Cold Spaghetti

Lately, things have been hard for Will. He has a sister who is a “crazy monkey” (his words) and adores him to the annoying level of copying EveryThingHeDoes. He just started at a new school where his teacher and a ton of the students speak French most of the time. He misses his friends at his old school. And his parents NEVER feed him hamburgers. Or let him stay up all night.So it’s understandable that tonight, during the bedtime lament that has become the standard in the past week, Will became upset. SO UPSET that I was not only declaring it bedtime, but also time for teeth brushing, that he would say terrible things. To me. His Mother. Really terrible things.

And this is where I had my Big Moment. All those words and threats rolled off me as cool and clean as water and I got down to meet him eye to eye and said in a most natural and pleasant voice:

“It’s okay, Will. I know that you love me and you don’t mean those things. And it’s okay, because no matter what you say or what you do, I will always love you more than anything in the world. In fact, I love you SO MUCH that I am making you go to bed, even if it means you will be mad at me, because I know that you need rest to have a good day tomorrow and I want you to have a good day. And I love you SO MUCH that I want your teeth to be healthy, so I make you brush them, even when it makes you so angry that you don’t want to cooperate with me. So it’s okay to be mad at me. Because I love you.”

Then, just in an instant, everything changed. All that stuff about love being the salve for anger? Apparently it’s on the mark. Will’s angry tears dried up and, much to my surprise, his mouth opened for the toothbrush. He even went to bed without too much more fuss. (Okay, he whistled and woke Kate up, which lost him TV privileges tomorrow, but compared to what was in the works 15 minutes earlier, this was nothing.)

Mommy got the GOAL! tonight, but will have to ice her knees and rest for tomorrow; because we will not be having hamburgers for dinner.

Paul and I have been married for almost 8 years and in that time, we have developed an excellent relationship based on great communication. For example, this afternoon, I heard Paul say to me: WE HAVE A WORKING LAUNDRY. TOMORROW, I WILL MAKE DINNER FOR NEXT WEEK AND PUT THE KIDS TO BED.

And it’s part true. He said those words. I just didn’t hear what was in between them: WE don’t HAVE hot water in the back, but we are close to having A WORKING LAUNDRY. I need to be under the house working on it all day TOMORROW, so I can’t handle WILL with me in the back. Also, I’ll need you to MAKE ahead some DINNER FOR NEXT WEEK when you have your board meetings. Remember that I’m working tonight AND you’ll be alone with the kids. I’m sorry that I can’t help you PUT THE KIDS TO BED.

This may explain why he reminded me repeatedly that he needed to go to work when I insisted he put Kate to bed. He’s a very good sport.

Similarly, when I told Paul about us having a naked salad with no dressing and chicken breasts for dinner, I’m pretty sure he only heard the words “NAKED” and “BREASTS,” which is maybe why he looked disappointed when he came in for dinner.

So maybe it stands to reason that our children do not hear anything that we say to them. Perhaps hearing the words people say takes the same kind of time and practice required for something like learning to read or riding a bike. Until they develop those skills, maybe it’s unfair to hold them accountable for their actions. Maybe it’s not that they are choosing not to hear, but just absolutely cannot hear due to a completely underdeveloped skill not yet at maturity.

So when we tell Will, “Wash your hands and sit down for dinner,” maybe then it’s not that unreasonable that he would hear “DUMP OUT THREE MORE PUZZLES AND TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS.” Or when we ask him to “Help Kate put on her shoes,” he hears “GRAB KATE’S SHOES AND RUN AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THEN TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS.”

It could be a completely developmental issue. So we can stop beating our exasperated heads against the wall.

On your birthday, you explained exactly what I should expect from a 4-year old:

“4-year olds are big boys. They don’t hit, or whine, or kick, or talk back, or have a bad attitude.”

Whoa.

I had my doubts. After all, you’d spent the months leading up to age 4 testing almost all of the above… lapsing into defiant stand-offs that involve my carrying your thrashing body back to your room for time alone. Perhaps all of this effort wore you out? Because honestly, so far, the reality of you at age 4 has been closer to your prediction (outlined above) than mine (continuing increase in maddening defying behavior and tantrums). I remain skeptical of a complete transformation but am happy to be in this place while it lasts.

One of the things I am enjoying most about you is that you love art projects. Ever since “Miss Georgia” came from the Bead Shop to teach you to make earrings, you’ve been begging to make jewelry. I am not sure you appreciate how incredible happy it makes me to hear you ask to do art and craft projects and I am doing my best to take it all in stride, lest you realize the power the request has over me. After we put Kate to bed, you and I share an hour each night doing these projects together. We paint, make jewelry, draw, make ornaments, and string Mardi Gras beads into garland for the Christmas tree.
This last activity was what we were up to when you sailed from the stool where you were perched holding beads, hitting the wooden armrest of the sofa on the way down. Rather than climb down (as you’ve done many times from this same stool you sit on regularly to play pinball), you decided to jump at an angle, as if to land next to the bag of beads. I saw the blood before you did, seeping out from between your fingers as you covered your eye. That sight — you holding your hand over your eye, screaming out while blood began to pour — definitely aged me as I considered the possibility of a serious eye injury. For the record, you only cried for a short minute. Either due to my immediate response, cradling you in my arms and speaking softly and quietly to calm you, or because you are like your sister and have a diamond-clad head. We were all very thankful to see that you missed injuring your eye, bursting open the tissue in your eyebrow instead. We are also very thankful that we had you fixed by a doctor, as the location and depth of your wound made a level of complication that we could not have addressed. Now you have one purple eyebrow patch over your right eye, making folks suggest you’re sporting a Drew Brees look. (Believe it or not, I still don’t have a picture of the injury. Coming soon, though.)
Speaking of right and left. You have begun to master these directional specifics. Although you are committed to getting them backwards. I explained how you use your fingers to make an “L” for left, but realize this is a mute point since you are similarly committed to writing letters backward.

Kate remains your biggest fan and your biggest bully. Rarely does a day go by when she hasn’t clobbered you with something. We are working hard on reigning her in, showing you that the behavior is no way tolerated, reminding you of how we all have to work together to teach her how to treat others. Still, we realize that what really needs to happen is for you to just clobber her back. Of course we will never suggest this, and if you were to take up such a position we’d correct you accordingly with much displeasure. But we think that a little dose of her own medicine would help her learn a bit faster.Despite the regular beatings, you adore your sister. At least, when she’s not playing with the toy you Just Had or taking apart the train track you Just Fixed or pushing the truck you Just Took Down or banging on the drum too loud when you Just Want To Play Guitar. All of these things are major offenses in your book and cause for incredible whining. In general, we are supportive of your arguments of injustice but the truth is that we have a hard time caring that much about it. If your Dad and I have learned anything about parenting, we have learned that parents don’t want justice, we want QUIET.In the face of our resolution that you Work It Out, you have actually begun to find ways to play with your sister for extended periods of time (i.e.: longer than 1 minute). Like the other morning, when your Dad was in the hospital and I was alone with you two, trying to get dressed in the back of the house. I could hear you, laughing and playing together up front. I was so proud, almost not believing that your playtime had gone so long without either one of you breaking the mood with an ear-splitting wail. When I finished and went to retrieve you both, I found that you were bonding over art — happily planting stickers all over your rocking chairs and supplementing the colorful menagerie with marker ink. This is now a common theme: that you and Kate find an uncanny comradery when the two of you are doing something you are not suppose to be doing.

In your 4-year check-up, you got FOUR injections. Two in each arm. You spent two days talking about how you were going to “get shots” from the doctor, so much that you seemed excited about it. When the moment came, you hesitated and then started to stutter: “B..b…but I d.. d.. don’t like to get POKED!” By the time you got out “poked,” Dr. Oates was done with two of the shots and you had an alligator tear pouring down your cheek. Aside from the time a nurse failed to hold your leg, causing you to kick and the needle to tear into the tissue of your thigh, this was the only time you’ve cried tears for an immunization. The good news is that you’re now immunized for just about everything we can immunize you for — so it will be awhile before you have to endure another poke.

At the same visit, you had the following stats:
Weight: 36 pounds, 7 ounces (75%)
Height: 42 1/5″ (90%)

These were very exciting numbers because it means you’re tall enough to ride most of the rides at Disney World. It also shows that you are actually thickening up; we’ve had to loosen the waist adjustment on your pants in order for you to button them up. Finally — eating Granna’s pie with PapPap (read: 16 ounces of whipped cream with each ounce of pie) is working to fill you in.

Each night, we still sing our songs. “Feed the Birds” remains the favorite. But when you’re truly ready for bed, you request “Stay Awake,” and sing the first few words with me before falling quiet. Like in the movie, you close your eyes in the middle and by the end, are asleep.

Shower time, two nights ago. I’m in the shower. I’ve turned over Babycakes, who is being dressed by her father in the back bedroom. Will is on the toliet, doing whatever he can to delay getting into the shower. Not for any real reason, Just Because.

Finally, it’s been too long. My requests for him to get in have been blown off or given lame excuses; no more will be tolerated. I open the shower door. “Will, it’s time. Get into the shower now.” He looks up at me with a slack, relaxed face. It is obvious he sees no need to hurry.

“no.”

And there it was. No drama with it, no capital, no bolding, no italics. Just “no.”

I’ve heard tell of when parents break. They get pushed too far and the demands on them culminate into one moment where they launch into an uncontrollable rage. For me, this usually materializes in a voice that I didn’t know I had — one that sounds a bit like the monster “Zhoul” in Ghostbusters (you remember the one: “There is no Diana, only ZHOUL.”) This voice rumbles up my ribcage and pounds through my throat, emphasizing in hard consonants the terrible things that will occur if my words are not obeyed RIGHT NOW. The voice is so effective, I don’t need to say much. Things HAPPEN with the voice.

But today, the voice didn’t come. I held it in, trying to maintain the composure that I’m told it is Most Important to have in These Situations. Instead, to my surprise, something else happened.

Right after that calm little “no” ventured out of Will’s lips, so gently, as if putting a toe into a pool of water of unknown temperature, just after that little rebuttal, in that first moment of pause — my head began to shake on my shoulders. And then, suddenly, my head began to spin. (I know what you are thinking, but I promise: I Am Not Making This Up.) Around and around it swirled in circles, my eyes going large, blinking to accommodate the 360 degrees of bathroom I was taking in with each rotation. I was completely out of my body; it was an unworldly experience. So much so, that I was convinced I was under the control of Another Being — I began to worry if I’d suddenly be vomiting pea soup ala The Exorcist. But just as I had that thought, I heard at loud “POP!” And just like that, my head stopped spinning and slowly rested back on my shoulders, shaking as it regained balance.

I blinked. Then I reached over, plucked Will up by the tops of his arms and plopped him in the shower.

Will (walking into the front room, after his bedtime): “Mommy, I had an accident.”

“You had an accident in your pull-up?” (He sleeps in pull-ups. We are so not ready to tackle night potty training for Will, who sleeps with an intensity most NOLA folk save for Ash Wednesday.)

Will: “Umm… I’m wet. My bed is all wet.”

“What do you mean your BED is WET? Do you mean your pull-up?” (You can start to hear the fear in my voice.)

Will: “MY PANTS are wet. I had an accident.” (I look closely. The sides of his pajama shorts are a bit wet. I’ve put it together and am not ready to accept it.)

“Will, you wear your pull-up to bed so that you don’t have any accidents. What happened to your pull-up?”

silence.

“Will?”

Speaking softly with his chin pressed tightly to his chest, shamefully looking to the floor in growing remorse, “itookitoffandtinkledonmybed.”

Thanks to the generous support of family and friends, Paul raised over $800 (when cash donations were totaled, I think it was around $860?) in ONE DAY for the St. Baldrick’s Foundation. So either Paul has a lot of supportive family and friends, or a lot of people who were willing to pay to see his bald head. Thank you!Paul’s nervous laugh as things got started…
Nothing fancy! Others went down to mohawk first… unfortunately, Paul was a little nervous and camera-shy and didn’t realize he had the option!
Fellow shaver (who we ended up hanging out with at the St. Patrick’s parties the next day) hammed it up for cameras and audience.
Paul’s pink and blonde hair floated by in the breeze…
All done!
Will couldn’t keep his hands off Paul’s head — “it’s scratchy,” “it’s really short,” and “it’s shaved” were among Will’s responses. Later that night, he would also ask Paul “Daddy, why’d you shave your head?”
Paul holds a lock of his hair. We saved it. I have no idea why.
Local muse Chris Rose, who came across as much more insecure and gruff in person than I would have thought, gets shaved. He was funny (expected, as he’s writes with wonderful humor), a bit socially awkward, clearly nervous, and had a bit of a rough edge that seemed more a result of his awkwardness and nerves than anything. I wanted to get a picture of him and Paul together, but he ran off quickly after his shaving so we missed the opportunity.
But we DID take pictures with fellow shavee Ecoee, whose son Jude and partner Melody are friends from Music Together and future Abeona parents. Jude is the same age as Kate and weighs 26+ pounds… almost 10 pounds more than Kate!
Many Abeona kids came with their parents. It didn’t take long for the kids to find the one puddle in the lot to splash in!
Will went crazy in the puddle for a good half hour.
With many friends! It was a good distraction (along with hot dogs and ice cream) for the kids while parents talked and met with other community members, businesses, and Oak Street vendors. It was also a great opportunity for the Abeona community to meet more people in our neighborhood.
With all of the stomping and commotion, it was just a matter of time until…
…Will fell in the mud. It is telling that Will was the ONLY one to fall.
The mud didn’t stop him. He continued to jump and found a balloon to get stuck in.
By the time we were ready to leave, he was so muddy and wet that we had to strip him down to his undies. He wore Paul’s t-shirt (a lagniappe from the St. Baldrick’s Foundation) to enjoy two hot dogs before heading home.

Now that Will is out of diapers, a whole new world has been introduced to us: KIDS IN UNDERPANTS.

Even with the choices of disposables, cloth, characters, and brand, diapers are collectively ambiguous, nameless, and generic. At least they seem that way compared to the fast-paced world of Underwear. Underwear is a serious business. Kids talk about their underwear with the same intensity that they discuss treats, toy, and trips to the zoo. They announce that they’re wearing it to strangers. Give the slightest hint of interest (or maybe even not) and chances are, that little guy or gal will flash some Dora, Spiderman, or Bob the Builder.

Last week, Will spent a Saturday back in Pull-Ups because they were BOB Pull-ups. The generic pirate undies, although good for “pirate days,” weren’t cutting it 24/7. In the pushover mindset of parents who are willing to do whatever it takes to solidify successful potty training, we found Bob Underwear. Will found the box of undies the moment he came home and he acted as if he’d just stumbled upon the world’s largest vat of ice cream, bouncing around the room with infectious joy. We couldn’t help but get excited, too, “Hooray, Bob Underwear for our Big Boy Will! We’re so proud of you!!” How silly was I to think that he would be able to resist the temptation of wearing them long enough for me to wash them? Unthinkable. But I held firm and insisted that they needed to be washed first.

As a side note, parents of preschoolers need to think — and think hard — on the things they insist to their children. Intense feeling about something may raise a level of interest in said child that is not anticipated. By insisting on clothes being washed before wearing, I impressed upon Will the importance of LAUNDRY. Which is why I keep opening the washer to find random dirty clothes (read: Will’s underpants) and a huge scoop of Tide tossed in with the freshly washed clothes. While having a front loader does give him better access, visiting my parents this weekend proved that top loading machines are no matter to our laundry-helping kid. Will is so enthusiastic about his Underwear that he even will help load the dryer to move things along.
Another Underwear issue:

Me: “Will, your Underwear is on backwards.”
Will: “No it’s not.”
Me: “The picture of Spiderman goes on your butt.”
Will: “No, IT DOESN’T. It goes in front so I can see it!”

Good darn point. Who are the pictures there for, anyway? Who and what are those Underpants manufacturers thinking about when they put the pictures on the backside?? Attention: manufacturers of children’s underpants! Pictures go on the front! Children’s underpants are made for the children who wear them, not those who might be looking at their underpant-clad behinds, as noted my brilliant, Underpant-wearing child.

The Little Man.
TLM got himself into a bit of trouble last night when he, protesting a trip the shower and using a request for a cookie as a stall tactic, peed on Paul and the kitchen floor. Whoa. We had the “we love you, but your behavior is completely unacceptable” talk and explained that he had lost the privileges of a bedtime story and goodnight song. Shower time commenced and bedtime followed. Whether because of a need to know everything was “okay” with us, or because of a need to continue to test the waters, Will had a tough time falling asleep.

For the next hour, we found him:
– Quietly typing away at Paul’s computer
– Putting on shoes in his room
– Singing songs while hanging off the base of his bed
– Using the bathroom at least 3 times (productively, though… he actually had a bad bout of diarrhea)

He was obviously aware of his transgressions, instantly went back to bed without complaint when found, and clearly found humor in the odd assortment of activities he was choosing to surprise us with.

The last stalling technique was the most impressive. I was in the kitchen and heard his little feet nearing me from the hall. I turned to see a pants-free Will shuffling down the hall, eyes tightly shut, head tilted to the side resting on his blanket, mouth trying to suppress a mischievous smile. He was trying to fake sleepwalking… it was very hard to stop from breaking out in giggles. I had to bite my lip and force every muscle into a rigid set to position him back to bed and firmly assert that he was to not get out of bed again… and then rush out the front door to the porch where I could explode in laughter without fear of being heard.

Even before I became a parent I’d heard the advice: “Don’t push potty training. Wait until they are ready and it will happen overnight.” I devoted myself to this advice and allowed it to paint my parenting toilet-training fantasy… In it, Will gently, softly enters our room in the soft glow of morning light (ie: after 8am) and pleasantly announces: “Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Father. I would like to tell you that as of today, in this very moment, I no longer require a diaper. I will use the toilet without fail each and every time from now on. And I will never forget to wash my hands afterwards.” It’s really a great dream, especially because he makes this wonderful announcement while serving us breakfast in bed. (When I dream, I dream BIG.)

Will is now three and ready for potty training. And I’m learning that it is not so easy.Will has been telling us he’s ready for underwear for weeks. He’s asked for underwear. Dug undies out of his drawer and undressed himself to put on underwear. Sat on the toilet for half an hour waiting to do something so that he could show he was ready for underwear. Begged and pleaded for those cute little underpants! Will could not have cared less about saying goodbye to Pampers… Paul and I were the ones freaking out. It was a great surprise to realize how important an absorbent core was to our daily lives. We couldn’t say goodbye, just taking it away was too much, too soon. We needed time, we weren’t ready. We rationalized it in so many ways: he was still wetting the diaper; it was the holidays; what if he has an accident on my Mom’s rug(!); we have to take a ride in the car today… and more. There are so many excuses.

Finally, after some advice and support from our knowledgeable Abeona teachers, we gained the courage to try. So, for the past three weeks, we’ve tried a variety of suggested strategies… Will running around nude, Will wearing underwear for short time frames, Will wearing both underwear with a diaper or pull-up over (to reduce mess), and finally, Will sporting nothing but the undies.

It has not been that bad… so far. Will is very good at identifying when he has to make a bowel movement. We’ve had two accidents of this type. The other stuff, “tinkle” in our household lingo, is still a challenge for The Little Man.
Yesterday was the Big Day. As of yesterday, we’ve got an undies-only 3-year old. This was a really big day for Will. In addition to wearing his pirate underwear (could there be any other kind?), this was also his first time staying a full day at school (until 3ish). He did pretty well. Three accidents at school… but zero at home. Today was much improved. One accident before leaving for school this morning (possibly two, but Will claims he spilled some milk from his cereal), one accident at school, and one accident in the waiting room at the doctor’s office this afternoon. Pretty decent. He still sleeps with a diaper at night, I figure we’ll keep the night pull-up or diaper for awhile… this is a tough one for little guys from what I understand.

So goes our first foray into potty training. I would LOVE suggestions and insight from anyone reading who has successfully potty trained a child… especially a boy!