Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

potty training

Saturday smiles: Coming up for air edition

This week has been a blur. I’m in the thick of a writing deadline and with my husband still in the hunt for a full-time job, I’m bringing home the bacon. (Mmm … bacon.) At least that’s the case this month. So I’ve spent more time out of the house writing (and drinking copious amounts of coffee) this week than I have in the last couple of months. Blogging hasn’t been high on my list of priorities, but I don’t want to lose the rhythm I had going, so I’ll try to keep up. If not, I promise I’ll be back. Don’t go away! (Okay, that sounds a little desperate.)

Even with deadlines breathing down my neck, writing makes me smile. More than that, it feeds my soul. And I come home mentally tired but spiritually refreshed and better able to hang with the kiddos.

Speaking of hanging with the kiddos, Phil has made the writing possible by staying home with them four mornings this week so I could write. It’s not easy (I know!) and I love him more for it.

Last week we started potty training Corban and this week, he’s catching on like it’s his job. I don’t want to get my hopes up that he’s going to be easier than Isabelle was, but we have drastically decreased our diaper use in a week. Even Isabelle has stopped wearing any overnight diapers this week. All I can say is “Thank You, Jesus.” Our finances are tighter than they’ve ever been and spending less money on diapers is a major deal.

Because money is tight, we’re trying to better consume the food in our house before we have to go to the store to buy more. That means kitchen adventures are plentiful. And mostly successful. Yesterday we made scones to eat for breakfast this morning. Yummy. And I repurposed some leftover shredded beef from tacos into a beef pot pie. Also delicious. Next up: I’m going to make some cornmeal crackers for snacking on. Crackers from scratch … who knew? I certainly didn’t. I’ll let you know how that one turns out.

I’m lovin’ our kids’ imaginations. At least once this week, they introduced themselves as “bread” and “Fred.” Those were their names. And they stuck to that story. Now Isabelle, who is fond of rhyming these days, is making up her own exclamations. Today I heard her say, “Jiggers and jaggers!” when she was attempting something difficult and as we approached a set of bleachers in the park across the street she said, “Bleed my beachers.” Not exactly “Kiss my grits,” but it’s close. I hope this doesn’t turn into preschool swearing. I’m not ready to deal with that yet.

She comes by ridiculousness honestly. In conversation with my husband today I said these words: “Well, the Titanic just sank …” I was referring to the plot of a book I’m reading. It’s not everyday you can slip “Titanic” into conversation. And speaking of the early 20th Century, we finished watching the first season of Downton Abbey last night, and I’m thrilled that our library system has Season 2, even if we have to wait for it. We can’t get it instantly on Netflix right now, so waiting our turn is our best option. Maybe by the time Season 3 premieres, we’ll be caught up.

We still don’t know what tomorrow (or the next day or the next day) will bring but we are praising God and trusting Him because He is good.

Whatever your situation today, rejoice in that.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever.

Growing Pains

I haven’t been at this parenting gig long, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be the one crying at tumbling class.

I’m the 33-year-old, after all, not the 3-year-old.

No, Izzy didn’t suffer an injury. I did. And not the physical kind that tends to heal more quickly than the emotional one.

After watching her classmates complete the circuit, Isabelle finally got her turn and halfway through it, she peed. On the mat. In her new leotard. In front of everyone. The poor teacher had to leave the class to fetch a janitor, who assured me that I didn’t have to clean up the mess, even though I felt it was my penance for … what? Bad mothering?

I gathered Isabelle’s things and hurriedly ushered her out of the gym while the other parents tried to guess what was happening.

“I guess one of the kids had an accident,” one mom said as we left.

With all the drama I could muster, I declared, “I’m horrified,” then burst into tears as we walked the long hall to the locker room. Encouraging words from the other adults in the hallway followed me, but I barely heard them.

It happens to everyone. I know this. But I’m still embarrassed. And it’s not like Isabelle didn’t go potty before class, less than 30 minutes before her accident.

Maybe if this had been a one-time incident, but it’s been a pattern for the last week. After going almost an entire week with NO accidents, she’s had at least one a day for the last several days. We can count on one finger the number of days in the last 10 that she’s been accident-free.

Frustrating.

That’s the only word for it. I feel like eight months of patience and training (and impatience) has yielded nothing. We’re back to what feels like square one. Packing extra clothes for every occasion. Afraid to leave the house because she might have an accident. Anxious that she’ll pee during one of her “big-girl” classes.

I guess we can cross that last one off the list.

But I don’t know what to do. Bribery, threats (the harmless kind, like taking her out of swimming or tumbling class)  and guilt aren’t working. I feel like my kid is the last one on the block to be accident-free and potty-trained. (She’s going on 4.)

And, of course, that makes me a bad mother. At least it does in my head.

Fortunately, I guess, Isabelle wasn’t bothered by the whole incident. We found her a suitable change of clothes and she went back to tumbling class for the last few minutes. Enough time to jump on a bouncy mat with the other kids.

Now, I’m more embarrassed that I couldn’t handle the situation with grace and a cool demeanor. Probably I’m “that mom who cried” now. Whatever. Sometimes humbling and humiliating seem like the same thing.

But that’s part of the growing process — for both of us. It hurts, and sometimes I hate it. (See my post on the other things I hate about being a mom.)

I know it’s for my good, though. And hers. But don’t you sometimes wish you had it all together now?

How do you handle a situation like this? And what do you say to your kids?

And if you’ve got any magic tricks to potty training, send them my way. Like other things in my life, I’m ready to pray about it after trying everything else first.

If nothing else changes, prayer will change me, at least, and maybe I won’t be the one crying in tumbling class next time.