Tinkle, Tinkle Toot!

 

                                           This hedgehog has seen a  lot of crap. Literally.

We have experienced a breakthrough in the battle to potty train.

For the past couple of weeks, every night, after dinner, Sydney would gather up her blanket and her most trusted partner, Henrietta hedgehog (stuffed animal), and disappear into the downstairs bathroom for about 15 minutes. During this time, no one was to disturb her. I tried several times, and I got yelled at and the door slammed in my face.

Somehow, she always emerged with a load of crap in her pants.

She has a regularness that I admire. And she clearly realizes the bathroom is the place to take care of your business. And she doesn’t like to be disturbed, which is the case with most human beings. If you fit in the “other” category – such as the man I once heard conducting business on his cell phone while sitting in the stall next to me at the Philadelphia airport – well, you sir, are disgusting. 

 

Getting her to take the extra step and sit down on the toilet and go to the bathroom seemed impossible. She wouldn’t do it. She’d sit on the toilet for 15 minutes and do nothing, only to get up and two minutes later and soil her pants.

I don’t understand. Who wants to go in their pants when you have an alternative? Who wants to go in their pants at all? Even if I didn’t have an alternative, I’d drop trou and find a bush. Did that once on a Michigan golf course. That is how dire my situation was. Lost a nice golf towel in that debacle.

Brooke’s parents visited for a three-day weekend a few weeks ago. Tired of hearing our potty-training stories, they told us they wanted to give it a shot. I’m sure they thought we were incompetent and they’d be able to step right in and have her trained in a couple of days.

Let’s just say Sydney showed them a thing or two. I think I remember a fit of seismic proportions while locked in the bathroom with grandma.

But we experienced a breakthrough one night last week. Sydney thought it would be funny to, let’s say, “cut the cheese.” However, in the process of grunting and pushing (she learns this stuff from her mama, I swear!), she got a little more than she bargained for and my wife, recognizing this as a teaching moment, rushed her to the potty. She happily did her business and proudly proclaimed that she did “tinkle, tinkle, toot,” just like the potty training book we have been reading.

Of course, this led to loud cheers in our house, like the Cleveland Browns had just won the Super Bowl. (yes, I know the oft quoted joke, if it is Brown (as in Cleveland) flush it down; and I realize the analogy relates Super Bowl to toilet bowl. Just let me dream, people!)

She even got the privilege of flushing it down the toilet and more hoopla with that.

Whatever it takes.

The next day, she proudly announced at child care, “Miss Amber, I did tinkle, tinkle, toot!” And when my wife was on the phone with her parents that night, she had to tell Nana and Papa that she was a big girl and had tinkle, tinkle, tooted.

  

Despite her satisfaction with herself, she has yet to make it regular practice. We’ve had a couple of repeat episodes since then, but mostly a mountain of wet and dirty diapers for daddy to change.

   

Was it easier when we were kids? Or were the methods a little more severe? We all know parenting was tougher back then. No kids seats. Hell, no seatbelts. Smoke blowing in your face during your bottle feedings. A little syringe of whiskey to help the baby sleep through the night.

Things I try to reason with Sydney on were the types of things that earned me a slap on the head when I was a kid and warning that a second offense would garner a trip to Whip City.

Did my dad rub my face in it, like a dog? Understandably, that might speed up the learning process a bit.

I’m open to suggestions if you have any. Otherwise, I’ll stay the course. And stay out of the downstairs bathroom after dinner.