What's That Noise?

Tonight, Mikie and I met Mike for dinner at TGI Fridays (see post below). After dinner, I got the task of taking Mikie to the bathroom to change his diaper and clean him up while Mike payed the bill.

Anyone who has ever seen the changing tables in restaurants can understand that my 3-ft, 36-lb toddler does not fit on it. Even if he wasn't tall, I feel the need to hold the table up, not trusting it to support his weight. So, most times, I stand trying to block him from unlocking the door, and change him standing up. I typically use the handicapped stall because the door is far enough from the toilet that Mikie doesn't splash or perpetually flush the toilet while I struggle to change him. The only problem is that the handicap stall also has more room for Mikie to try and manuever away from me.

So here we are: me crouching in dress clothes, back against the stall door, Mikie, pants around his ankles, butt-naked, trying to run away from me while I try and get a new Pull-up on him. All of the sudden, he hears the woman in the next stall. He looks at me and asks his favorite question, "What's that noise, Mom".

Knowing that the woman in the next stall can here everything I say, and not wanting to embarass her by saying, "That's someone going pee-pee in the potty", I answer, "I don't know." As the words come out of my mouth, I am praying this ends the conversation, at the same time knowing he is too smart to know I am lying.

Realization slowly sinks in, and as I hurry to pull up his pants and rush out of the bathroom he shouts, "IT'S A BOY! IT'S A BOY, MOM. A BOY GOING PEE-PEE IN THE POTTY!"

I don't even remember my response to that one.

Note to self, don't lie to a two-year old.

Love,
The Trahans

Hard Day

After a busy day at work, I picked up Mikie at daycare and we headed back towards home. I realized that we needed to run some errands, so I called Mike and we agreed to meet for dinner before shopping.

After getting Mikie out of the car, I reach for his hand to walk through the parking lot. Usually, Mikie likes to walk (run, jump, fidget) everywhere. However, this evening he pointed at the trunk and said "I need my stroller, Mom". Okay, this is new. Too exhausted to fight with him or carry him, I grab the stroller and strap him in. As we start towards the restaurant, he said "This was a hard day." Trying hard not to laugh at him, I ask why it was a "hard day". He informed me "I played hockey. . . I'm tired. . . I need to sleep in my bed."

Oh to have his life. . .

Love,
The Trahans

The Great Escape

Having peed in his sneakers earlier in the day (see the "Adventures in Potty Training" post below), Mikie was stuck playing inside until I could find him another pair of shoes. Since I needed to go shopping for some spring clothes, Mike decided he would stay home with Mikie while I drove to the mall.

By the time I returned (3 hours later), Mikie was anxious to get outside. Still wearing only a Pull-up and t-shirt, I made him try on the shoes to see if they fit. Unfortunately, new Stride Rite sneakers are about as flexible as bricks. So, I couldn't tell where his toe was. I figured at least we could take him out of the house. We could drive up to the Stride Rite outlet and have the sales girl check his size. If they didn't fit, we could buy another pair.

I went upstairs to get Mikie a pair of pants so we could go out to the store. When I came back down, the first thing I noticed was that the door to the deck was open. I called Mikie's name, but got no response. I looked at Mike, who was watching TV on the couch, and asked "Did you open the back door?" Without waiting for a response, I ran outside in time to see Mikie, still wearing only a t-shirt, Pull-up and sneakers, running through the yard, shrieking with delight. He turned and headed towards the front yard. Thankfully, I can still run faster than him, and managed to scoop him up before any of the neighbors noticed.

As I carried the little exhibitionist inside, he looked at me and said "Mom, it's freezing out. I need some pants."

Since he obviously had cabin fever, we scrapped the plans to go back to the store, put on his pants, and went outside to play. My only regret is that we didn't have the camcorder out to document his escape.

Love,
The Trahans

Adventures in Potty Training

Mike and I were recently reading "Toddler Bargains" (a consumer review of all things marketed to toddlers), trying to figure out what carseat to buy, now that Mikie is about an inch away from outgrowing his current one. As I scan the table of contents, the words "Disposable Training Pants and other wastes of money" jump off the page. Of course, as a parent who is spending a small fortune on Pull-ups, of course I am intrigued.

The theory is that a child who uses Pull-ups is less inclined to use the potty as a child who wears underwear or cloth diapers. Pull-ups are designed to absorb a small lake's worth of urine. So, a child never feels the discomfort of being wet. Plus, they don't have to stop what they are doing to go use the potty.

Mikie does use the potty. He can hold his bladder all night (10-11 hours), and he will tell you that he has to use the potty. Provided he doesn't have anything better to do. So, when he is stalling at bedtime, naptime, or before leaving for school in the morning, Mikie will use the potty. In the middle of the day when he is busy playing, fat chance.

So, this weekend, armed with my new found knowledge, we let Mikie put on a pair of Elmo underwear after using the potty. He and Mike got dressed, and went outside to play hockey while I took a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear voices in the house. I call downstairs, asking Mikie if he needed to go pee-pee in the potty. I realize, as he comes to the bottom of the stairs, that he is now wearing just his t-shirt and a Pull-up. He yells proudly up the stairs "I did pee-pee on the driveway, Mom."

In truth, pee trickled down both legs, soaking his pants, socks, and SHOES, before making a nice puddle that flowed down the driveway.

On the plus side, at least he was outside.

The moral of the story: don't listen to everything you read.

Love,
The Trahans