More Potty Talk

When Adlani grows up he’s going to spend a lot of time on the psychiatrist’s couch talking about how his mother outed him on her blog with all kinds of embarrassing posts. I can’t help it though…he’s in a blogworthy phase right now.

After the initial pressure of getting Adlani close enough to potty-trained to start preschool, I’ve made several attempts to teach him how to wipe his own butt but I haven’t stressed out over it. The teachers don’t wipe his butt and he has to do it himself at school, so I figure if he’s asking me to do it at home it’s out of laziness. He doesn’t bother to ask me any more, but if Ben’s within earshot he’ll call him for help.
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The other night I was sitting in Norah’s room and I had a clear view of Adlani on the toilet. (At least he was on the toilet and not doing his business at my desk.) Mission accomplished, he stood up, stuffed a big wad of toilet paper between his butt cheeks and stood there for about 10 seconds (a long time for him to stand still). I couldn’t tell if there was any clenching going on but there was no visible wiggling. Then he bent over a little until the wad popped out and landed on the floor. Done!

In my opinion, that was more of a “blot” than a “wipe”, but I’m pretty sure Ben’s in charge of teaching Adlani about male hygiene, so as long as I’ve got OxiClean stain remover they’re on their own.
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And then there’s Norah, who laid down beside me on the bed last weekend.

Norah: “Hey Mom! I’ve got a hole in my private area!”
Me: “I know. It’s supposed to be there. Don’t put anything in it.”
(because she would)
Norah: “Why?”
Me: “Because your poop needs to come out.”
Norah: “Nooo…the poop comes out back here.”
Me: “Well, your pee needs to come out.”
Norah: “Oh. Ok.”
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Pee-Pee Dance

Every so often I look at one of my kids and wonder where the hell I went wrong. I have given them all a roof over their heads, nutritious food, clothes that won’t get them ostracized by their peers, educational toys and books, tickets to cultural events, and the best preschool education a home equity credit line can buy. I’ve given them a bilingual education, lessons in gymnastics & swimming & tai quan do, and involved them in team sports so they’d be well-rounded. I read to them, I cook with them, and I play their music in the car. But some days I feel a little bit like Jeffrey Dahmer’s mother when one of them does something I just can’t fathom. Today was one of those days.

Adlani LOVES to watch TV. He would watch TV all day every day if I’d allow it. He sneaks the TV on when I’m not looking, and he is constantly asking me if we can buy the Nu-Wave Oven or the Buxton Organizer. Today he asked if we could buy Magic Hangers and went on to describe all of the features and benefits of the product. I have forbidden TV, locked the living room, and even locked the TV cabinets with cable locks through the door pulls. Once he opened the cabinet doors as much as the cable locks would allow, squeezed up behind the doors, and stood there between the TV and the cabinet doors watching Sponge Bob.

Well, apparently Adlani was watching TV in the master bedroom and it was a REALLY good show. So good that he didn’t want to miss anything by running to the bathroom (we DO have the ability to pause the TV but for some reason that didn’t come to mind as an option). So…he peed under my desk. WTF?!?! And sadly, it wasn’t the first time.

So tonight I was telling my friend about the incident. I was seriously horrified by it. She cracked up and went on to tell me that her son (the same age) peed in the playroom because he didn’t want to stop playing! Well, I guess if both of them did it, it must fall into the “normal” range of behavior. It’s still gross.
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I Didn’t Die


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I have always wanted to be a better swimmer. My mother (yes, this is all her fault) was on the synchronized swimming team in high school and she wore noseplugs whenever she swam. As a kid, I never learned how to put my face in the water without a mask or noseplugs, so as a 41-year-old lady I decided the time had come. I would finally solve the mystery of what goes on under water. Was everyone holding their breath or blowing out constantly? Were they blowing out through their nose, mouth, or a carefully coordinated combination of the two? Was it a gentle, constant flow of air, or was it more like clearing the impacted snot out of my head? And what if the impacted snot flew out into the pool and started floating around?
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On a whim I decided to sign up for adult swim lessons at the Y as part of my current self-improvement kick. That was 48 hours ago and I’ve been worrying about it ever since. I actually took my anxiety medicine (now for public speaking, flying, the dentist, AND swimming lessons) but I was still shaking while I waited for class to start. I saw Jana on the way to the locker room and told her that I was headed for the Adult Beginner A class. She said, “It’s hard to believe there’s something you’re not good at.” There are actually lots of things I’m not good at but that’s another post. I gave Jana some messages to pass on if I died, and told her to make sure someone got the rum cake recipe from Ben so I could live on.
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As I sat shivering beside the pool making small talk with the other sinkers I tried to figure out who our instructor would be, hoping for someone who would slowly and gently help me ease my face into the water. The only instructor in the pool was the coach of the YMCA swim team, Lavinia. I’m pretty sure Lavinia is Russian, and every time I have seen her she is barking orders. I had never seen her smile. I was a little relieved when swim team practice ended and she went to the locker room.
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She came back. She ordered us into the frigid water and told us to go under water 5 times. Yeah, ok. I could have stayed home and done this in the nice warm tub. The sad thing was that every one of my sinker friends had no problem putting their face in the water. When Lavinia came to me I said, “That’s my problem – I can’t put my face in the water.” She said, “Just do it…I need to see your problem from under the water.” Every time I stuck half a nostril under the water she said, “I couldn’t see anything.” I finally got pissed and made a half-hearted but double-nostril dunk and she moved on to her next victim. I cried a little.
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There were about 20 people in the class, and some of them couldn’t swim AT ALL. One woman said it was the first time she had ever been in a pool. I can swim. Give me a set of noseplugs or a mask and snorkel and I can swim like Michael Phelps’ great-aunt Tilly. I’ve just got to get past the face-in-the-water thing. Surprisingly, by the end of the first class, everyone could swim and I could put my face in the water. I need a lot of practice, but I guess most of all I just needed Lavinia to give the order. She even smiled.
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