Why I Hate Potty Training

We have baseballs on the doorknobs in our house because we have twins that can get into things they shouldn't. This is a little harder than having one child because you just can't always have your eyes on both, and we aren't going to risk a stomach pump because they got into some cleaning supply. The girls are too little to open the doors, but not too little to go through a door left ajar. Then there is the technology upgrade they were all born with. It is like all four of them were built with scanners. Every time they go into a room I swear they take 2 seconds to identify what isn't the same anymore and run to exploit it--remote left out, door open, cup low enough to be reached, something shiny over there hanging over the edge of the counter...

So on to the main event. We put out the potty chair. Nicholas gets it; he leaves it alone. Benjamin thinks it's a new toy and runs all over the house with it, tears it apart, beats his brother with it. Now they are fighting over the potty chair. Nice. Now the girls are fighting over it. Except, let's be honest, they are still putting everything in their mouths--ewwwww.

We put the potty chair in the bathroom behind the door. Out of sight, out of mind. Not helpful.

We come to a hybrid solution. We take the baseballs off the bathroom door and use the doughnuts in the toilet and start taking them to the toilet every two hours, but if they feel inclined they can get in the door themselves, which helps because now we can ask them to go wash their hands and just check up on them in the end. Now they get in the bathroom by themselves and need to wash their hands like obsessive-compulsives, which maybe they are. I don't know. They always leave the door open, which would be awesome because who wants their 2-year-old closed up in the bathroom? Oh yeah, I do. Because now the girls are in the toilet water with their hands. Nice.

The boys now have the skills to get naked by themselves entirely. And they use those skills--to poop on the patio when playing outside.

And then there is this. Nicholas is upstairs yesterday and needs to poop he says. Ben is on the potty that I hauled out because the doughnut is missing. Doughnut is missing? Yes. Missing. Crap. Someone must have hauled it off. Nicholas needs it, and I got nothing. We go downstairs to the other toilet. And I tell him to do his thing, and I run back upstairs to check on Benjamin because I trust him maybe a little less. The girls have gotten in the bathroom are falling in the empty tub, climbing the stool to the stool, and Ben is still trying to potty because he is convinced that he needs to even though his training pant was soaked when I took it off (heaven help me if I hadn't put that out of the girls' reach). I grab the girls, get them out of the bathroom, shut Benjamin in the bathroom (yes, shut Benjamin in the bathroom by himself. The two-year-old is shut in the bathroom because that is the safest option at the moment.) Run downstairs leaving the girls screaming upstairs. Nicholas didn't make it. He pooped on the foot stool he was supposed to use to get up to the potty, which he never actually uses preferring instead this weird monkey mount of the toilet from the side using hands and feet.

I have no idea why every one is so excited about potty training; I can accomplish 4 diaper changes in 4 minutes anywhere and be done with it.

Did I Already?! Um, YEAH...

As the exhausted children went to bed on time without vomiting nor complaining. I tore into that box that had been sitting there. As a model of efficiency, I made my own didn't-pay-a-million-dollars-to-Starbucks-iced-chai and THEN I changed into my perfect for relaxing Quintons T-Shirt (and started getting hungry) and THEN I took in the rest of the care package: breakfast M&Ms, double packages of Double Mint gum, and yeah, she even thought of the children with some treats for the maniacs. Then an e-mail of thanks, and she wonders did I really already make myself chai? Um, yeah. I was already on my second by that point... Thanks Dukes. But don't worry, I will still be getting my coffee exclusively from here. My mind is trying to form a Quintons/J&S/Chai bar in my neighborhood that would be hooked to the daycare with a drive through at the moment.

Later: Why potty training two with two in the wings is complicated, to put it mildly.

Things Too Miserable To Grab The Camera During and A Confession

Sunday morning I loaded up the children and headed to church. Not only do I believe it is important to take them to church, but I also believe it is important to take me to church. And I cannot say that the two hours of quiet time I was headed toward didn't cement the decision to go it alone.

The road we head down to get to church looks like this. Only it is a bit more curvy. Thankfully when Elaine got car sick there was a different church right off the road to pull into (we do live in the South and there are more than a few churches to choose from.) I cleaned up the girl best I could, changed her into a clean outfit (a beautiful green hand-me-down onsie from her brother that looked perfect with her pink-bowed shoes), and I promised if it happened again we would go home.


It didn't happen again. I assumed car sick. And we went to church. The girls screamed their fool heads off in the nursery, but by the time I came back everyone was smiling and laughing. "The girls had a wonderful morning!" Car sick was cemented in my brain at that moment.



Sunday evening after naps and Popsicles, Alida pukes in the laundry room. Good girl! Such a smart girl to puke right next to the washing machine, on tile floor and you didn't grab at it! Good girl.



Denial Number 2: You must have gotten too hot outside.



Brilliant Idea Number One: Let's go have dinner.



Alida pukes in her high chair. While still over the tile floor, it was all over her and in her tray. That's right, perfect for playing in. And she starts laughing. We spent the evening waiting for more. None.



Brilliant Idea Number Two: Let's have a bottle and go to bed.



Elaine knocks out. Alida pukes. The boys are at least watching a movie. Put Alida on the floor, she passes out in her blanket. Change sheets; change girl. Back to bed.



And all is well. Monday morning breaks. There are smiles. There are no fevers. There is no puking in the land.



Until 3:45 in the afternoon when daycare calls:



"Mrs. Stuber. I'm calling because of Benjamin.



(In my head: thank goodness it wasn't Alida; I've been waiting for that call all day long. He probably broke his arm or something, no big deal.)



He just threw up all over the playground."



Oh. Bother.



Take Ben home to puke again. Nicholas gets mad at all the attention that Ben is getting, and he pukes now too. Although that little man walked right over to the bucket and aimed well. Thank you son. The boys now get all the attention, and the girls are shuttled upstairs to play in the playroom safety zone on their own while we clean up.



Baths all around. Third load of laundry started. Clorox out. Dishwasher started. Everyone in bed.



(Man, I just want to open the mail because there is a box there from the Duke's mom that I really, really want to see.)



Over the racket of every machine in my house chugging along cleaning everything I could fit in a machine, I missed hearing the ruckus upstairs. However, I made it up to check at least before opening that box and found that Nicholas had made the bucket--and the bed and his clothes and the floor. We go out to get new clothes.



"New, new, new clothes mommy?"

"Yes, son."

"Yeah!"



Who are these people that are happy after they puke?



All are cleaned and tucked in bed with new, new, new sheets, blankets and pillows, and I finish cloroxing the entire house and pass out in the extra bedroom that is close to their room, and that box is still sitting there calling to me right now.



Daycare rule: no temp, no problem. As long as they aren't puking. This morning, no one was puking, all were happy, and there were no fevers. We've made it to 11:30 now. We'll see what the rest of the day holds for us.

Confession: I kind of like it when they are sick. They're really sweet and snuggly.

Why There Were No Pictures This Weekend

Because these people sensed I was alone and closed in.

And were relentless.

And I spent most of my weekend staring in the face of this.

Usually four at a time crawling on me.

Snotty noses and all.

What I Did During My Daytime Childfree Vacation, Part II

We watched the neighbors grass get cut--our new fascination. It was a double delight since it kept the boys up a little past their bedtime. Who knew what glee could be found sitting on the driveway in your underwear.

We tackled the mess.

And ripped out our shower.

We do know how to party over here.

Do You Ever Dress the Twins Alike?

Yes, once. They hated it.

How I Spent My Daytime Childfree Vacation

With my girls, screaming through a photo shoot of course.

Elaine was not a peach this time, and the Legos aren't a usual part of this scene I don't believe.

But Alida finally gave us a smile, and we considered calling it good and just making multiple prints of the two smiling shots and assigning a name to each.

Because Elaine really did not want to participate.

(Remember, these are the good photos. Okay, we may have left this one in because it made us laugh.)

Cheerios in hand, Alida did get the hang of it.

Not quite Elaine.

Oh, okay. That'll do, girl. That'll do.

That's it. I'm outa here.