Take Two, or Three, or Whatever

We've been fiddling around with this toilet-training thing since SK was about 19 months old. About 80 percent of the problem has been me; it's more mommy-training at this point. I read that the coolness of the undies themselves is an incentive to take care of business big-boy style, so here's what we picked up the other day:
















Another skill we are learning is to control our hands and our tempers. Part of this is saying you're sorry when you've offended or hurt someone. Our most effective discipline tool right now is removing toys. It's highly unpopular, but effective. So SK comes to me and lets me know that I need to say I'm sorry for taking away his toy. His feelings have been hurt. "I'm frustrated, and you're not listening to me," he asserts.

I explained to him that if I were mean to my neighbor and hit them, then I would have to go to jail and would not have any of my own things. And if I was not careful with my car and I crashed into someone else, that I would be in trouble. And that I would have to pay money for breaking the rules. So he needs to learn to not hit, or his things will be taken away too. The first thing he asked KiSA when he got home that night was if he had hit his neighbor! He wanted to make sure that his Daddy wasn't going to have to go away. Of course, we reassured him that both of us were going to stay with him forever.
















I love the encouragement he gives. "You're doing a great job!" he exclaims. "Yeah, mommy, you did it!" he shouts. He did this for the packers and movers; going around the house praising them for doing such a great job. I don't think there's a person on this earth that doesn't like a little bit of a pat on the back, even (especially?) if it comes from a child.

And then there's the fun of masking tape. Why he felt compelled to wrap it around his head, I don't know. Because it was there, maybe? Anyway, once he wanted to take it off, he realized that tape in the hair can smart. "I don't think I'd put tape on myself again if I were you," I said. "Yeah," he agreed, his eyes full of tears. Wow, I thought, he learned his lesson.

So he went back into the living room and taped his wrists. Sigh.

And that, folks, is why there is masking tape on top of my refrigerator, alongside the flashlight, the hammer, the toy airplane, and a nerf football. It probably doesn't take a lot of imagination to guess why they're up there as well.

Did I mention that I am crazy about this kid? There's not enough frustration to keep me from delighting in him, and savoring every iota of this experience. Even the part where he is PUSHING my BUTTONS. We are trying to remember that he will be driving off to college before we know it.