Bribes, Baking and Potty Training

Cordy is nearly four and half years old, and is still not potty trained. Yes, throw all your tsk-tsks at me, I’ve heard them a hundred times already. We’re not committed enough, we’re not doing it right, we’re letting her control the situation, we’re lazy – those are the primary reasons stated by complete strangers for why our daughter insists on remaining in diapers. As if it really impacts their lives if my kid is wearing a diaper.

But we have been trying, ever since she turned three years old. Many adjectives can be used to describe Cordy, but “compliant” is not one of them. Our long journey through potty training has included several types of potty chairs and seats, pull-ups, plastic pants, training underwear, reward stickers and candy, schedules, potty DVDs and books, potty songs, and many wet spots to clean up. By Christmas I was resigned to the fact that Cordy was likely to be in pull-ups for Pre-K next year.

Part of the problem at first was her fear of the bathroom. It was too noisy, it echoed too much. The toilet and faucet had running water, and she was always scared of getting wet. She didn’t like the feel of her bare bottom on cold plastic, and we’re not wealthy enough for heated toilet seats. Her sensory issues are not nearly as severe now, though – one hurdle down.

However, she also has a hard time knowing when she has to go. Of course, many kids often do this – how often have you seen a kid wet themselves because they were playing too intensely to notice? But she could be doing nothing and still pee without understanding what happened.

They have been working with her at school, and I’m incredibly grateful to her teacher for helping her get over her fear of the bathroom. At first she had to stand by the entrance, then she had to stand inside while other kids were using the bathroom. Then eventually they made her try sitting on the potty. We’d do the same thing at home, and it slowly started to sink in little by little, but she wasn’t consistent enough to try underwear, and she would scream and cry at the mere suggestion of underwear.

Over the past two months, she’s made a lot of progress. And then, a few weeks ago, everything clicked. She suddenly wanted to wear underwear instead of insisting on a pullup, and she made every effort to keep her underwear dry for an entire day.

What’s our secret? We finally found a reward that means enough to her to guarantee her effort in this task:


Baking.

Turns out, Cordy was switched at birth. Or at least she forgot to pick up the part of my DNA having to do with my lack of domestic skill. While I avoid the kitchen at the request of the Columbus Division of Fire, she wants nothing more than to pour, mix, and stir. She even likes cracking eggs! Given the choice of any reward, she would choose baking over anything else.

All photos are of food half-eaten. Sorry, she’s a pretty good baker.

So our new deal with Cordy is that if she can keep her underwear dry until dinnertime each day, she’s allowed to bake something for dessert. We’ve Daddy and Cordy have made cookies, brownies, muffins and cupcakes in celebration of dry underwear days. Cordy says she’s the “Little Chef” and Aaron is the “Big Chef.”

Mira, when she’s allowed to participate, is the “Littlest Chef of All” but most of the time Mira is serving in the role of “Biggest Pain in the Ass Who Tries to Wreck Everything.” That one is my kid for sure.

I can’t explain why it is suddenly working, but Cordy has more dry days than wet days in just two short weeks. She still needs an overnight diaper for bedtime, she still has to be prompted to go to the bathroom, and any chance of #2 in the potty is still far off, but I’m no longer as concerned that Mira would be out of diapers before Cordy.

Baking – who knew? It’s a good thing Aaron suggested baking cookies, because I never would have thought of it. And then Cordy might have remained in diapers until her first home ec class. Of course, I’d probably be skinnier, too – if she keeps baking, I’ll keep gaining weight.



Haiku Friday: Memories

Haiku Friday
I’ve been feeling a
bit melancholy lately
thinking of the past

I think I will start
sharing more stories from my
younger, pre-kid days

While chatting over lunch the other day, Aaron had to correct me on my own age. I had completely forgotten an entire year off that number – ha! Little young to start forgetting my age, isn’t it? Since then, I’ve been thinking back on how I’ve spent my almost 33 years.

I’ve shared some stories of my youth before, but I want to dig back into my mind and pull out more of the memories that have been pushed aside in favor of Wiggles songs and the names of the Backyardigans. One resurfaced recently when I read a story of another missing child, and I’m going to make an effort to write down the others when they pop into my head, even the painful ones.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON’T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!



The Day I Was Nearly Kidnapped

Every time I read another story about a missing child, I get a knot in my stomach. I can’t imaging the pain of having your child abducted, even right from your own home while you sleep, with no idea if you will ever see your child alive again.

I’ll admit that I’m very protective of my two girls. They stay within my sight at all times when we’re at the playground. If we go to a crowded event, I prefer to make them sit in the stroller rather than risk turning my back and having one disappear into the crowd. I reinforce the importance of staying near mommy and daddy to Cordy, explaining that if she gets lost she could be gone forever. Yes, I might be making her fearful, but I’d rather her have a little scared of others if it means she’ll get to see adulthood.

This is more than a typical mama-bear response, I think, because I know how fast an abduction can happen. Because as a child I was nearly abducted myself.

I must have been 7 or 8 years old when it happened – I can’t remember exactly. During the summer I spent most of my time at my babysitter’s house, or at our community pool. The pool was about 3/4 of a mile away, along residential streets, and I was often allowed to walk to and from the pool from my babysitter’s house. It was a small town in the early 80s, when people left their doors unlocked while home and kids spent their days outside wandering the neighborhood.

This particular day it was hot and sunny, and I was walking back to my babysitter’s house from the pool dressed only in a swimsuit and flip-flops, with a beach towel draped over my shoulders. I always liked taking the alley home instead of the street. There was something more quiet and interesting about the alley – instead of seeing houses the way people wanted you to see them, I saw the real houses as I walked past the fenced-in backyards: laundry on the clothesline, lawn furniture and outdoor toys scattered across lawns, grassy areas full of dog poop that someone had yet to clean, a car on blocks, etc.

There was also a church that I would walk past in the alley, nestled between nice homes with its white exterior and stained glass windows. It always seemed out of place and larger than life when I walked behind it.

It was on this day that I was strolling down the alley and as usual, keeping my eyes on the ground as I kicked rocks ahead of me. I glanced up as I approached the church, and noticed a man walking towards me. I was a little startled, first because I had never encountered anyone else walking down that alley in the middle of the afternoon, and second because the last time I had looked up, there was no one coming down that long, straight alley. Where did he come from?

I looked back down at the ground again and tried to maintain my best not interested in interacting because I have to be somewhere soon aura, hoping he would be equally uninterested and pass me without a word. But as we walked closer toward each other, his eyes were locked on me, and he forced a smile.

“Hi, uh, do you know… uh, do you know where I can find a paint store?”

I’m sure I must have looked at him like he was insane. A paint store? What a weird question to ask a kid in an alley.

“No, sorry. I don’t know of one.” I replied, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible. I started to take another step towards my destination, but he didn’t move out of my way, and instead moved closer.

“Are you sure? I really need to find a paint store. C’mon, every town has one.”

At this point he was invading my personal space and I was distinctly uncomfortable. I took a step back from him. He was a little short, but still taller and bigger than me. I remember he had light brown hair , but was balding across the top of his head, making his forehead look enormous. His face was square with small eyes and a big nose, and his jaw was so tight I could see it clenched. He was trying to be friendly, but looked very uncomfortable.

While my finely-honed stranger-danger spidey-sense had been activated the minute he looked at me, it was now flashing orange caution lights in my head. He was either shady or mentally ill, and I couldn’t decide which.

“Sorry, I don’t pay attention to paint stores. I’m just a kid. Try asking at a gas station.” And with that I walked around him and continued on my way, heart pounding in my chest. I refused to look back at first – not wanting him to see I was nervous, but after a minute I did glance over my shoulder quickly.

He was gone.

I think not seeing him there at all confused me even more. But by the time I reached the end of the alley, turning onto the short street, I had dismissed the interaction as one of those weird but forgettable moments in life, calming down and resuming my typical kid thoughts. Some people are just odd.

But then, as I approached the corner of the main street – where I would then be half a block away from my babysitter’s street and from there in view of her house – I saw an older car turn onto the shorter street, pulling over at the corner. Adrenaline pushed my heart into my throat as I realized it was the man from the alley in the car. He rapidly got out of the car, still trying to act friendly, but now appearing more serious and still a little nervous as he walked towards me with a determined pace.

“Listen, I really need your help, little girl. Can you come with me and show me where the nearest gas station is?”

I remember glancing down the street each way. This neighborhood was always dead quiet in the afternoon, with everyone at work. I saw no one around, no one I could run to, and no one who would hear me scream. He was coming at me from the right, the sidewalk was directly in front of me, and there was a small hill on my left, with a large grassy yard. I didn’t know what to do, and simply froze as he approached me.

“Just go down North Street and you’ll see one,” I replied. At this point, red WARNING lights were flashing in my head. He was a stranger asking me to get into his car, which I knew was a bad idea. There was no reason for him to be seeking help from a kid.

“I’m not from here. Come on, help me out. It’s OK, I won’t hurt you.” He was getting dangerously close, and when he dropped the smile completely I no longer felt he was a harmless mentally ill person.

At this point I was very scared. “NO! Leave me alone!” I yelled at him while taking a step back.

The next two seconds still feel like slow motion when I replay it in my head. I remember him shifting his weight towards me. His arm beginning to extend. Hand reaching out to grab me.

I remember at the same time my legs working of their own accord. Instinct moving me up that little grassy hill out of his reach while my brain still tried to process what was happening.

I recall pausing at the top of that little hill, as my higher brain function connected with the cerebellum again, looking back at the man still only a few feet from me, still lunging forward from trying to get a hand on me.

Before he could completely recover, I ran full speed across the yard towards my babysitter’s house, running as if my life depended on it, because at this moment it did. I think I was screaming but I can’t really remember. When I reached my babysitter’s house, I no longer had my flip-flops on – I don’t remember when they came off my feet.

Here’s where I made my biggest mistake: I never told my babysitter. I didn’t tell my mom for a long time, either. I’d been told not to walk in alleys, and I was scared that I’d get in trouble for walking in the alley that day. I think I was worried they’d tell me I deserved what happened because I didn’t listen to them. So I stayed quiet, keeping this terror to myself and not thinking about stopping this man from trying this again. Years later, I still feel guilty over that. What if he abducted a different little girl because I never told the police?

There was no way I could have an adult with me at all times. But I had been taught to avoid strangers, and that lesson possibly helped save me from being kidnapped. It’s one time in my life that I’m glad I had such a strong mistrust of people. What if I had trusted him and let him get closer to me? What would he have done with me? Would I even be alive today?

I never saw him again, but I always looked for his face in crowds. In some ways, I still watch for him. That one short experience impacted how I view others, and it wasn’t until I had children of my own that I realized how much it has affected my parenting.

I know I can’t be with Cordy and Mira all the time. The older they get, the more time they will likely spend away from me. But I will do my best to teach them stranger safety, hoping that if they ever fall into a situation like I went through, they’ll get out of it safely.

And maybe they’ll be smarter than me and listen when told to stay out of alleys.



I’m Not Ready For This

Yesterday, while volunteering at Cordy’s preschool, her teacher let me in on a little tidbit of Cordy’s school life.

“She’s got a boyfriend now, you know.”

“WHA?”

“Yep, she and [boy’s name] have been really sweet on each other.”

At that point my head exploded.

Apparently over the past two weeks she and this boy have suddenly become a couple. They sit next to each other during circle time, arms around each other. He insists on being right next to her at the table and in line. He asks for the same snack she likes to eat, even though he then won’t eat it because he doesn’t like it. If someone sits next to her he will get very upset.

Maybe he’s not so much a boyfriend as a stalker?

Even worse, he’s the “bad boy” of the class. He has massive tantrums, stubbornly refuses to do things, and I once watched him throw his shoe at an adult’s head. Why couldn’t she go for one of the gentle, quiet boys in her class?

I wasn’t expecting to deal with boys for quite some time. Like, say, 30 years from now. Of course, she doesn’t even mention him at home. When asked who her friends are at school, his name doesn’t come up. So while she willingly participates in the love-fest at school, she’s either not that interested in him or is choosing not to tell us. I’m really hoping it’s the former.

At least her first boyfriend is likely to be short-lived. We don’t know his family, and she’ll be at a different school next year. That gives me all summer to teach her how to go for the sweet, quiet guys instead. Or that boys have cooties and she should avoid them at all costs.



The (As-Usual) Surreal Con Experience

Trying to describe what happens at a blog conference is always so hard. There are so many moments that are touching, strange, funny, frustrating, and inspiring, but they’re all jumbled together and generally are better in person than on screen. It doesn’t matter the conference – all of them share certain aspects. So I’ll try to describe Blissdom without rambling too much about great moments that you’ll read and just scratch your head, asking “What’s the big deal?”

I wanted to do a post yesterday, but spent most of the day staring at this:


Yeah, see, I told you all blog cons have things in common. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered hotels that didn’t realize that a conference full of bloggers really will need internet access for nearly everyone.

Thankfully the hotel did get more wifi access.

Dinner last night was at the hotel, and featured the Incredibly Enormous Salad:


In true southern cooking fashion, asking for a little mayo for my sandwich resulted in enough mayo to make a potato salad for 10.

This morning, we were treated to a sneak peak at the new Yanni DVD Voices. Everyone danced in their seats to the Latin-flavored music and drooled over the guy on the DVD I affectionately named “Frilly ponytail matador vam-pirate guy” – you have to see the DVD to understand. But then, just as we all came down from our salsa-dancing high, we shot back up again when they announced that two of the singers from Voices were here to answer questions. And yes, one of them was “Frilly ponytail matador vam-pirate guy”. After the Q&A, autographs and photo ops were provided.


The sessions today were packed with more information than I can share in one post, so I’ll have to come back to them later.

Chris Mann provided late-afternoon entertainment with his excellent music. Gotta love a musician who is also Twitter-savvy.

Dinner was at the most amazing restaurant in Nashville. The New Orleans Mansion House is a beautiful, elegant old mansion, but the staff were funny and extremely accommodating, and they knew how to actually make a real drink. (Sorry, the hotel drinks were little more than juice and water.) The food? Incredible.


The evening had to end with a bang, and if it wasn’t going to be drunken antics, how about a group of bloggers stuck in a hotel elevator for 40 minutes? I just got word they were freed minutes ago. Had Baby Jessica fallen down the well with a smart phone and Twitter in the 80’s, she would have been rescued a lot faster, I think.

Finally, I have to add that the hit of the weekend seems to have been my new itty-bitty Dell Mini. It’s a 9″ laptop with only the stuff you need for a conference, and it’s so lightweight. I wish I was getting commission for all of the Dell Minis that will be purchased from the Dell Outlet this week – I’m sure a few will be finding new homes with these bloggers.

Small-fry

PS – All photos provided by a spiffy Canon Rebel XT that was on-loan to me from Midwest Photo Exchange. They’re a Columbus company owned by a great guy who is practically family. I’m sad to have to return this camera, but I’m still saving to buy another from him soon. (He rents cameras, too.)
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