Dixie Has a Pee Pee Mouth

I’ve blogged frequently about my attempts to potty train Davey. I thought he was ready back around Easter. If you’ll remember correctly, that’s when he pulled his pants down at my parent’s house and pooped on their hardwood floors.

I thought he was ready at the start of the summer when he would pull his pants down and sit on the potty, but alas nothing happened. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had the occasional “Mission Accomplished” moment, but those have been fleeting and nothing more than a coincidence.

Well, as the days keep ticking by and we get closer and closer to the arrival of Henry, I’m finding myself under new pressure to get Davey potty trained ASAP! You wonder why. Well, I’ve been told that I don’t want to have 2 babies in diapers (although I know quite a few moms who have 2 babies this way). I’ve also been told that I won’t have the time to devote to potty training Davey once Henry gets here. I’ll have to wait a few months to get Henry on his routine before I try to get Davey on a routine. And I’ve been told that Davey may not take well to being potty trained when Henry gets here. In other words, I should have his routine set before baby Henry’s arrival.

Most recently, I attempted a new approach with potty training Davey. I went the “cold turkey” way which is putting him in underwear, not training pants. That morning he went through 3 pairs of underwear. The first set was an accident. He peed in his underwear, didn’t like the feeling, and immediately sat down on the potty. Of course, it was too late at that moment, but he understood the point. Shortly there after, he ran up to me, holding his crotch and crossing his legs while telling me had to potty! Success! He was holding it.

I took him to his potty, helped him pull down his underwear and just barely made it with putting him on the potty before he started peeing! How exciting! How awesome! What a big boy I had! All of this I shared with him happily as he continued to pee in the potty.

During my excitement I had become oblivious to the fact that Dixie, our dog, was standing just behind me. Perhaps I should have noticed that sooner and put her in another room because faster than I can blink my eyes, my son stood up and continued to pee while stating, “I pee like Dada.” And before I could stop him, Dixie was standing in front of him licking up his pee!

At first my voice was broken! I was speechless. Then I began to yell at Dixie, “what kind of person drinks another person’s pee?!?!?!” But of course she’s not a person, she’s a dog and it’s not quite so unusual for them. So, as I’m screaming at Dixie, tears start falling down my face (not sure if it was frustration, anger, shock, or just exhaustion since I hadn’t slept any and was fighting my allergies). Davey looks at me and starts crying as well and says to me, “no more potty, Mama.”

And that was the end of that potty training. Have I tried it since then? Yep. Have I had any progress? Nope. I think my yelling and crying perhaps startled him, traumatizing him from moving forward with potty training. He does; however, like to inform me on a regular basis that Dixie has a pee pee mouth. Right he is.

This week, my in-laws are visiting for Davey’s 2nd birthday. My husband’s grandmother, Davey’s great grandmother, also made the trip, and she’s taking it upon herself to try her hand at potty training Davey. I’m relieved. It would be nice to have someone else teach him and for me to just take over. We’ll see what becomes of it.


All You Have to Do is Dream

I can’t recall much about any dreams I had when I was a child. I do have little images that flash through my mind, almost like little flutters. For example, I can recall how I wrote my first book at the age of six and at that point I knew I wanted to be a writer. My book was only about 6 pages long and told the story of a little brown bear who was trying to find his hat so he could go outside to play. It even came complete with pictures I drew myself.

And then there were the years when I was in elementary school and I knew that I was going to be a television news reporter. I would take my toy box, which could also serve as a bench thanks to the back and sides that provided a place to rest. I would pull the wooden beauty out from the wall and spin it around, then I would I post a map of the world on the wall behind me. I sat on my knees as I took The Weekly Reader, which was nothing more than a four page little paper flyer created specifically for elementary aged children in order to keep them informed of the events of the world. I would take my fake red glasses, put on one of my mother’s scarves, and throw my hair up into a bun and introduce myself to my audience before going into the news events of the day. I just knew I would be a news reporter one day. I just knew it, but it didn’t happen.

These days, I find myself wondering about my son and his dreams. He seems to have a lot of them and all of them seem to surround athletics or something that’s going to give him an adrenaline rush. Every football Saturday, he informs me that he’s going to play football one day for his mommy’s beloved Clemson Tigers. What an awesome dream, but is that mine or his? I’m quick to at least instill in him that if he’s going to do that then he needs to be a defensive lineman, they’re least likely to receive concussions and more likely to cause them.

Then there is the desire to fly planes one day. That dream always resurrects itself when we go to the Aviation Park or the Runway Café (which by the way, if you haven’t been you MUST go. Davey and I LOVE their homemade pimento cheese), so basically that dream is an every week thing. Last week, Davey; however, added a completely new dream into his book. He’s decided he wants to be a “racing car driver”. As you can see, I already have the feeling my son is going to be an adrenaline junkie.

My uncle and my cousin race cars at Greenville Pickens Speedway, it’s a short track race that is affiliated with NASCAR. I’ve gone to the track for as long as I can remember, but haven’t been since my younger brother died about six years ago. My parent’s house is approximately 3-5 miles from the track and I have fond memories of the sound of race cars lulling me to sleep on summer nights. I actually used to sit by my open window as a child and listen to the cars.

Last week, Davey and I made a stop by my aunt and uncle’s house to have something welded for my husband. After my uncle took care of the initial task, we went out to his garage where he had both his race car and my cousin’s, both on jacks, both without wheels, and both with the hoods up. Davey’s eyes lit up. He reminded me of the kids from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

He walked into the garage slowly, first going to one car and gently running his hand along the body of the car. He stood quiet for a moment and then almost as if speaking to the dead or the sacred he said in an awe inspiring whisper, “racing car”.

Inspecting the underbelly
Inspecting the underbelly

He walked over to the other car, squatting down briefly as if to inspect the underbelly of the beast. He rested his hands on his knees as he pointed out little things and said, “What that?” My uncle came over and explained in adult terms (which I love) what each part was. Davey listened intently as they both walked around the cars. Then without the slightest hint of shyness about him, Davey stood up and asked my uncle, “I help fix?”

Fixing the car.
Fixing the car.

My uncle gave him a couple of wrenches and Davey got busy “fixing” the race car. After his task at hand was complete, Davey then turned to my uncle and said, “I drive racing car.” I suppose since he’d “fixed” the thing, he felt he was entitled to “drive” it. My uncle picked him up and put him in the car, then attached the steering wheel. Davey sat in the big bucket seat attempting to steer the wheel and change gears all while making the sound of a racing car. After a few minutes, Davey was all done.

His "reward" for fixing the car.   The chance to drive it.
His “reward” for fixing the car. The chance to drive it.

That afternoon, on our drive home my son informed me, “Mama, I not fly plane, I drive racing car one day.” Guess we’ll find out this week what his latest dream will be. I can’t wait to hear it or any of the others that will surely follow in the future. Dreams are wonderful gifts to have.

Big Boy Bed

Try to say that three times really fast!

So, last week I took advantage of the Labor Day holiday, which meant my husband was home and could entertain Davey, in order to start work on Davey’s new big boy room. I’ve put it off a lot longer than I did with his first bedroom. I’ve toyed around with ideas on what would be best. Did I want to do a room devoted to Mickey Mouse or did I want to do one with a different Disney theme? Side note…anything Disney rocks this child’s world!

Then I thought of practicality. Did I want to redo a room again in a few years when he’d outgrown some of the kiddie/baby phase? Not really. I needed something easy, something convenient for me, and something that would grow with him. That being said, we quickly decided to avoid a themed bed (he has a racing car bed at his Grammy’s house in NY), just because I didn’t want to fork out the money again for another new bed in a few years. We landed on a contemporary, with a hint of the traditional, full size wooden bed. Bedding can always be changed.

For a month the bed sat in our garage as the days ticked by as we awaited anxiously the ultrasound that would determine whether we were having a boy or a girl, hence dictating which room the bed would actually be placed. After a trip to Rochester to see family, and a quick jaunt to Myrtle Beach to kiss summer goodbye, we began work last week, and I must say so far I’m pleased.

enjoying some quality time on the new bed
enjoying some quality time on the new bed

It’s a nervous arena, being the parent of a child who’s growing, one that you wish would stay your little baby forever. I cried when we converted Davey’s crib into a toddler bed! How the heck was I going to react to this? Truth be told, I was second guessing moving him into another room. First, the nursery is a tad bigger in size than his new bedroom. There’s more closet space, more playroom. Second, what if he became really irate about giving up his room? What if he didn’t want to move? Of course, this hasn’t been the problem and we haven’t even referred to the nursery as Henry’s room.

Finally, with the walls painted, the bed up, and new bedding on top, we decided to let Davey have a “go” at the room on Saturday. Naptime is much more different. No longer do I rock him to sleep. Instead, I say “nap time” and he runs up the stairs (just like he always has) and I tuck him into his bed, give him a kiss, read a book, and then close the door. it takes about a half an hour to 45 minutes of him “talking” to himself or “reading” one of his books to his stuffed animals before he finally goes to sleep. Bed time is much the same, which has become quite shocking to both me and my husband. We both thought we’d have a bigger issue with getting him asleep in the big boy bed.

first official night
first official night

From time to time, I see my little baby in his big bed and I do get a lump in my throat. I love the new stages and his growth and development, but I am super sad to know that one day he may be much too big for that bed.

“Mama Go. I Play.”

Four simple little words, two sentences, and yet so profound and impactful, at least for me.

Those were the words my son gave to me as I dropped him off at his first day of Mother’s Morning Out, which is a sort of preschool/daycare. He’s not quite two yet, but my husband and I felt that it would be beneficial to all parties involved (me, him, Davey, and the soon to be Henry), to enroll Davey in something that is “his”. I wanted him to have more social interaction with children and less time with me. So, we chose to do it one day a week. It meets for five uninterrupted hours in the day! What a joyous break, or so I thought when I first decided to enroll him.

Monday night, I did my typical “first day” preparations. It’s something I’ve always done the night before my “first day”, whether that be work, school, vacation, community function, you name it. I’m a planner and I need to have things in place and organized. I don’t do well “flying by the seat of my pants”.

As I packed Davey’s new back pack, complete with diapers, wipes, and a change of clothes, I started feeling a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Where was all of my excitement and anticipation from the previous weeks? Why was I starting to think I was making a bad decision? I shook my head for a moment, quickly doing my best to demolish the thoughts from my head, and started working on his lunch. I was nervous and excited. Would I sleep? Would I be able to eat the next morning? And why was this affecting me so badly?

Tuesday morning rolled around. I woke up early, showered, made coffee and ate breakfast. (What was this? My first day? I suppose.) I double checked Davey’s back pack and his lunch box. I made sure to grab his raincoat as it was raining and then debated on just what type of breakfast I would make for my future scholar. After completing all of this, including making sure I had any last minute paperwork completed and in hand, I went upstairs to awaken Davey. Let me make a quick side bar here…It was 7:30 and Davey was still sleeping. My son NEVER sleeps this late, even if we put him to bed later. Could it have been that he knew it was his first day of “school”? Perhaps all children are born with this sort of microchip in their brains that signals when school is starting, therefore encouraging the late sleeping? I don’t know, but I do find it quite fishy.

I dressed my son, fed him his breakfast, combed out his hair, and put his back pack on him. We walked out the door a half an hour before school started (it’s a ten minute drive away, but I loathe tardiness. I detest it. I can’t understand people who are constantly late). As we drove down the road, we sang some nursery rhymes, listened to the news, and briefly discussed Davey’s first day. Did he completely understand the significance of the day? Probably not, but being so important to me, I continued on.

We pulled into the school parking lot. I parked, walked around to the back, and opened Davey’s door. He eagerly put on his backpack, grabbed his lunch box, and held my hand. He commented on the flowers, the color of the door, the stairs, and the pretty bulletin board as we walked down the hall to his room. As per my usual custom, we were the first to arrive. Did I tell you I hate being late? If I instill one good trait in my children, it will be that they’re ALWAYS early, not just on time.

I signed Davey in, got him situated, and walked through everything with one of the teachers. Davey began immediately playing and within a couple of minutes, another child had arrived. I asked Davey for a last hug and kiss. He ran over to me, gave me one of each, and then pushed me out the door with the comment, “Mama go, I play.” Then he ran off! The nerve of him! He didn’t cry! He didn’t seem scared. He seemed perfectly happy and adjusted, so why was this such a difficult moment for me? I am becoming a mother I never thought I would be.

Quietly I closed the door and then lingered for a moment. I peeked through the window, anticipating that Davey would realize I was gone and quickly run to the door screaming, but it never happened. He continued to play. I dropped my head, succumbing to the defeat, and knowing that my child would do quite well.

I choked back my tears until I got in the car, then slowly let them fall. What was I sad about? I should be grateful that my child is so independent, and I am! I should be happy that he’s able to adjust to his environment, and I am! I guess what I’m sad about is the fact that for just today or maybe that one moment, I was not needed. My baby boy isn’t going to be a baby much longer. Sure, I have at least 16 years before he goes off to college, but the past two felt like they’ve flown by. I’m afraid if I blink, the next 16 will be gone as well.

I’ll adjust and truthfully having him gone for five hours allowed me to accomplish so much…3 loads of laundry (all of which needed to be ironed), a clean kitchen, cutting in with paint on his new bedroom, and even a Rotary meeting at lunch. I can only hope, though, that dropping him off will eventually get better.