The Drill

Every night the whole thing simply drags on and on, minutes extending, rolling into essential blogging time with yet more demands, more requests. Sometimes there's no foreseeable finish line, no slices of orange at the end of a vertical climb, no free pass through the bedroom door, until she's past out, finally stolen by sleep.

I made a thirteen point picture plan artfully illustrated with hand drawn symbols on yellow card -complimented with stars, and hearts, and triangles - for each stage, so that she'd unequivocally understand the drill...

1. Rubber Duck. (bath time).  Little A often plays with Lucy, her blue kitchen fork, whisking up a frothy froth of pretend hot chocolate in a bright orange beaker. She will empty the entire contents of her bath bucket into the foam; ducks, boats, crocodiles, whales, colliding, struggling to keep afloat - it's like the aftermath of titanic, except the water's warmer.

"It's time to wash your hair and face Little A."

"No thank you mummy, you can do it tomorrow instead."

"Little A.....?"

"T.O.M.O.R.R.O.W. I.N.S.T.E.A.D."

<sigh>

2. Grow Bag. (nappy, pyjamas, grow bag). But all of a sudden I have a little fairy on my hands fluttering and dancing as nature intended with a pair of blue wings and flashing wand.

"I need to do magic and running first mummy."

<sigh><sigh>

3. Toothbrush. (brushing teeth). On account of the challenge of brushing those threenager molars, we have three toothbrushes, offering *ahem* choice and partial control. There's Tina Toothbrush (pink and yellow), Timmy Toothbrush (blue), and Tuber Toothbrush (green and blue). Little A keeps her family of denture polishers in a Gruffalo bath bag that's hidden away in her Gruffalo Trunki, which, as a matter of fact, I won for this. Every evening, I head a solemn procession to the bathroom with Little A and Trunki, shuffling and rolling behind. What follows is an exact order of unlock-open-unzip-choose toothbrush-apply toothpaste-open wide-wider-brush-teeth together-brush-good girl-rinse-zip up-close-lock....

"Choose which one please."

"I want Timmy."

"Okay."

"No, Tuber... no mummy... I want... I want Tina."

<getting impatient>

4. Teddy Bear. (the good night teddy song). This is my favourite bedtime ritual. We veil Little A's kingdom of teddies, dollies, fluffy cuddlies - dumped on the teddy bench - with a red blanket while heartily singing the following verse....

Good night teddies - Good night teddies - Good night teddies, 

We've had a happy day

Hooray

Good night teddies - Good night teddies - Good night teddies, 

We've had a happy day

We've had a happ-eee day

Hip hip hooray

<a calm, charming interlude>

5. Book. (story time). She has one story but somehow manages to flick through the entire book again when I've made it firmly, but kindly clear, it's three pages only. Maybe I should refrain from checking the inbox on my phone.

<annoyed at myself>

6. Dog. (kiss Truffles good night) Truffles is a big, shaggy dog flopped on newly washed carpet at the head end of Little A's cot (yes, she's still behind bars - I'm working on it). She sleeps with a furry ear - yanked lovingly through the cot bars - in her left hand. Don't think the dog appreciates this.

<why is this part of the routine? she goes to kiss Truffles, returning to me on the futon, ergo moving in the wrong direction of the cot.>

7. Mother and child embracing. (cuddle time). (a) Sitting down cuddle - Little A will oft explore my nostrils, kneed my cheeks like stiff dough, and ruthlessly observe my teeth as dirty and yellow. (b) Standing up cuddle where my forehead and chin are raspberried and licked by a pudgy tongue.

<tired - i'm not a fan of saliva>  

8. Child behind bars. (in the cot). I.N. T.H.E. C.O.T.

< at last, nearly at the end>

9. Light switch. (lights out). First, I turn the light out. Then it's Little A's turn with either Doggy, Monkey, or Teal - a rag doll - tucked under her arm.

"Mummy, can you turn the torch on? Just one time?"

"Little A, that's not part of the routine. Light's out."

"I can't see..."

"Don't worry, your eyes will get used to it."

<it's so dark, where's the cot...bump> 

10. Book. (mummy's story) This is where I play Jack-a-nory, telling Little A a home grown tale. It's her choice.... and it could be Little A and the Octonauts; Little A and the Mermaid; Little A and the Octonauts and the Mermaid; the Dragon visits nursery; Little A, Mummy, Lucy - the fork - and the Dragon fly to Chiswick; Little A and Abney and Teal.....

<ooooh, this is fun, but keep it short, keep it short>      

11. Toilet. (a trip to the lavatory). A quick sit on the throne while I check my phone.

<like the appendix, the black and white TV, and Truffles, there is no definable use for this - it doesn't add anything to the routine, save to see if I have any comments>

12. Hand On Child's Back. (gentle back). A back rub, affectionately known as gentle back - for her highness, followed by a cuddle, and a few sips of water.

<hang in there, it's nearly over>  

13. Moon and Stars. (sweet everythings). Our final parting gesture as I stand, staring into freedom, from her bedroom door....

Night night by far, 

Sweet dreams by far

I love you

I love you to the moon and stars and back again

And I will see you in the morning

Night night by far

Sweet dreams by far

Love you - night night.

  .... and she repeats every line after me - heart meltingly wonderful.

<huzzah, laptop here I come> 

Only, not quite, as here's what usually happens next.....

More gentle back, want a cuddle, want some water; spilt the water mummy - I need a new grow bag, done a poo, need more water, can't get to sleep, want a kiss, done another poo, want to start all over again (the routine), not ready to say night-night by far, want another cuddle, more water, just one more time....   

... and the tears and tantrums as boundaries are reluctantly reset.

But like the British winter she persists, and persists, and persists.

How long is your bedtime routine?
How do you manage with two or more children?

Why? Potty Why?

I thought we had it licked. I thought it was sorted. I thought I could rid my hands of the messy business.

But no.

This gig, I could foresee, was going to take months, possibly years ...

Potty training is an onerous, frustrating mission. Two steps forward. Ten steps back.

Little A first began her 'ascension to the throne' back in January. That failed.

So I waited until she'd danced, skipped, and bunny hopped passed two and a quarter. This met with more success. Every day we held potty training sessions. A few hours in the morning. A couple in the evening. Little A sat on her potty like a true monarch. She climbed on her toilet seat like a record breaking mountaineer. She aimed. She fired. The wee wees flowed. A tinkle here. A flash flood there. But no poos. Those were still the reserve of her nappy ...

Then one day, of her own volition, Little A decided, "Mummy, I want to put my clothes on, on my woone (own), and my pants too." I spotted the opportunity. I saw the opening. And like a Roman with a big, big plan I carpe diemed with gusto ...

 "Okay Little A, you go for it , but from now on, apart from nap times and bed times, you are wearing pants. If you want to do a wee or poo, you have to do them on the potty or toilet."

 "Okay  Mummy."

Hallelujah.

The first poo on the potty, after a few months of cajoling (and bribing), was undoubtedly a mile stone...

"Look Mummy, I've done a wiggly worm."

More followed ...

"Look Mummy, I have poo all over my hand."

"Noooooo Little A, we don't wipe poo with our hands."

And then it all came to a grinding halt. The sticker charts (we have a separate one for wees and poos) lost their glittering appeal, even the extra, extra special stickers for number twos.

Little A, protesting her anal rights, refused to do anymore poos on her potty.

"Mummy, I want to do my poo in my nappy."

There was no argument to be had.

Why? Why? Why? .....

Why won't you poo on the potty?
Why do you poo under the kitchen table?
Why do you poo (in a leisurely manner) just before bedtime?
And, whilst I'm on the subject, why do you insist on looking down the toilet ... when I'm on the toilet?

And... then we found ourselves in the throes of a vicious cycle. Little A needed a poo. But by the time I'd fastened the nappy, it had gone away. And over the course of a few days of 'nappy - no poo', she became constipated, scared of emptying her bowels, of doing what she describes as a 'hurty poo'. And when it did eventually arrive (after nearly a week's abstinence), it caused her considerable discomfort.

So now we find ourselves in the situation whereby Little A is scared of releasing her number twos in either her nappy or on the toilet (she still won't go on the potty, but we've managed a few successes on the toilet, which is actually a better result). And it takes her ages to go. She feels a bowel movement, then clenches her buttocks, withholding with all her might. She whimpers. She cries 'help'. I sit with her, rubbing her back, calmly coaxing, reassuring, that it will be okay, that she will feel much better after she's done the deed. Its almost akin to helping a birthing mother through transition and second stage.

Last night it took her nearly four hours to let go and release her goodies. In the end she did it in her cot - the act of falling asleep enabled her to relax enough to go. She felt very pleased, relieved that the battle of her bowels was at an end, for now .....

So... What have your challenges been with toilet training? Have you encountered a similar problem? How did you solve the issue?

This post was meant to be a response to a tag from the wonderful Bibsey but it morphed into something else entirely. The tag was for a meme called 'Why' - A kind of parental revenge for every 'why' asked by a demanding toddler. 

Crap Mum - A Spoof

... Inspired by the wonderful Stick Man by Julia Donaldson and Alex Scheffler.

CRAP MUM...

Crap Mum lives in a two bedroomed flat.

With Younger Dad, Little A, and a pretend grey cat.

One morning she realises the chores must to be done.

Crap mum, oh Crap Mum, this is no fun!

"Mummy come here!" yells Little A.

She's picked up the full potty,

and now wants to play.

"I'll pick it up, put it down,

and pick it up - and then

"Mummy, there is poo and wee

on the floor again!"

"Oh help! Oh No! Where's my chamomile tea?

I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,

I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,

And social services are coming for me!"

Crap mum grabs a cloth,

and surveys the mess.

But it ends up all over her brand new dress!

She changes her clothes with a grumble and a sigh.

Crap Mum, oh Crap Mum, the clothes basket is piled high.

"Can I help?" asks Little A,

"I want to make my dirty pants clean."

And together they sped to the washing machine.

"Give me more clothes mummy! Lets stuff them in."

But she traps her fingers, then makes a huge din.

"Oh help! Oh No! The plasters I can't see.

I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,

I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,

And social services are gunning for me!"

"I can't plan meals.

Or do arts... or do crafts.

I can't find that lost sock! I can't turn Twitter off!

I can't iron a shirt... or darn or sew - no,

I'm..."

Crap Mum, oh Crap Mum, beware of the front door!

A gust of wind, the front door slams shut.

Stuck outside - Little A on one arm - Crap Mum is feeling kicked in the butt.

"Oh help! Oh No! Little A has pee'd on my knee.

I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,

I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,

And now the police will be after me!"

Crap Mum feels stupid, Crap mum feels dumb.

Crap Mum feels clueless praying someone will come.

Crap mum feels low and rather stressed.

She scratches her head exclaiming "this must be a test!"

Then suddenly an idea.

"Mummy you have a plan?"

"Yes! To the nursery we must go ...

To phone younger dad, our super hero."

Younger Dad arrives with a smile on his face.

Jangling his keys, now back to our place.

He raises an eyebrow at his wife

and she says...

"Oh Gosh! Oh Thank you! Thanks again for helping me!

But... I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,

I'm CRAP MUM, that's me,

And I'm doing my best for our family of three!

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