Dadblog

potty talk

Every night, when I put her to bed, and the last book has been read, the last song has been sung and the last hug has been unclenched from my neck, Lizzie announces that she needs to go potty.

I always concede. Even though I know it's just a ploy to put off bed for another few minutes, Lizzie has enough control over her excretory system to prove its not an empty threat. She sits on her little potty and chats nonstop. She'll pee a little bit, but then insist, when I try to move her along, that there's poop on the way. Eventually there is. Even if it takes ten minutes of idle conversation and twisted face grimmaces, I know there's going to be about 12 ounces of poop underneath her when she finally stands up. Even if she went a couple of times already that day, she can always muster up one more.

A few weeks ago, I asked Rachel something that had been bothering me. "When I wipe Lizzie's butt," I started.

"I know," Rachel answered, anticipating my question. "Totally clean. I can't explain how she does that."

I don't think it will help her get into college, but it's a great talent to have. I hope she keeps it.

gooey

Lizzie announced yesterday that she was going to wear underpants. No pullups. That she had not yet been underpants-qualified by any certification board did nothing to deter her. Discovering the package of pretty pink panties with the ice cream cone pictures on them was all it took to push her over the edge.

I took her to Sears Hardware with me to pick up a replacement part for our broken upstairs toilet. I was incredibly tense about having her join me. Normally I love taking Lizzie to the store but this was the first time both of us were wearing underpants. We strolled in and, per usual, went to the color strips by the paint display so Lizzie could select her "ticket". By clearly defining something in the store as okay-to-touch, it's easier to define other items on the shelf as "not okay". Lizzie followed me to the plumbing aisle, and then as we were on line to check out, she saw the huge display of patio furniture. She told me "I go sit on chairs." My heart sank.

Thankfully we got out of the store without incident. We then went to CVS to pick up a package of Andes mints to use as toilet bribes. Rachel had the idea to try this method, which we didn't use with the older kids. So many times we've asked Lizzie (in the most upbeat, chipper voice possible) if she'd like to try sitting on the potty. And if she was doing anything interesting, she'd decline: "No tanks. I okay." Since yesterday, though, there's been no problem with motivation.

We did have two accidents. The first was when Lizzie, in an effort to secure another chocolate-covered mint, yanked her shorts and undies down, secured her Sesame Street toilet ring onto the potty, moved the step stool in front of the commode and clambered on top ALL BY HERSELF. I watched the whole thing from the kitchen, and had I been closer I could have seen that her positioning was slightly off, causing a richochet effect. The second was after dinner, as Lizzie, Rachel and I sat on the porch enjoying the approaching dusk. Rachel saw a look of shock and surprise wash over Lizzie's face and knew that the second, much anticipated daily poop train had finally pulled into the station.

Today, Rachel reports that Lizzie has done a good job of keeping her underpants clean. She used the toilet at a friend's house and proudly announced that she still had the moisture-sensitive stars inside her pullup intact after her nap.

Sunday

I took Alex to the art museum on Sunday afternoon. I felt like I hadn't seen much of her in the past few days, and when we're all together the little guys demand so much attention that Alex can go unnoticed. Usually Alex is okay with this, but since she's the only one of the three who gets jokes that don't involve me falling on my butt, I especially enjoy the time I get to spend with her. We looked at arms and armor, then ancient Asian art. We talked about the absence of people in Islamic art, and moved on to contemporary modern art. We discussed Warhol prints and a huge, monochrome blue canvas and what the meaning of "art" is. After two hours, we quit for lunch at a nearby Whole Foods Market. I had a great time and came away impressed with Alex and the art program at her elementary school, as she'd been primed to appreciate a lot more than I ever did at age seven.

When I got home, Lizzie awoke from her nap and peed in her little potty. She's been doing that a lot lately. She wakes up dry, then Rachel sits her down in the bathroom. Lizzie won't produce if she's talking to you, so Rachel leaves her on some pretext and returns five minutes later to a very proud toddler.

Seeing as we were home, with no place we needed to be, I decided to let Lizzie wear some real [thick padded] underpants in the afternoon. Rachel went to the gym, and the older kids were watching cartoons. I started pulling dinner together. After every cartoon, I invited Lizzie to try to use the potty again, but she wasn't interested after the first time. Eventually I noted the underpants were looking heavy. "Let's get you a fresh pair", I said. We went through seven fresh pairs by dinner time. She was very breezy about it. "I need a fwesh pa-ah," she'd announce.

Yesterday, Lizzie peed on the potty twice. This is great, but the cat peed on the sofa twice too. We're replacing one mess with another! I am so grateful that it was Rachel's brother and not my brother who gave us this cat, as I don't think Rachel could forgive Bill for this. Cat pee is Rachel's bête noir.

A productive trip

Lizzie pooped in the potty today! Rachel observed Lizzie grimmacing and dropping to a squat. She hustled her to the potty, yanked down her pants, popped her on the Sesame Street potty seat and waited. Lizzie read a book and talked a bit. Up to this point, it wasn't new territory. Lizzie spends a decent amount of time reading on the can for someone who still wears diapers.

But today, according to eyewitness reports, when Lizzie hopped down off the toilet, there was something there! She was shocked, so shocked that she immediately flushed it away, thus sparing you all a photo.

Also, Alex did a great job in her Spanish play today. I must bring home a cake to celebrate.

pee-yoo, 2

I was in the kitchen with Lizzie when, while putting dishes away, something happened that doesn't  exist, according to Miss Manners.

"Pee yoo! What's dat?!?"

"Sorry Lizzie, I pooted."

[incredulous] "You poop potty!?!?"

"No, I passed gas."

"oh. How come?"

timing belt slippage

Some friends gave us their retired Diaper Genie after Lizzie was born. They had kept it in a closet after their youngest kid was self-sufficient in the bathroom.

I know some people are really squeemish about accepting a used Diaper Genie. I can understand that concern if you were going to use the Genie as a fresh water cistern in your kitchen, but come on. How could a used Genie be any worse than a new Genie one day after your kid has broken it in?

If you check ebay, you will see that there is a surfeit of used Genies on the market. I think this is because, at $20, it's the perfect baby shower present. I don't know why we didn't get one for Alex.

If you are not familiar with the Genie, it has a covered cap, like the top of a submarine. You open the cap and thrust the dirty diaper down the hole. You replace the cap and twist it around, and the diaper is encapulated inside a tight twist of plastic. When the Genie is full, you open it from the bottom and extract a stinky sausage roll of diapers, which must then be rushed to the garbage can outside the house.

Last week, we exhausted the supply of liners that our friends had provided with their hand-me-down Genie. I went to the grocery store and bought a new tube, but it's for the modern Genie, not the vintage, early 90's Genie that Elizabeth has been filling for the past two years. It seems that the Diaper Genie manufacturers realized that the narrow aperature of the original Genie made it difficult to squeeze exceptionally full diapers inside without, well, splatter. My technique has been to wrap the big diapers in a shroud of wipes in order to contain overflow while passing through the Genie's gullet.

I did a little Internet searching and found one refill pack for the Old Original Genie. Someone's kid in Boise, ID learned how to poop in the potty and is accepting bids on their treasure.

Lizzie has started demonstrating interest in the toilet. We got the plastic potty out of the closet and set it in the bathroom. Every night before her bath, Lizzie sits on it and smiles. Sometimes she makes the "pshhhhhhhhh" noise with her mouth the way I do to encourage her to let go and wizz away. She has yet to make her first deposit in there, though. And now her bedroom smells not-so-fresh.

sour lemons

It is vitally important that Andrew be decanted before he goes to bed, otherwise he's likely to wet his bed around 4:00 in the morning. On some nights, though, he resists the order to go pee. "I awready did pee!" he says. Too bad, we tell him, without a witness or a receipt we have no proof. We make him mount the potty (he still sits) just to satisfy us, because we HATE being woken up from a sound sleep to change pajamas and sheets.

The problem is that Rachel and I don't always remember either. Neither of us checked on him last night, and he called on us to rescue him once again. Same thing happened last Friday night.

After I got to work this morning, Rachel called me to say that Lizzie had suffered an explosive diaper event and her room stank like the Superdome. I acknowledged that whatever may go wrong in my work day, I almost never have to smell poop.

The Answer

In last Wednesday's post, I asked What would you do if your diaper bag was in the van, and you had three kids in the restaurant by yourself?

I told Rachel that I would have given the waitress the keys and asked her to go out and get the diapers and wipes, but I was joking.

Rachel decided that the scene was safe enough for her to leave Alex and Andrew ("DON'T MOVE") and run out to the van with Lizzie. She did advise the waitress that she was abandoning neither her children nor the check. The hostess at the door seemed more concerned with Lizzie clutching the table tents promoting the Blue Ribbon Brownie and Apple Chimmeecheesecake as she left the restaurant than she did over Rachel leaving children behind.

What would you do?

I stayed after work to play poker with friends. Rachel took the kids to Applebee's for dinner after a long playdate.

I called from the subway station at 9:30 to tell her I was on my way home.

She told me that the kids were fine, and behaved as well as could be expected. However, during the meal, Lizzie stood up in her high chair, announced "Poop!" and wouldn't sit back down. The diaper bag was in the minivan.

"What would you have done?" Rachel asked me. "Think about it on your ride home."

Well, what would YOU have done? The answer will be posted later this week.

Au Revoir!

For some reason, in the last few weeks, Alex has stopped flushing poop. At first Rachel wasn't going to confront her on this, figuring the phase would pass, but after numerous encounters with a full toilet, she got Alex to tell her that flushing poop gives her "a bad feeling."

OK, said Rachel, not willing to make a big deal about it yet.

Andrew, on the other hand, told his Grandma this week that his poop says "Goodbye! Happy Mother's Day!"