady power for a
toddler, and it grows into a sense of personal power as the relationships
develop over the weeks, months, and years. I always foster that confidence to
the best of my ability. Therefore, it was time for this little queen to take on
a new personal challenge. I wished her parents a good day and kneeled in front
of little Miss Birnie.
“Please drop your drawers and surrender
your diaper at this time. These items will be placed in safekeeping for the
remainder of the day. May I offer you a Grande Sippy of our finest tap water?
There are free refills, so drink freely, but responsibly. We insist on a buddy
system, so if you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to your new best friend—this
special little chair. Please get acquainted with your chair and how it works.
You will be a team for the remainder of this week, and into the foreseeable
future. I wish you the very best of luck. Welcome to…KELLY’S POTTY TRAINING
BOOT CAMP. Go forth in confidence and determination, and use that inherent
stubbornness to your advantage. May your aim be true, my furniture remain dry,
and your bum bond quickly with the seat. And remember what Kelly always tells you—you can do anything you
set your mind to.”
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Boot Camp for
Potty Training. If you’re gonna do it, go all in, or not at all, I always say.
Whether it’s because I’m a Gemini and patience is the very last item on the
list of my virtues, or because I’m simply restless and too easily bored in
general, I tend to be more of a
jump-in-and-go-for-it-regardless-the-consequence kind of gal, than the
take-your-time-with-a-well-documented-method type. That includes the biggest
professional challenge of any childcare provider (or parent!)—potty training.
You parents just shivered, didn’t you? I
know it. Been there myself many times. Potty training is the stuff of horror
stories around the grocery cart in the diaper—vs .—pull-up aisle, and wide-eyed
gasps in bathroom-barren local playgrounds in the snowless months. It’s okay,
nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been that parent or caregiver who packs the
picnic lunch, fills the water bottles, sunscreens the kids, throws the blanket
in the trunk, buckles the kids into the car seats, and drives joyfully the
twenty-odd minutes to the park singing happy songs in rounds with the kids
about sunshine and row boats, only to get out of the car, and have a toddler
proudly proclaim they have to go potty as they cross their legs tightly and
bounce up and down, hands clenched in front of their privates . I shudder
myself as I remember that sweeping search across the park full of swings,
slides, and fireman poles and come to rest briefly—desperately—on the sandbox
before returning to the bouncing toddler whose eyes are now decidedly yellow.
Then there’s the quick headcount of the 136 (or four…whatever!) kids you just
unbuckled from car seats and released to the wilds of the playground, and the
humiliating moment you think it might be okay to leave the 9-year-old in charge
as you just run down the road with the toddler to the bathroom at the nearest
Tim Horton’s. You’re not going to get any judgment from me, and I promise to
look away as you sneak the little boy to the other side of the skinny tree to
let him do his business. I’ll even glare in your behalf at the woman who looks
on in outrage and disbelief. But the little girls still wringing their hands
and trying not to cry while they bravely hold the pee-pee in are not so easy,
are they? Yup. We’ve all been there at least once, and most of us more than
that. (A little hint…don’t throw your potty to the curb as soon as potty
training is complete. Store it in the trunk of the family vehicle until your
youngest has a driver’s license and can drive herself to the local Tim’s in a
urine-related emergency. I’ve even been known to crouch in the back of the van
balancing over that seat in the middle of a breathtakingly close soccer match
that my 7-year-old is starring in. Mock me if you will, but I won’t be the one
making my child skip the popsickle-eating celebration after the game to rush to
the nearest bathroom and relieve my bladder in the comfort of a filthy stall.
I’ll be bouncing her on my shoulders and chanting free root beer for all at my house.)
Now, there are traditional methods of
potty training. The very first thing these gurus will tell you is that, “Potty
training takes time and patience.” I know people who follow these methods, and
have found success on the other side. My fellow daycare providers—God bless
them and give them a special place among the angels when their time comes—and
some parents I’ve met along the way. These are soldiers of the highest caliber,
bravely—resolutely—endlessly trudging through trenches of shit-laden underpants
and urine-soaked socks fighting on the front lines of The War on Wet Pants,
following the proper chain-of-command creed issued by the Pampers Society of North
America: “Diapers to Pull-ups, then Pull-ups to Underwear. We’ll help you grow
up, and make more money than you want to share.” But I’m cheap. And impatient,
but I think we’ve covered that.
Hence, Potty Training Boot
Camp. It sounds military-tough, and I’m not gonna lie to you, it is. One week.
One focus. And the only way out of it is to pee to get off the pot. This is not
for the faint of heart, or those weakened by watery toddler eyes and trembling
pouty lips. Nor, as I’ve recently experienced, is it for those easily confused
by the difference between toddler drama and toddler trauma. (Oh, Miss Birnie,
you certainly kicked it up a notch!) You must commit, and make no mistake, it is a huge, time-and-energy-draining
commitment.
Here’s how it went with Miss
Birnie:
We spent the morning playing as usual. There
were only two main differences. She was of the Bare Bum Status, and I was
pressuring her to drink water on a minute-to-minute basis. All was jolly, as
per usual. We were having fun. Cheering. Sipping.
And then she set her cup
down, refusing to accept it when I offered it back to her. This was a good
sign. Her bladder was full, and she knew it.
“Miss Birnie, do you need to
use the potty?”
She glanced at me. “No!”
I waited a couple of
minutes, watching her closely. She couldn’t stand still to complete the block tower
she was making, so she moved on to the kitchen set and began taking out plastic
food and placing it on a tray. Step to the sink. Step back to the bucket. Step
to the sink. Step to the bucket.
“Why don’t you come and sit on
the potty for a few minutes? Let’s try to pee-pee in the potty.” I picked her
up and placed her on the potty, and then sat down on the floor in front of her.
The other two kids joined us in a circle of support. “Pee-pee, Miss Birnie,
pee-pee!” we chanted.
Miss Birnie began to cry. Oh
no.
“It’s ok, sweetie. Just put
the pee in the potty. The potty wants the
pee, remember? It’s the potty’s favorite thing!
Give it to your friend the potty.”
She began to cry harder and
pointed to the play kitchen.
Ok, we’re going to have to
have an accident first. Sometimes, that’s the best way to jump-start success.
There were two possible outcomes for this method. One, the trainee becomes
horribly upset by the sudden expulsion of pee that soaks her legs and the floor
around her, and becomes more open to suggestion the next time she finds herself
with a full bladder. Or two, the sudden gush of pee landing on the floor is
solution enough for her and the relief so great, she will happily plod out of the
new floor river, and go about her play undaunted. (Yes, I just shivered. Been
there. Done that. No thank you.)
I crossed my fingers and
lifted her from the toilet. “Ok, honey. Go play. Let Kelly know if you need to
pee-pee.”
I handed her the sippy,
encouraged her to take another long drink, and sat back to watch. It didn’t
take long.
The screams started while I
was attending the 3-year-old boy’s sock issues—tucking his pants leg back into
his sock while he cried hysterically and swiped tears from his cheeks. Miss
Birnie’s shrieks blared over his cries. She was standing in a yellow lake of
her own making.
I rushed over, swept her out
of the raging river and placed her on the potty. “Oh, honey, you just had an
accident. It’s ok. Put the rest of the pee into the potty, and Kelly will clean
up the accident. It’s ok. You’re learning.” But it was too late. All the pee
had hit the floor. No worries, I had expected that.
I cleaned up the mess, gave
her the sippy back, and sat back to continue the watch. It usually only takes
10 minutes or less for the second wave to hit once they’ve had a couple sippy
cups full of water.
Miss Birnie, now fresh and
clean, went back to the play kitchen, offering plastic eggplant and hot dog
buns to Miss Seay and the little mister. And then she grabbed a tray full of
plastic donuts and teacups and began to run.
The first round I didn’t pay
much attention. She ran around the circumference of the playroom at a moderate
speed, easily balancing her tray of goodies. The little mister immediately took
up the chase. They do love to chase.
By round three, donuts were
flying off the tray willy-nilly as she picked up speed. Little mister couldn’t
catch her, so Miss Seay joined the merry chase.
“Ok, you sillyheads, stop
running now before somebody gets hurt,” I said. “Somebody is going to trip on a
toy and fall.”
Miss Birnie shot-put the tray into a pile of
teddy bears as she passed by, and took on a look of concentration I’d only seen
on the faces of Olympic athletes ready to go for the medal. Uh-oh.
“Miss Birnie, do you need to
pee?”
She tucked her chin toward
her chest, and kicked into full gear—the last laps for the gold—and screamed,
“Noooooo!” as she zoomed past.
I couldn’t help myself, I started to laugh.
Little mister and Miss Seay, oblivious to the problem, continued their chase of
her, giggling hysterically by their game. Only Miss Birnie remained serious.
She was utterly and completely focused. Without the cumbersome tray, her elbows
tucked to her side, and her fists were pumping with each stride.
“You know you can’t outrun a
full bladder, don’t you, sweetie? The bladder goes with you,” I said as she ran
past me, bare feet slapping on the floor. “Why don’t you come over here and sit
on the potty. You’re going to feel so much better. I promise!”
She was having none of it.
Eyes boring a path into the laminate floor beneath her, she continued her trek
around the playroom at breakneck speed. Nothing was going to catch her—not a
3-year-old boy, not her favorite 4-year-old girl, not Kelly, and certainly NOT
some stupid, annoying, yucky feeling in her belly-parts.
I’ve never seen a 1-year-old
run that fast.
I finally snagged her
mid-lap. She started to kick, struggling to get loose of me, but I set her onto
the potty. As soon as her bum connected with the seat, the gush started, and she
screamed as if in agony. She tried to jump up off the potty, spraying pee in
every direction—all over herself, me, the floor, and Miss Seay, who had come
close to watch this first success. We couldn’t avoid the geyser but it ended
quickly, and there was some in the
potty.
“Look! You made pee-pee in
the potty,” I squealed. “You did it, honey! You put pee-pee in the potty!!”
Dripping with piss and pride, we all began to dance and cheer, clapping our
hands, and trying not to slip in the yellow river surrounding the potty. We
congratulated the newest addition to The Big Kids Club.
She stopped screaming, and
looked into the potty, pointing at the yellow pool inside. “Pee-pee?”
“Yes, baby. You did it!
You’re Such a Big Girl!! Good job!”
Oh, if I had the camera when
I saw that face. The recognition. The acknowledgment of a deed well-done. Her
eyes lit up, the eyebrows shooting up to her wispy bangs. And then the smile.
Ah, that smile! Her entire face glowed with the force of that grin. She started
clapping and chanting, “Pee-pee! Pee-pee!” We joined her, dancing around her
and her tiny bare bum. And then Miss Seay remembered.
“Her treat! Can I give her
the potty treat, Kelly? Can I?”
“Yes, ma’am you can,” I
said, getting the Skittle out of the cup, and handing it to her.
Miss Seay, with as much
ceremony and joy as she remembers receiving in her own potty-training
successes, handed the Skittle to Miss Birnie. “Good job!” she said, and petted her
little friend on the head. “You did a good job. And only you gets a treat,
cause you goed pee-pee on the potty. I’m a big kid now, so I don’t get one. Now
you’re getting to be a big kid too. Good job!”
I turn away to wipe a tear, or three. She
remembers. It’s been more than 2 years since she went through these ceremonies,
and now she has the opportunity to deliver the grand prize and does it with
such pride in her little friend. It’s priceless—every single aspect of it all.
The support of the troops, the self-pride, and the joy I feel in these moments.
It’s easy to focus on how
difficult and frustrating potty training can be. I do it myself, I’m not going
to lie to you. Potty training is extremely challenging. It’s inconvenient. It’s
time and energy consuming. And it’s downright messy. But try to remember. This
is your child’s first real chance to tackle self-mastery, to learn that no
matter what, their body is THEIRS ALONE to control. They learn that they are IN
CHARGE of themselves, and this should be made a GLORIOUS EXPERIENCE for them!
So, encourage them with celebration and praise all you can. Help them to learn
as gently as possible (and forgive yourself when you lose it, because we all
do). And remember that this is NOT about keeping pants dry and saving money on
diapers.
This is ALL about your child
learning that they have power in their world, are capable of developing self-mastery, and have a say
in what is happening with their bodies.
These are The Moments,
people. Use them to the best of your ability.
And I wish you the best of
luck.
P.S. I'll be happy to answer questions and/or offer feedback on my boot camp methods/potty training in general via this blog or Twitter @Kellsyjean. I look forward to hearing from you!
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