Two weeks into a summer teaching semester. Two weeks from our move-in date. Wall-to-wall boxes. More work than will fit on a to-do list.
This is not the time to start potty training my 19-month old twins. And yet, I'm not the one who fired the first volley. That would be Amelia, smallest in stature but largest in voice.
After my struggles with Wyatt (caused by this dumb mommy not learning he had a milk allergy until he was two), I had already decided I was happy to change diapers for another 6 months. The twins watch Wyatt, watch their daddy, watch me...and they have other ideas.
Amelia honestly believes the pink throne is hers. Thankfully, she is easily bribed with the thought of playing in the sink as she washes her hands. Otherwise, I might spend half my day sitting on the bathroom floor as she says, "Pee!!!!" and claps her hands before sitting back down to wait for her second wind that may or may not come.
Emerson, on the other hand, wants to do whatever his sister is doing, but so far, he's having limited success doing anything but sitting. Yet last night, he easily walked naked from the tub into the kitchen, squatted on the floor, and peed a small lake on the linoleum.
I dutifully wiped up the puddle (i.e., didn't shove the duty off on his daddy) and sprayed a heavy coat of disinfectant spray that promises to kill everything that has the potential to make me go "eww." Then, I had the bright idea that if I let the solution stay on the floor a minute or two longer, it might kill more bacteria than if I wiped it right off.
Bad move. Seconds later, Amelia flew into the room, hit the puddle, and slid, upending herself--feet in the air, head banging on the floor. She went to bed smelling like disinfectant.
But I guess this was a better outcome than the night before when, as she sat on the potty, Emerson came in and sat on top of her, demanding his turn now. No, the double decker potty approach didn't work.
I could laugh at all this--really, I could. But the three year old has joined in the battle, too. His role? Waiting too long to go to the potty because, well, everything in life is more fun than making a trek to the porcelain bowl.
Last Monday, Wyatt couldn't leave "Dinosaur Train," so he peed on the living room rug...and didn't tell me. Then, one night, he went to play in the toy kitchen. Apparently, twenty paces is just too far to walk to the bathroom. So, he took a toy bowl from the cabinet and peed it full! Thankfully, his aim was pretty good.
Wyatt has even started giving me advice. He barged in the bathroom last week with another last-minute effort only to find me sitting there. I told him he just had to wait. I guess he thought I wasn't going to hurry up without a bit of instruction: "Well, when I need to poo, I just...."
I know God's grace is sufficient...but I wonder if He's just up there laughing at my children's antics as I struggle with the gross factor that is potty training times three.