For those of you who aren't familiar with old-school pop culture or do not have a mother who thought sarcastic domestic humor was hilarious in the 80's, then you may not be familiar with Erma Bombeck. But Erma was a mom of many, I forget the exact number, a homemaker and a humorist. All of her books were sarcastic and made fun of those moments in motherhood or wifedom where you either laugh or cry or call yourself fat and then laugh or cry.
I am in the throes of potty training my 2.5 year old. It's times like these that you understand the desire to have not one, but four nannies. Or a boarding school for potty training. Just a week wouldn't hurt, would it? So, it's day four and I finally tried a new strategy after three solid days of a 50/50 record. I couldn't find any rhyme or reason to her hits and misses and was using a lot of bribery. I'm not against it. Rewards still work in the adult world.
So today, I decided to tell my daughter that if she had dry pants all day, no pee-pee and no poo-poo in her underwear, no accidents (I tried to express it in any way I knew how to make sure it stuck, I would've spoke French if I thought it would help), that I would take her to an "ice cream restaurant" (Friendly's) for dinner. She has never been to Friendly's. I have been once; my now-husband and I stopped there while on a roadtrip through Connecticut. Following that stop, I vomitted on the side of the road until bile came out. Oh, the good ol' days. But this was a reward for my daughter, not me. And I thought the concept of an ice cream restaurant would be like reaching her Nirvana.
So that was the challenge of which I reminded her throughout the day. Ad nauseum. Even I was sick of hearing it. But it worked. Four pees and one poo, all on the potty. Dry underwear the whole day. One nap pull-up with pee, but that doesn't count. Then she "woke up" from playing in her room for two hours and her first words were "ice cream restnaut." We changed into underwear and waited for Dad to get home. Constantly, I asked her if she needed to go, for fear of her blowing the challenge right before we were to leave - she would be devastated. When she said she didn't need to go, I decided to trust her. We're off for our reward!
As soon as we get into Friendly's, I noticed the temperature being warm. Maybe it was the small dining room which is a stone's throw from the fryers and grills and ovens and boiling pots of goo. Or maybe it was inadequate air conditioning. Or maybe it was my elevated pregnant body temperature. Either way, it was hot. Why am I breaking a sweat in an ice cream restaurant?
I immediately had to go to the bathroom, at this crowded restaurant full of bad food and children of all ages. So I left dad and daughter at the table. I walk into the one-stall bathroom and was greeted with a bowl full of pee, poop and toilet paper. Just what I need in my life, to clean up after someone else's child. Flush.
Then I go back to our table. I forget why my child screamed at the top of her lungs. There was some unjustified reason. Off to the bathroom we go for a discussion and spanking threat. Problem solved. We sit back down, order our food. And I remind her to tell me if she needs to go pee or poo. A few minutes later, I see her reaching down and feeling the front of her underwear. I let my fingers do the walking, as well, to find... wetness. The booster seat is officially filled with urine. Thankfully, I came prepared with dishtowels, extra clothes, pull-ups, and disinfectant wipes. Off comes my child and in goes the towels and now we're going back to the bathroom. She is crying hysterically because she peed in her pants. We're in the stinky single-stall again. She's crying, not wanting to take off her underwear. I'm about to cry because half of my right leg is soaked with pee run-off. We get her cleaned up and in a pull-up. She's crying, telling me she got distracted (that was my excuse that I offered to her... she's bright but not bright enough to say, "I was distracted, mom" at two).
So we go back and eat our lackluster dinner. I'm nauseous from heat and my sub-par burger (the high point was ketchup), so I pass on ice cream, while I watch my daughter eat a hot fudge sundae, touching the chocolatey spoon to my right arm and shirt every time she moves. I try my husband's sundae that, in theory, sounds delicious, but in reality is a runny mess of sugary gruel.
By this time, I'm sweating through my shirt. Perhaps a drink refill would've helped. Can we leave please?
There is redemption. When we came home, she sat on the potty and peed. So we're 5:1 today with the one accident being in a truly distracting restaurant. It is progress but I'm nauseous, exhausted, and will never return to Friendly's unless I one day fall prey to the decision of my child's sports team following a game. Next time, we'll go to Ben and Jerry's.
"If life is like a bowl of cherries, this must be the pits." - Erma Bombeck
No comments:
Post a Comment