To pee or to sleep? Not that is the question

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The pains and urgings of outrageous misfortune

Or to take arms against a sea of liquid

And by opposing ignore them and get a diaper.

I forgot something when I talked about the worst things about pregnancy.  Every night about midnight or two or three or four-thirty or if I’m real lucky all of those times, I wake up to pee.

Having the bladder the size of a pee is annoying at the best of times.  It means going to the bathroom at almost every place you run an errand.  It means having to go at least once, usually twice during the once in a blue moon dinner with your spouse.  It means going to the bathroom during movies.

At least there is an upside to day peeing.  You know where every bathroom is in every store you visit.  You become less concern of germs, but you do wash her hands and spray them with anti-cuties.  You learn always to pee before you go, just in case you get stuck in traffic.  You become a pro at peeing into a cup.

But the bitch is the middle of the night wake up call.  Like you need that.  Like you need to wake up from your precious sleep.  Sleep that will soon become terribly more precious in a few months when you’re woken up at least once a night or several times a night to feed, change, and sooth a baby.  I have to agree with one of my pregnancy books that people who say that this is to prepare the mother to deal with sleepless nights is like saying dieting prepares someone for starvation.  And I personally think we should be able to wrap that person on the back of the head.  Sure, violence isn’t the answer, but it would make this pregnant mama feel better.  Or is that the hormones talking?  Or the lack of sleep?

Speaking of lack of sleep, did I ever mention the lack of sleep Tornado E had as a baby?  The kid woke up several times a night to feed, even one horrible night where he fedd EVERY TWO HOURS.  Tornado S slept through the night around the sixth week or so.  Yeah, I obviously don’t birth normal babies . . . yet.  But I do remember with Tornado S, I was a happier mama even with a two-year-old trying to boycott naps, still crawling in bed with us, and demanding to have a voice to say no.

Ah, sleep the root of and solution of all life’s problems.

Yes, I am at that point of my life that when asked which would I prefer sex or sleep, I would say hand me the pillow and shut the lights.  Because I don’t get to snag a cat nap when I want; I don’t have down time to relax; I have much more to do during the day then I ever had pre-children.

So if you excuse me, I have to go pee.

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Into the bowl

I had pulled the boys from their bath, and they, as their custom, ran into the family room to huddle in their towels.  I made sure that they were watching child appropriate television programming.  Tornado E was huddled on the arm chair.  Tornado S stood with his towel like a cape.  I turned my back to get a diaper in the bedroom.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of water hitting plastic.

Tornado S must have found one of The Husband’s water bottles and is dumping it out.  I turned to scold.

Only Tornado S didn’t have a water bottle.

He was peeing, on accident, into a snack bowl someone had left in the middle of the floor.  The pee was perfectly filling the bowl.  I stood in shock, not wanting to say anything in case Tornado S moved, making more of a mess.  When he was done, I ran out of the room to get paper towels.

Me: Tornado S!  You peed!

Tornado S: I sorry!

Me: No, it was an accident.  We just need to get you to the potty.

Tornado S: I sorry!

I hugged and kiss Tornado S.

Me: It’s ok, Tornado S.  It was an accident.  Next time we’ll get to the potty.

Learning Bathroom Etiquette

Last week as I set out a breakfast of pancakes for the boys, I called for Tornado E and Tornado S to come get breakfast.

Tornado E: (from the master bedroom) In a minute, Mommy!  I need to watch Daddy pee first!

Lucky Daddy.

Then the other day we were hanging out with my baby brother.  Like the great uncle he is, my baby brother played with the boys, wrestling, sword fighting, tickling, playing cars.  Finally my brother had to excuse himself to use the restroom.  Knowing Tornado E and being modest, my brother locked the bathroom door.  Tornado E walked right in to the door, and then he started knocking to get in.  My brother only knocked back.  Tornado E gave up.

Tornado E: Mommy, why did Uncle M lock the door?

Me: Because he’s going potty and he doesn’t want you in there.

Tornado E: Uncle M doesn’t want me to see his penis.

Me: (thinking for a second) Yes.

Tornado E: Daddy doesn’t mind me seeing his penis.

Me: That’s because Daddy is teaching you to pee.

Tornado E: Why is he doing that?

Me: Because one day you’re going to pee standing up.

Tornado E: Why?

Me: Because that’s what big boys and men do.

Tornado E: Why?

Me: Because it’s easier.

Tornado E: Why? – Oh, Uncle M!  Let’s play ball!

Saved by my baby brother.

Lessons in pool use

Due to the city’s gushingly bleeding heart, thinking that increasing the two dollar fee for two weeks of swim lessons would break the poor’s back and therefore only had a handful of swim classes available, I didn’t get my boys into swim lessons yet this summer.  Yes, I’m a little bitter.  If you want, I’ll pull up a soap box to discuss why the city could raise it to five or ten dollars to hire more instructors and allow more kids the opportunity to learn to swim.  But that’s not why I’m writing this post.

As I bemoaned the fact of no swimming lessons for my boys this year to an older cousin, she asked why I didn’t teach them.  “I mean, Fae, weren’t you a swimmer in high school.  Weren’t you a lifeguard?”  Yes.  No, that was T, but I could see how you can assume that.  (Wasn’t this the year I was supposed to get my butt certified as a lifeguard for safety reasons?  Crap, where’s that To-Do list?)  Hmmm.  Teach my boys to swim.  I wonder if it’ll be like teaching Tornado E to write.  Insert mental day dream here: A skinny, wet three year old running from his mommy screaming “No, no, no, stay away from me. Grandma, help me!”  But that’s not why I’m writing this post.

So three weeks ago, I started taking the boys to my parents’ house earlier than normal to go swimming for an hour or so.  I researched online about how to teach your kid to swim.  Never has the chlorine betrayed me so much to damage my hair.  But that’s not why I’m writing.

Three weeks ago, I took the boys swimming with my brother M.  After we finished “swimming,” my brother mentioned he wanted to take us out for lunch.  I began to gather up my wet flock.

Me: Tornado E, come on.  You need to get dressed and go potty before we leave for Taco Bell.

Tornado E: I don’t have to go potty, Mommy!

Me: Tornado E.  You drank tons of juice.  I just want you to try.

Uncle M: Tornado E, tell your mommy you went pee in the pool like all guys.

Tornado E started giggling like a lunatic.

Me: (shooting my brother a dirty look) Tornado E, did you go pee in the pool?

Tornado E: I DID!  I WENT PEE IN THE POOL!

Me: We don’t pee in the pool.  We get out, go to the potty, and come back to swim more.  Understand?

Uncle M: Fae, it’s what kids do.  Don’t you remember peeing in the pool during swim lessons?

Me: No!  That’s disgusting.

Tornado E: That’s disgusting! (returned to giggling like a lunatic)

Me: Thanks, M. Thanks a lot.

So what happened earlier shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did.

My dad was helping me teach the boys to swim, which is now the new hobby.  For some reason, Tornado E trusts his Papi more than me.  Maybe it’s because Papi has less reason to drown Tornado E than I do, but that’s just nonsense.  My dad would force me to dive from his shoulders as he stood on the diving board.  My dad’s six foot one, and I’m terrified of heights.  The SOB would grab me as I tried to dash into the safety of the house.  I would never make my kid do something that scared the crap out of him just for fun.

Tornado E danced over to my dad who was sitting on the steps helping Tornado S kick, kick, kick.  Tornado E giggled like a lunatic as he hung on to my dad.  What tipped us off the giggling or the random hugging?  Well, it was both, and it still took us a few minutes.

Papi: Tornado E!  Are you peeing on me?

Tornado E: (giggling like a lunatic) YES!

Papi: Ugh!  Get off me!

Then my dad playfully threw Tornado E near me.  I pulled Tornado E up, holding him away from my body.

Me: Tornado E.  We don’t pee in the pool.  We don’t pee on people.

Tornado E giggled like a lunatic.

Being a lunatic myself, I believed that was enough discipline.

Until yesterday.

Tornado E was kicking around the pull in his ring, when he all of a sudden started kicking my way, giggling like a lunatic.

Tornado E: Mommy!  I’m going to pee on you!

Being the intelligent mommy I am, I answered: You’ll have to catch me!

Thus I tired him out by swimming away from him, forcing him to kick on his stomach, reaching with his hands to grab me as I paddled away, barely out of reach.

I have a feeling Tornado E will be giggling like a lunatic later today.

Oh, and Tornado S.  He waits until he’s out of the pool and then lets it go.

Go back to start and don’t collect $200

Remember when you were a kid and you could not understand a concept.  No matter how hard you tried you could not get it.  Usually it was math that made me frustrated, especially algebra.  I would reread the lesson, do the problems with answers, check them to find that I didn’t get the right answer, knowing I couldn’t even attempt the problems without answers.  I would cry in sheer frustration.  I had issues with languages too.  Then in college I took a upper-level chemistry class that had no pre-requirements my freshmen year.  The class was about how drugs worked in the body, and I had to re-read chapters several times to make sense of anything.  I was ready to beat my head on the concrete dorm wall.

Now I’m back to wanting to either cry or beat my head.  Evan’s having accidents.  Twice a week now.  We went months (MONTHS) without an accident.  I thought he had it with the occasional naptime accident and pull ups at night.  I was thinking we’re out in the clear, just need to get to Sean in six months or more (probably the more part). 

I understand the occasional accident because you didn’t want to miss a part in the movie or you didn’t want to go into a strange store bathroom, but most of these have occurred when he’s playing by himself.  It’s not like he hasn’t taken his toys in the bathroom before to play as he used the potty.  It began just once a week about a month ago.  Then the last two weeks it’s been twice a week.  I feel like I’m at my wits end.

I don’t want to embarrass him or make his shameful.  I have to bite my tongue before I say the first bitter thing that would fly out of my mouth and insert a hefty psychological bill one day.  I started making him clean it up with my help, not letting him play until it was done.  Now I guess I’ll just retreat a few steps and start having him sit on the potty every hour on the hour just to make sure.

Any suggestions?

Confusing Biology

As I sat peeing, Tornado E came in to see me.

Tornado E: Oh, I have to pee too!

Tornado E sat on his potty and started peeing.

Tornado E: Mommy, are you peeing from your bottom?

I see that our biology is a little weak.  But do I want to explain what a urethra is?  Should I keep it simple, allowing for years of misinformation and misunderstanding of the female body.  Forgive me, future biology teachers, I’ll correct it my mistake before he comes to you.

Me: No.  Girls have a vagina.  That’s where they pee.

Tornado E: Oh.  Mommy, where is your gina?

Me: (standing up and pulling my underwear and pants on.  I point to my crotch.)  Here.

Tornado E: Can I see your gina?

Excuse me?  You can see one in sex ed when you’re older.  You’re can see a real one when you’re in college and in love.

Me: No.  It’s private.

A few hours later, I was washing some dishes, when I heard my husband peeing with the door open. Tornado E heard him too and joined him.

Tornado E: Daddy, do you have a gina?

My husband: No!

Ok, we’re still having issues with human biology.

An Anatomy Lesson by a Three-year-old

To minimize the risks of accidents I make Tornado E try when I need to go, so I was a little indisposed when this little gem dropped out of his mouth.  Tornado E played with his Spidermen from McDonald’s as he sat on the potty, pretending to do his business.

 

Tornado E: Look, Mommy!  My Spidermen don’t have penises!  They have butts, though!  They can’t pee!  They can only poop!  But I have a bottom AND a penis!  So I can poop and pee!  Mommy!  You can poop and pee, too!

 

Is it too early to start making room for that medical diploma?

Another Potty Lesson

Evan: Oh my gosh! Ohmygoshohmygosh!  OH MY GOSH!  I have to go potty NOW!

 

We’re in the middle of Costco.  The very middle of Costco. 

 

Me: Ok.  I’m putting you in the cart, so we can go fast.

 

Evan: Ok!

 

I placed him in the cart and start jogging down the aisle.

 

Evan: I want to try that!

 

He’s pointing to a hummus sample bar.

 

Me: Later.  I thought you had to go potty.

 

Evan: Oh my gosh!  I do!

 

We got to the registers, where I looked for an out of the way place to ditch the cart.  If I wasn’t already half though with the shopping, I would have abandoned it in the aisle.  I pulled out the boys.  Pushing Evan ahead as I wrestled with Sean’s new passive resistance technique, we managed to get into the restroom in the nick of time. 

 

I shoved Evan into a stall, shutting the door behind us.  I placed Sean on the floor and helped Evan pull down his pants and unders.  I lifted the seat to realize the door was hitting my rear.  I turned to Sean, who was trying to make his great escape.

 

Me: No, Sean.  We’ll leave in a second.  We have to close and lock the door right now.

 

I locked the door and turned to Evan to find – HE’S PEEING ON THE WALL!  Are you kidding me?!

 

My mind reeled with all the stories of how disgusting men’s bathrooms are.  How my brothers couldn’t pee in the toilet.  How my husband talked about a ballpark’s restroom floor covered in piss.  How the first time ck ever commented was to say women who pee on seats should be cursed with children who refuse to potty train.  Not that I pee on the seat but that I will have to potty train my grandchildren because my son is so irresponsible.

 

I grabbed his hand and penis and pointed it to the toilet.

 

Me: (whispering sternly in his ear) Evan.  We DO NOT pee on walls.  We pee IN potties.  Do you understand?

 

Evan: But I created raindrops!

 

Me: (through my teeth) I. Don’t. Care.  WE DO NOT pee on walls.  If I catch you doing that again, you will not be able to pee standing up anymore.

 

Evan: Ok, Mommy!  Look, I peed in the potty!  Don’t flush it until I leave!

 

Like the good woman I am, I cleaned up the piss before we left.  I herded the boys back to cart to find that they already sent everything back to be re-shelved.  And I thought about leaving.

 

Me: New plan.  Everyone in the cart.  No one complains, cries, whines, or hits, and I will buy the churro AND the berry smoothie.  Everyone got it.

 

 

When it’s Appropriate . . .

I was cleaning up the countertop as Tornado E went potty on his seat.  I turned to find Tornado E was not concentrating at all on the task at hand, but he was learning that his penis made a great substitute for a joystick.

Me: Tornado E, stop playing with your penis.  Go potty.  You only play with your penis alone in your room.

Tornado E: Sure, I do!  I play with my penis with my friends!

Me: (One eyebrow raised) No, you don’t.  Go potty.

Road Trip!

I might have failed to mention that we would be visiting my family this weekend, and somehow I convinced my husband to travel earlier than usual for this short trip.  As he worked and I drove, the boys watched DVDs, until Evan needed to go to the bathroom.  Then he would tell us that he needed to use the potty Right NOW, so I was forced to drive 90 mph to find somewhere to pull off so that he could do his business.  Amazingly he did this twice.  (November and December were hard months for potty training when we had to give in and have Evan wear a diaper on trips, which was sad for everyone.)

 

We pulled off the freeway to start our jaunt through the city.

 

Evan: We’re almost to Papi and Grandma’s house, Seanny!  Uh-oh!  Seanny is sleeping!  Wake-

 

Me: It’s ok, Evan.  Seanny didn’t sleep when you slept.  He’ll wake up when we get there.

 

Evan: Look at the cactus!  Papi and Grandma have cactus at their house!  They’re sharp!  Ouch!  (Different story with an uncle involved.)

 

Me: Yup!  Good job, Evan!

 

Evan: Look!  It’s a bridge!  It goes over water!

 

Me: Yes, when it rains, the bridge will be over water.

 

Evan: Hey!  Look at that playground!  I want to go there!

 

Me: Next time.  We’re still away from Grandma and Papi’s.

 

Evan: Look, Mommy!  A garbage truck!  It’s scary!  It’s scary to me!  But we’re safe in the car!

 

Me: Garbage trucks only get garbage, not little boys.

 

Evan: They make loud roars!  Roar!

 

Me: Yes, they do.

 

Evan:  Look!  The light is green!  Go, Mommy, go!  Hey!  Look over there!  It’s a tree with a bird in it!  Look at that!  It’s a purple cactus!  (The creative bus stops) Hey, look at that!  It’s a water fountain!  What does that say, Mommy?

 

Me: What does what say, Evan?

 

Evan: It says, “Happy Halloween!”  I like candy corn!  Can we get candy corn?  We need to get candy corn for Grandma!

 

Me: We’ll see what we can do.  Grandma made you M&M cookies.

 

Evan: MMMMM!  I like those!  They’re yummy!

 

Me: She made them just for you and Sean.

 

Evan: Uh-oh!  I went potty in my pants!

 

Me: Oh, no.

 

Evan: I forgot to use the potty! (pause) Mommy!  You forgot to pull over, so I could use the potty!

 

Me: Evan, why didn’t you tell Mommy you needed to go?

 

Evan: I did!  I told you we needed candy corn!

 

Silly, Mommy.  You should have known that was code for Evan needs to use the potty.