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Guest Blogger! Potty Training Times Two

11/14/2012

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We have a guest blogger today! My very sweet friend Erika agreed to share some of her stories as a parent of identical twin toddler girls. She and her family are relatively new to Vegas; we met this summer as we watched our kids splash around in the shallow end of the pool. I was initially charmed by her daughters' adorable personalities (one was trying to drown the other; this is amusing to everyone except the parents), but then she disclosed she is originally from Indiana and I was all, "OMG! Now we totally have to be friends." Not only is she a Hoosier, but she is also wickedly funny and shares the same dry sense of humor about the challenges and awakenings of Parenthood. Here, she examines the trials of potty training a deux and how she eventually found hope in the most unlikely of places.
Potty Training Times Two

I’m not one for bathroom humor, but I do want to talk about something no one else will: potty training twins. Certainly there’s no dearth of advice for potty training one child, but when it comes to twins, I’ve found zilch. Even my twin parenting books are silent on the matter, jumping directly from chapters about transitioning to solid foods to those on preparing for kindergarten. But if it’s true what they say and no one starts kindergarten in diapers, clearly there’s an information gap here.

I’d been dreading the inevitable potty-training milestone since my identical twin daughters, Zoe and Yael, hit 18 months old and Baby Center began e-mailing me newsletters entitled, “Early Potty Training: Is Your Child Ready?” My daughters were not ready, as neither of them had expressed any interest beyond throwing the occasional Sesame Street figurine *into* the toilet. But still I knew the day would come. It had to. As Elmo says in the film Elmo’s Potty Time (perhaps the most significant contribution to our modern-day potty-training canon), “Everyone learns to use the potty sooner or later.” Which means even twins. (Case in point, my ninth grade boyfriend was a twin, and though he was by no means the brightest bulb in the box—by several watts—he was in fact potty trained.) So what was the trick for training, times two?

 Many of my singleton parent friends touted the success of a three-day “boot camp” approach. From what I understand, you strip your child naked from the waist down and let them pee on themselves for two full days, and by the end of the third day, they are potty trained. I did consider this, since we were at the time renting a house with hardwood floors. But rental or not, the thought of me chasing two naked toddlers through the house with paper towel and a Swiffer Wetjet made me physically ill.  

Opting for a more low-key approach (or better yet, hoping the girls might decide to potty train themselves), I stuck a pink princess potty in their bathroom a few days after their second birthday and prayed the peer pressure of preschool might push them in the right direction. For several weeks, the girls alternated between pushing the potty up and down the hallway and wearing it on their heads like a hat. Then one spring day, Yael did ask to “go pee-pee in the potty.” She asked the day before we left Memphis to drive 1500 miles cross-country to our new home in Las Vegas. I suggested she hold that thought.

By the time August rolled around, I was out of excuses and knew the time had come to launch Operation Train the Twins. I laid in supplies: one Elmo’s Potty Time DVD (of course); a number of girl-specific potty training books; three princess potties and a random green potty my husband picked out “just to mix it up” (side note: no one liked the green potty and it soon became just a stool);  two cushioned potty seats (one Sesame Street and one Disney Princess); a Costco box of Pull-Ups; every make and model of toddler underwear including thick cotton training pants, plastic training pants, regular underwear, and plastic covers to put over the regular underwear; one bottle of Woolite carpet cleaner/ pet stain remover; one box of donuts and a giant bag of Skittles (I’m a stress eater, don’t judge).  

 I kicked off Day One with a morning “sit” on the potty and a dramatic reading of Princess of the Potty, followed by the first of what would become daily screenings of Elmo’s Potty Time. I also whisked a plastic-pants wearing Yael to the potty every 20 minutes. Yael was my primary focus during this initial stage for a number of reasons, but mostly because I thought maybe I could get away with potty training like the singleton parents do—one at time. Also I had hopes that either (a) Zoe would catch on and potty train herself or (b) Yael would catch on and then train her sister without my involvement.

A few days in, it seemed clear neither of these scenarios would take shape. Zoe regarded potty training as Yael’s “thing” and wasn’t too interested in joining. Meanwhile Yael seemed irritated that she was the only one called to abandon the Little People farm to take a potty break. I had no choice but to level the playing field and get everyone on board. And so it was I found myself potty training both twins at the same time.

How is potty training twins harder than potty training one child? I’m not entirely sure, since having twins is all I know, but I can share a few quandaries twin parents face that maybe singleton parents haven’t considered. For instance…

·         What do you do at the park when one child has to go NOW and her twin is sprinting for the hills?

·         In a situation where there’s only one potty and two toddlers who have to go, how do you decide who’s most desperate and who could maybe hold it for a couple minutes?

·         What do you do when you’re in a public restroom precariously holding one two-year-old on the potty and the other one crawls under the door into the neighboring stall?

·         What do you do when you have one twin on the potty trying to go number 2 and the other one keeps coming in with toys to coax her sister off the potty?

·         When both twins are on the potty  in two separate bathrooms (one upstairs, one downstairs), how do you keep one from climbing off the potty into the bathroom sink and finger painting on the mirror with toothpaste while you check on her sister?

August was a dark, difficult time as I grappled with these and other maddening dilemmas. I spent my days shuttling the girls to the potty every 20 minutes, often getting there too late. During naptimes, I’d shove Skittles into my mouth, pace the kitchen, restrategize. It seemed like one day we’d take a huge leap forward; the next, several steps back. I wondered if I should give up, if I’d started too soon, if I should stop and try again in six weeks?

 One day I found myself inexplicably weeping during Elmo’s Potty Time as Elmo sang, “Boys do it, girls do it, big kids all around the world do it.” I realized then that Elmo wasn’t just talking to the toddlers; Elmo was talking to the parents. His message of hope and encouragement—to soldier on with potty training, because everyone can learn to use it, even total morons (I paraphrase, but that’s what he means)—wasn’t just for little ears. It was for mine.  And I heard him loud and clear.  Operation Train the Twins carried on.

Eventually the every-20-minute potty breaks became every 30 minutes became every 45 minutes became an hour. Preschool resumed the last week of August. Yael started the first week in thick cotton training pants, Zoe in Pull-Ups. By the second week, they were both in regular underwear all day. By mid-September, we’d returned to a pretty normal life.

We’re still not there yet. It’s been three months and we’re still very much “potty training” versus “potty trained.” But we’ll get there; we’re getting there. The trick to training two at a time, I’m learning, is just that—time.  

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On the front lines
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Guest Blogger!!! Traveling with Toddlers: A Cautionary Tale

12/1/2010

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I love guest bloggers. They make me laugh. They give this little blog a new, fresh perspective, especially after I've been yapping on for months. And it just so happens that many of my friends are funny, witty, clever people with crazy baby-related experiences, which makes anyone who has a child or children feel maybe a bit more validated in this whole, mind-blowing journey of Parenthood.

And my friend Deana is no exception. She entered Motherhood with a "two for the price of one" deal: twins. Twin boys. Who just so happened to be 10 days older than Scotty (I like to end emails to her with "August 09 Babies Unite!") She, too, was on bed rest during the last third of her pregnancy, but I didn't really know her well at that time. She and her husband split their time between California and Las Vegas, although she originally hails from the south suburbs of Chi-town. It was at a dinner this past summer with a big group when she disclosed several interesting facts that made me sit up a little straighter: she worked on a political campaign in 2008 (me too), she has vacationed at the Grand Wailea in Hawaii (me too), her husband is a crazed, over-the-top Packer fan (um....sooo me too) and then finally, she was very sad when the last Harry Potter book came out since it was directly after her wedding, and that meant she had to ignore her husband (and the Italian countryside) for three full days to finish the book. Um...this is exactly what I would have done too. (I seriously considered closing the practice and canceling clients until I had finished the book).  I really had to keep my comments in check during that dinner, since I felt like I kept squealing "ME TOO!" after everything she said and I would eventually creep her out.

Whew.

Anyways, she wasn't creeped out and quickly grew to be a great friend and fellow adventurer in this crazy land of Motherhood. We are both provisionals in Junior League this year (essentially pledges, if you don't speak JL) and we even co-hosted our first-ever Halloween party, a tradition we are hoping to continue. (and you know what? She was just as into the details as I was. Signature drink? Check. Lighting? Check. Blood-splattered, torn clothes to hang in the eaves as decoration? Check, check, and check. I do think she is my long lost twin sister, minus the fact she is four inches taller than me and two years older.)

Anways...Deana is guest blogging today, and sharing a TSA-themed tale of woe. Traveling during the holidays? Don't travel with Deana. Clearly twin-moms are the new group that needs to be watched carefully. After all, "double BOB" does sound suspiciously like "bomb" if you say it with your mouth full.

                                        *************************

Ahhh…. the holiday season is upon us again. We anticipate the smell of the Turkey. We plan on having seconds of the stuffing, so we don’t eat all day Thanksgiving Day. We drink wine and toast to how thankful we are to be where we are and whom we are with.

We look forward to putting up our Christmas trees, the smell of fresh pine, a roaring fire, and maybe a few chestnuts roasting on this fire? We have all of our plans for the holidays laid out in front of us. Most people will inevitably get together with family and friends, where they will, once again, hope to recreate the scene from the movie “How the Grinch stole Christmas” where everyone eats their “roast beast” and sings carols while holding hands.

My Christmas/Thanksgiving has always looked more like the dinner scene from the movie “Christmas Vacation” but it works for me, since I prefer laughs to perfection. This leads me to my Thanksgiving 2010 story, where all hope of perfection went out of the window as soon as our little family of four booked our flight to Napa to visit my in-laws. I thought of nothing better than spending Thanksgiving in beautiful Napa, Ca, where the fall color of the trees are spectacular, and the wine is always as fresh and crisp as the air.

That is until we reached the airport.  For those of you who do not know me, I have 15-month-old twins named Jackson and Alex, and my understanding husband is Jason. I am a stay at home mom and Jason travels for work. 

I digress…. The Airport.  We entered the airport, Jason loaded up with our bags like a Sherpa, and I pushing the double stroller with 2 very confused and sleepy boys and made our way to the line. Yes, the LINE. We had to go “old school” because we couldn’t print our boarding passes due to the fact that we had 3 bags to check for a 48-hour trip (gone are the days of the small duffle bag put in the overhead compartment). After some confusing exchanges with the ticket agent, who kept telling us we were going to Baltimore (I should have known then to turn around and go home) and us firmly restating that we are flying to OAKLAND, one of our bags tagged and sent down to the luggage hold with a tag to Baltimore, and a scuffle over how old our kids actually are (boy are they tall), we made it to the other line. The dreaded TSA security line, where many intimidating agents were lined up, hands on hips, ready to do battle against terrorism.

The last time we traveled was late August, where it was a pleasure to be greeted by very understanding TSA agents who thought our kids were adorable, were ok with all of the extra contraband we had to carry, and viewed the double stroller as a mode of transportation only. Boy things have changed in the last few months.

We were immediately escorted to the “family” line and being forthcoming, I declared we had formula in our carry on bag.  I was told rather rudely to remove my kids shoes (Really?? Do these people know how long I had to chase them around the room to put them on??) and walk through the metal detectors. Fine, DONE.

They took our double stroller over to the side and began to inspect it and swab it like it was the newest nuclear device. As that was going on, Jason was through the detectors, and was beginning to get dressed again and gather our stuff.

“MISS, WHAT IS THIS?” I hear the female agent say while holding up a small metal can of formula. Well, it is clearly labeled formula and it has NEVER been opened, so I guess it is plutonium, but I bit my sarcasm back and said “my baby formula for the kids”.

The very understanding TSA agent (sarcasm again) said, “Well, it is over 4 ounces and you have a few cans and that is not acceptable…”

I immediately said, “The rule doesn’t apply for breast milk and formula,” and explained that we traveled 2 months ago with no problem.

“Rules have changed”, snapped Attila the TSA agent.

“Well how am I supposed to feed my kids?” I asked, because really…HOW?

Well, after a very thorough search of my body, and swabbing of my hands she deemed us not a threat, released us, our formula, and our stroller into the airport to continue our travels.

I looked at Jason, who was shaking his head, and felt the rage build up. They kept us there 10 minutes. A family of four with toddlers held up a security for 10 MINUTES!!! WHAT is this country doing??? I am all for security but this is ridiculous. Maybe it is just this airport, I said and continued on to our Thanksgiving holiday.

Fast forward to Friday at Oakland airport. I have dropped the attitude about the TSA and have decided to kill them with kindness. Maybe that will move us along this time. First, one clueless TSA agent sent us to the wrong line, where we were informed, “For future reference, there is a family line.”  I piped up with “ we were told to go to this line by that guy over there” and the TSA agent looked over at his colleague and rolled his eyes. NOT my fault I am in this line.  Attitude not appreciated.

We push onward, ok, here we go…. We begin pulling out our portable electronic devices, stripping off shoes, unstrapping babies and declaring our formula. Deep breath.

Here we go, through the metal detectors. Whoosh, no problem.

Jason is through; our bags are at the end of the belt. Cleared!!

Here comes the double stroller. Oh no, it didn’t pass the swab test!!!

“Miss, can you come here so we can do a pat down on you?” AGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Pat down begins; Jason has both boys in his arms. Both boys are watching this lady feel me up, and begin to scream. Red faced, screaming, and trying to jump out of Jason’s arms. Jason is struggling to maintain them and begins to try to put them in the stroller. They are falling, there is no way one person can navigate putting them in the stroller. The two TSA agents are watching this, offering no help, and the other one tells me to sit down and wait. Don’t move. I want to scream “CAN’T YOU SEE HE NEEDS HELP? THE KIDS ARE CRYING, THEY ARE FALLING OUT OF THE STROLLER, AND YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS!!!”  But alas, I don’t want to be arrested.

They let us go finally, after another 10 minutes of searching and probing.

Aren’t you glad the US is safe? Who knew 15-month-old boys would instill panic in even the most jaded TSA agents?

Jason and I have made the executive decision that we are not traveling for the holidays for the foreseeable future. We have also decided that we never want to hear the phrase “For future reference” EVER again.

I sincerely hope that everyone else’s holiday plans go smoother than ours, but if you do have to travel on an airplane, bring nothing, say nothing, and keep the double stroller at home! Unless you like the “pat down” J

Happy Holidays


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And now I'm a guest blogger, too!

8/11/2010

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As previously mentioned, I wrote out Scotty's and my breastfeeding story for another blog...I have to give Emily, the site's creator, major credit for actually publishing my story. When I contacted her initially, I was a little sniffy about a site totally dedicated to the "joys" and "wonders" of breastfeeding (because as we all know, I had very few joys and/or wonders, except to wonder why the heck I'm torturing myself and my baby). She assured me that she intended the blog to be for everyone - whether you breastfed or not - and welcomed all submissions.

So I wrote out our story. And as we all know, it isn't pretty.

But she published it. And after a quick review of the other submissions, I realized that all of them except mine are pro-breastfeeding, "you can do it, sister" type of stories. And honestly, well, I think this kind of thinking is not only somewhat irresponsible, but dangerous as well. Nothing against the other writers, but the thing is, women need to talk about what happens when breast feeding doesn't work out and when to throw in the towel. The uber-cheerleader mentality can be helpful, but again, we are talking about life and death in some cases (not to mention the demonization of formula).

So read it if you get a chance. You can find it at:

http://www.simplegiftstories.blogspot.com/

And big thanks to Emily for allowing me to guest write.
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Guest Blogger!!

8/10/2010

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So I am really excited to have a guest blogger for today. Last week, I contacted my friend Jill from college to ask if she would be interested in typing up a little tidbit for the blog, and she agreed. Jill is not only smart, funny, refreshingly honest, but she's got some serious academic cred to back it all up - a PhD in Clinical Psych, and she's currently an associate prof at a well-respected university.

Jill had baby Alexa back in March, and she and I have bonded over our occasional (heck, more than occasional) sleep-striking babies. Alexa is adorable and has cheeks that rival Scotty's, but Jill went through her own SwaddleGate just a few weeks ago. For me, I appreciate and admire other moms who can honestly talk about how a baby changes a person's life - both the good and bad - without a glossed-over version of the challenges. Jill, in my opinion, hits the nail on the head - staying at home, while a blessing, can be lonely. It can be overwhelming. It can be incredibly fulfilling. Regardless of the initials after your name, Motherhood is the great equalizer.

Thank you, Jill, for a great entry! And I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I did.

****************

This is the first - and only - blog I’ve ever followed, and to be honest, I still don’t even know what the word blog stands for. Despite that fact, it is such an honor to be a guest blogger on The Bed Rest Book Club blog! I’m wondering if Kim secretly asked me to guest blog so I’d have something to do other than write her frantic behind-the-scenes emails asking her to fix my problems (how did you solve the nap protest? how do you transition the baby out of the swaddle? how do you know when you’ve found the right cabinet knobs?). Well, whatever her motivation, I’m touched.  

Like Kim, I’m a newish first time mom to 4.5 month old Alexa. Prior to becoming a mom, I was a neurotic person who moved too fast, worked a ton, and figured everything out according to a nice system of checklists and systematic plans. Then enter said baby. She’s cute as all get-out and makes me happy in a way I could have never imagined, but man, life as I knew it changed. Here are some of the surprising things that happened to me since becoming a mom: 

  1. I started to suck my thumb, literally: I’ve never needed much sleep, and have always stayed up very late and tried to keep others up late with me. I therefore thought I’d have a major leg up on other moms when dealing with a newborn. Haha - not so fast. I’ve been so desperate for sleep since Alexa was born that I’ve resorted to some strange things. For instance, lately, my husband and I have been sucking our thumbs. Why? It’s totally rational…see our little girl can’t seem to put herself back to sleep because she doesn’t know how to self-soothe yet. The pacifier worked for a while, but then we started playing the pacifier-falls-out-baby-wakes-up-mom-puts-pacifier-back-in game about 100 times each night.  So Chris and I think that if we can just get Alexa to suck her thumb, the pacifier game will be over. In an effort to model good thumb-sucking behavior, Chris and I spend lots of our time walking around with our thumb in our mouth, sucking away, hoping the wee one will catch on before we both need braces. 

  2. The soundtrack to my life has become alarming: I’ve always loved pretty mainstream music, oh, and ghetto rap. Throughout the first 29 years of my life, I walked around with lyrics from respectable groups or artists like U2, Dave Matthews, Coldplay, oh, and Jay-Z running through my head.During Alexa’s first couple of months, I would try to sing to her as entertainment; however, I sadly realized I had forgotten the words to most children’s songs…but somehow remembered every single church camp song ever written despite the fact that I stopped practicing any type of religion years ago (cognitive-dissonance, take center stage). Another bad musical moment: after Kim broke motherhood down into 3 simple phases on her blog a few weeks back (i.e., 0-3 mo. = hell, 4-6 mo. = a bit of normalcy returns, 6+ mo = many rewards await), I eagerly anticipated the 4 month mark. Once Alexa’s 4 month birthday arrived, I felt so excited to have made it to the “bit of normalcy returns” phase that for some reason, the song “Coming Out of the Dark” kept bursting into my head!! AHH! Make it stop! Who sings that crappy song anyway?!!  (for the record, I just googled it and it’s Gloria freakin’ Estefan). 

  3. I stalk people: But don’t call the cops! It’s not in the scary way! See, I have had the good fortune of having an almost 6 month paid maternity leave. I value my time at home with Alexa SOOO much, but I’vegotta tell you, sometimes the days drag on a bit. Therefore, I often find myself glancing out my home’s windows to see if anyone else in the neighborhood is outside. If I see someone, I scoop up the baby and quickly pop out there for a little adult conversation. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I often just happen, by pure coincidence and no prior planning of course, to be walking past Mrs. Schefler’s driveway as she and her kids pull into their driveway after swimming lessons. And each afternoon, right when neighbor Marla gets home from work at approximately 4:05pm (but who’s counting?), I serendipitously wander outside to water the plants, and oh, just happen to run into her for a nice little visit. And my mail-lady, Ms. Jackie, well, let’s just say I know her daily route, so Alexa and I are like those elderly people who do nothing but wait for the mail to come each day. If we time it just right, we can chat with the mail-lady for a minute or two before she starts darting to the next house. 

And there you have it. Many people say motherhood changes you for the best, and maybe that’s true, but it has also changed me in these strange ways I would have never expected!
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