Advanced Training

Warning- the following entry contains graphic information about potty training and multiple urine references. So if you can't handle the word "wee" being mentioned repeatedly then don't read on.

Potty training. I mentioned the start of it all in my previous entry. The ups, the downs, the thrills and the literal spills.
We've got tired of our little chap running around with his little chap on show so I have been persevering this week with getting him used to having trousers on but no nappy. So follow him round saying "remember you have no nappy on and if you need a wee, use the potty" ad infinitum ad nauseam. I was wondering if I should get a dictaphone and record the message and set it to play on a five minute loop. Inevitably I ask him if he needs the potty and he says "no". I don't always believe him so I have to look for body language as much as listening to what he says. Sometimes he remembers to ask, sometimes I have to keep an eye out for the small damp patch that occurs on his trousers when he decides he needs a wee and then forgets for a moment he has no nappy on. If you spot it quickly, you can get a good result.
This morning we were at church and as it's the summer holidays there was no Sunday school or crèche so someone told a little story for the children who were all getting rather bored and a bit shouty. They all sat down in a little semi-circle at the front and Joseph wanted to join in but was too shy. Then he noticed that there were props and one of them was a hammer, so he overcame his shyness and went for a look.
He didn't really want to sit down, but at least he was showing an interest. I couldn't see him clearly at this point as someones head was in the way, so I only have eye witness testimony to go on.
He started to do some quite obvious body language indicating that a potty might be of use very soon. As I said, I couldn't quite see but he was apparently - oh how can I put this delicately? - grasping.
Andy took him outside to the gents loos, but he just screamed and wanted to play. I was puzzled, he had a nappy on after all so why all the fuss? We're not yet brave enough to try out and about.
I took over. His nappy was bone dry, so perhaps indeed he was holding it in. So I took him to the ladies which has a little toilet just for kids. The sight of it made him howl, but I was not in the mood to mess. Trousers down, nappy off and park that little keester, meester.
Almost in time. There was some "splashback" shall we say and some endampening of the trousers but most of it went in the toilet and he did stop crying long enough to ask if he could flush.
So, something somewhere is slowly sinking in. We had lunch and Grannies house as his cousin is over to stay and they're less than a year apart in age and seem to get on well.
There was much bouncing and laughing and a lot of playing and Joseph was sans nappy but plus a clean pair of shorts all afternoon. There was a little bit of wee, but mostly in the potty and he even started mentioning that he might just need it, although there was still some guesswork involved.
He's a lot more amenable to having a go when you ask, such as before dinner and before getting him strapped in the car to come home. Perhaps simply having to hold it in means there's pretty much a guarantee there's some to come.
Still, there's a full load of wee soaked trousers and shorts to wash after the last few days so it's still a pretty big mountain to climb, but we're getting there. One day I'll have to risk taking him out and about and I'll be frantically scanning for where the nearest toilet is.

Perils of the Potty

We started potty training a while back so I thought I'd better mention how it was going.
It was a slow start. Joseph was suddenly interested in the toilet and what is done in it so we went out and bought a potty. He sat on it, did a wee and we praised him highly for it.
The following day he decided that he didn't like the potty and wasn't going to sit on it. By the day after, he was terrified of it and the merest mention of the word made him scream. I had to put it up out of the way on the top shelf of his bookcase before he'd calm down.
We gave up. Perhaps it was just "too soon". All the advice is to wait until they are ready, although nobody really quantifies what this means in any real sense. One article said to wait until they are big enough to climb up onto a toilet and sit there. So I'm supposed to wait till he's past six then?
Most mention the child showing an interest and having the ability to pull their trousers up and down. Not a common trait in a less than three year old, believe me.

We gave up for a while until I decided that as he was fast approaching two and a half it was worth giving it another bash. He was scared, he did not want to so I resorted to the standard Mum back-up plan.
Bribery.
If you sit on the potty, you can have a sweet.
In less than 48 hours he was quite happy to sit there.
If you do a wee or a poo you can have a sweet.
It took a couple of days, but he started producing things. Thanks to his relatively predictable bowel movements, we started doing quite well. He wore a nappy most of the time and I sat him down at the times of day I knew he was most likely to produce something. I made him up a chart and he liked getting stars on it and he really, really liked the sweets. Haribo seems to be the way to go.

Such was the status quo for the best part of two months. However, no amount of begging, cajoling, bribery or threats would make him ask to go when it wasn't the set time. I don't know why, he just didn't seem to get the point. Have I mentioned that he's quite lazy?
So, I started taking his nappies away. He didn't like that much and it didn't work at all when I put him in trousers, I think he thought that he was still wearing a nappy.
So, for two weeks we have had a little bare bottom running around at home, which certainly gave the gas man pause for thought when he came to read the meter. At least it's warm.
With not a stitch on his lower half we have only had the one proper accident and he's been fine ever since. I've stopped giving him sweets for small liquid offerings as I think he thought that little and often was the way to squeeze the most out of the process, if you'll forgive the turn of phrase. His chart is choc-a-block with stars.

The problem is that sometimes I like to go out and that means nappies. I'm sure he finds this a little confusing as every time I put him in a nappy it's as if he's been saving up all the wee and it is full to soggy bursting in less than two hours when they used to last four to six.
Today I decided that he needed to learn. No more pink bottoms on display and no more excuses about not being able to manage trousers.
Me - Show me you can pull your trousers down.
Joseph - No. I can't.
Me - Yes you can, just try.
Joseph - Don't want to.
Me - Ok, but you're not watching any more Shaun the Sheep until you can do it.
So he does it. He's a bit slow at first, but soon manages to do what is needed with a pair of jogging bottoms with loose elastic.
Bribery. Works every time.
He had two accidents today, both more to do with him being a bit slow and lazy about it than anything else. I told him that I expected better and he'd only get a reward if it all went in the potty and not half down the sofa, which is at least leather and quite easy to clean.
It sank in. He's used the potty four times today, and has actually asked me for help, although he has been able pull his own trousers down and back up again after. I am expecting a long and slow process, but we do seem to be heading in the right direction at last - or bottoming, which is a bit more accurate.

I'm Back

Been a while. A long while, but I have been busy what with moving house and all that entails, so here's an update.
We moved and it was a big stressful thing as the removal men brought too small a van for all our heaps and heaps of stuff so Andy had to borrow a sprinter van from his work and nearly put his back out loading it. The people we bought the house from decided to stop cleaning the moment we put in the offer and ripped out all of the curtain rails. That's just weird if you ask me.
We fitted a new kitchen. I say "we" but Andy and Joseph did most of the work (ok ALL) and Joseph is a dab hand with a screwdriver at two and a half.
Joseph has his own room with a space theme and I painted it. The flying saucer looks particularly good.
He's out of his cot now, in a big boy bed. We took him camping with kids airbed to see how he'd get on and he did very well and did not try and escape in the night so now he has a proper little bed of his own and has not once tried to get out of it in the night, even when we wish he would. Last night I was awoken at 3.30 am by a small boy SCREAMING for me. I thought he'd hurt himself but he just wanted a toy car. I fumbled about on the floor for something in the dark and passed him what turned out to be a shoe, but he didn't mind, he just cuddled it, rolled over and went back to sleep. I wish I'd been able to do the same, but sadly not. It's getting to be a bit too regular a thing for my liking.
We're potty training now. He's doing well, I think, but it's slow. He's perfectly continent as long as he doesn't have a stitch on his bottom half, which leads to some embarrassment for all if someone knocks on the door, like the man who came to read the meter yesterday. If I put him in pants or trousers he just looks puzzled and then forgets he's not got a nappy on and has an accident. It's a good job it's nice and warm at the moment.

We went to the dentist today. Joseph is a shy sort of boy and although I had spent a long time explaining to him what was going to happen he took one look at the dentist and cried, just like last time. I tried for several minutes to extract the face of my terrified toddler from my arm pit, but he was having none of it. In the end we gave up and sat him on a chair so I could have my turn in the big chair and all the tartar chiselled off. Joseph decided to start crying with his mouth open at this moment and the dentist managed enough of a look to confirm that Joseph does indeed have all his teeth. Apparently that's all they need to do for children of Joseph's age and it left me wondering why I put him through the stress of it when I already knew he had all his teeth. I gave him my handbag to play with and that cheered him up. After an unpleasant but mercifully brief appointment for me, we were set free and walked home, stopping off at a cafe for a nice drink and a pack of those wafery things that are supposed to be to go with coffee, but Joseph really likes them.

Consumption

I am wondering if I will get to sleep in my own bed, accompanied only by my husband tonight. It'll be a first for quite a while.
Before you start getting carried away with wild ideas about mad parties, swingers and other such stuff I should explain that we've all been ill, and repeatedly so. Andy started it by getting a cold with a nasty cough, the kind of cough that goes on and on, like the shipping forecast but less pleasant.The problem with the cough, at least from my perspective, was that when he tried to suppress the cough it got worse. So, as I'm trying to relax and sleep I keep getting disturbed by a man alternately coughing or shaking trying not to cough. He decided that for all our sakes, the sofa bed in the lounge was a better idea. This meant that I could sleep relatively well, but Andy kept getting woken up by the cat, either trying to get in or out of a shut door or wanting food. Cats, they're actually more annoying than toddlers and not many things can manage that.
Then it was my turn. A sore throat, a runny nose and yes, a chesty cough. It's been more than a week and a half and I still regularly erupt in noises that sound more like a dog trying speak than a  cough, but there you go. I spent almost a week on the sofa bed and Kim the Cat made my life relatively easy the first two nights (slap a big bowl of food down at 9.30pm) and Night Nurse did the rest. Alas the third night she cuddled up behind me and I was startled from my almost somnolence by a hot feeling down my back. The wretched moggy had emptied her bladder on me, my blankets and the bed. Have I said before that I harbour passive-aggressive feelings towards our pathetic excuse for a feline? They weren't so passive after that.
Still feeling very ill and quite groggy from the little pot of green goo I had downed, I called Andy and we did our best to remedy the situation. I ended up in a sleeping bag that was more comfortable than the blankets, but my pajamas needed a wash.
Thanks, I think, to my chemical assistance I have made enough of a recovery to resume my normal sleeping position, but Joseph is ill now and he has a nasty cough. Andy had him the first night and I did the second, the poor little chap just did not like sleeping in his cot. He'd only sleep in our bed, propped up on pillows. When I was looking after him I did put him back in his cot after he went to sleep, but he woke up minutes later and howled.
I know I shouldn't let him sleep in our bed. We should be strict and we usually are, but when he's ill what can you do? I think it's better to at least manage to get some sleep even if you are regularly woken up by a little pair of feet digging you in the ribs because he's moved round in the night and is now sleeping perpendicular to the recommended position.
He's asleep now in his cot and I hope he will stay that way, but it will probably last only as long as the last dose of calpol. Until then, peace reigns - but she is nervous and knows she will most likely be deposed any minute.

Watching Joseph

He takes the wooden puzzle pieces from their cardboard box and transfers them one at a time to the body of his toy Noahs ark. It's not a very good ark, the sides have animal shaped holes in them. This would make it nice and easy for the animals to enter two by two, or even up to six by six. It would also most likely mean that they leave just as quickly through the other side and I doubt it would be any good at keeping rain or sea water at bay.
When the puzzle pieces are all in the ark he takes them out one by one and puts them back in the cardboard box.
They don't stay there, soon they are back in the ark. To make things a little more interesting the small cardboard box is now moved from next to the ark to next to me as I sit drinking a much needed cup of coffee and writing this blog. Ah caffeine, the parents friend. The puzzle pieces are now ferried across the room, one at a time until the box is full. When this happens the whole box is picked up and the pieces poured en mass back into the ark. A change from the previous pattern, but it does make a good noise. The box is returned to where I am sitting and the slow transfer process begins again.
Now they're on the sofa and he's picking them up and looking at them. The box is discarded as is the ark. I don't believe it, he's actually trying to do the puzzle.
No... wait, he's not. He's seeing if he can poke them between the sofa cushions. Whoever gets to use the sofa bed next had better check to make sure their slumber isn't interrupted by the hard wooden edge of a piece of wooden puzzle.
Actually, the ark is back in play now. He's ignoring the main body of the boat and just concentrating on its detachable deck with rather improbable house section. Many of the pieces will fit into that bit, although not all of them.
It gets me wondering, you know, the things we show and tell our children. Noah, when building a suitable structure to save all those animals from a watery apocalypse would probably not have built a comedy boat with a little house on the deck. I spent many years thinking that the Jewish Tabernacle had black and white chevrons up and down the roof due to a verse stating that it was made of "badger skins", which is a mistranslation but I still can't get the image from my mind. I wonder what little things will stick in Josephs mind. How many of those funny ideas you get as a child - based purely on somewhat inaccurate information that an adult has given either because they don't know the real answer or they think the child wont really understand - will Joseph have?
It's cups now, stacking cups. They have numbers on and Joseph thinks they're all four, five or sick - we think he means six. He's not too interested in stacking them, just rolling them along the floor and along my computer table. There are puzzle pieces all over the place but he does not care. I'll end up treading on one and screaming in a comedy fashion, no doubt.
Cups and blocks scatter the room, thus demonstrating how a toddler is the biggest generator of entropy. This room was in an ordered state whilst he was having his not-quite nap upstairs. Now it is chaos. Upstairs was chaos when I went to get him, now he is gone from it I have returned it to its ordered state and it will remain so until he is upstairs again.
And can anyone explain why it is that when I go to tidy up the toys he has discarded he gets upset and wants to play with them again? I suspect some psychology is involved, but I think I need more coffee to deal with it.

Marathon Mum

He's getting close to two years old and never has parenting seemed more like an endurance sport. I've got a minimum of sixteen more years of this, it's certainly no sprint.
He had another bout of probable rotavirus recently. Not as bad as the first time round, but not a lot of fun either. We were on holiday when it started and I was struggling to cope changing his nappy as the floors were quite hard and played murder with my knees. Even at home it was hard, on the first day back I was very tired and missed a nappy change, thinking I'd done it later in the day than I actually had. This aggravated his nappy rash to a nasty degree and probably meant that he was in a lot of discomfort.
It's all healed up now and the rotavirus is gone, but the nearly terrible twos appear to be here to stay.
You can't tell a two year old (well, nearly two) that they need to stay out of the kitchen as you're getting things in and out of the oven and it's dangerous. The more I escort him from the room, the louder the tantrum becomes. We have a small kitchen step and he likes to stand on it next to the counter to see what I am doing. This tends to keep a check on the tantrum and he does tend to stay put, but it does spoil his dinner. He tends to eat the scraps, especially if I'm cutting out biscuits.
Speaking of biscuits! Oh boy, now there's a tough one. If he knows we have some and he knows where they are...
You'll usually be dragged into the kitchen by the finger. If you try to resist then it's a straight fight between the coefficient of friction between your skin and his and the strength of your finger joint. Don't resist too much, it's safer.
When he's got you where he wants you, the real battle starts. He points at said sweet treats and says "More! More!" You, of course say: -
"No! You've already had one."
He reacts as if he's just watched you shred his favourite teddy. As if I'd do such a terrible thing! But you're still not getting another biscuit.
You'd think he'd get the message, but no. No amount of wailing, sobbing,  throwing himself on the floor and pummelling it is going to make me give in. You can pull all my fingers out of joint and you're still not getting one, my boy.
When he started banging his head on the floor I did feel a little more kindly to him in that I went to the living room and got a cushion to put under his head.
Alas  it continues. This tantrum has been going on for more than an hour and a half and I am now doing my best to ignore the attention seeking behaviour, even if it does mean this blog takes longer to write as he keeps trying to grab the keyboard. You're still not getting a biscuit.
Gah! I've got a headache now. Just how do I keep this up? It's not just biscuits either. He's tall enough to open the kitchen door and get inside and open up the drawers now. I had to wrestle the can opener off him earlier and you'd think world war three had started in my house. Dear neighbours, the noise is not me hurting my son, but me trying to prevent him hurting himself with random kitchen equipment. Just what kind of damage can a toddler do to himself with a garlic press and a bag of plastic clips? I don't know, but I don't want to find out.
No, Joseph, go and put that empty can back in the recycling. No, go and put that old newspaper back too. Ok, you can destroy that piece of junk mail that came through the door. In the grand scheme of things it's probably not important and it's taken your mind off the biscuits.
Briefly.
Why does doing the right thing feel like the wrong thing? I know I can't let him eat as many sweet treats as he likes and I know he needs to learn who's boss round here but right now it feels like he hates me with a passion and all I'm doing is being a real kill-joy. I keep getting visions of him as an adult lying back on a therapists couch saying "Well it all started because my Mum wouldn't let me have another biscuit....."
Still, got to go and tidy up now, I've managed to distract him with an old mobile phone case that has a magnetic flap. That can opener needs putting away again.

Joe Strummer

As I write, an entire pack of kitty treats is being given to the cat.
Joseph likes the cat, he really does. The cat does not like him, not one little bit. She hates him so much that Joseph has learned from her that the correct way to greet a cat is to hiss at them as that's what she always does to him. When she sees him coming, she runs away. Joseph runs after her, he thinks it's all a game.
When he learned to give her treats I thought she'd come round. She hasn't. She eats the treats all right but then goes back to hating and despising him. If I feed the cat treats then she can never get enough. If Joseph feeds her cat treats then, though she can get over herself enough to take a few from him, eventually her evil feeling towards him will win the day and she will take no more.
Poor Joseph, he'd give her the whole pack if she'd only take them. He has now grown bored of holding out treats to a now totally unresponsive cat and has wandered off in search of different entertainment, leaving a trail of treats in him wake. He did try and pick them up, but the pot tipped and they're scattered again. I've picked them up because I don't want them to make the carpet dirty and to be frank, the cat doesn't deserve them.

Joseph has discovered a love stringed instruments.
It started at my nieces birthday party when he was allowed to play with a ukulele and then didn't want to give it back. We had a tantrum for most of the way home after that.
Ever since, he's tried strumming things. He has a little drum that he'd rather pretend to strum than drum. One of his story books has a circular picture on the back that he pretends is a guitar and he sits and strums it. Andy found a ukulele app on his tablet and that is strummed - a lot. He downloaded it yesterday morning and I could hear the noise upstairs, but I could not tell what it was. It was a tinkly sort of noise, almost magical and very musical in a totally tuneless sort of way. It's anyone's guess where this will go, but there are quite a few musicians in his family so he may do quite well if he puts the effort in.  Will he be more of a Dave Gilmore or George Fornby? As long as he doesn't end up like Slash from Guns n Roses, I'm not too bothered.