Sometimes I get bored writing about the girls all the time. I could tell you that Turtle now speaks in four word sentences (“I need mo shrimp”) and that Monkey seems to be in the beginning stages of getting her two-year molars (God help me), or that both girls are in the throes of Longhorn Gear Mania (“mas Tecas, mas Tecas!”). Turtle actually cried this morning because I didn’t have a “Tecas” hat for her to wear.
But enough about them. Following the Facebook model, I've decided to tell you 25 random things about me that you might not know. I think that quiz came out on Facebook, I’m not sure. I ignore all the quizzes and questions on Facebook. And that’s Random Thing #1 for you.
2. I don’t know how to use PowerPoint
3. I went to U.S. Army Basic Training in Fort Jackson, South Carolina two weeks after my 17th birthday.
4. I rode the Greyhound bus from Austin to New York City, alone, in the summer of 1995.
5. My favorite vacation spot is Huahine (Tahiti), French Polynesia.
6. When I went to London in 2003, I insisted on going to Kings Cross Station to see Platform 9¾.
7. I’ve read each of David Sedaris’s books at least 3 times.
8. I got kicked off the cheerleading squad in 9th grade because I got drunk one morning at school.
9. The first concert I ever went to was Adam Ant in 1985, at the Majestic Theater in San Antonio.
10. I wear size 10 shoes.
11. My first pet was a dog named Rags.
12. When I was 20, I owned (and proudly wore) several pairs of Daisy Dukes.
13. My first car was a red Chrysler LeBaron.
14. I marched in the Battle of Flowers parade in San Antonio (as part of my high school band’s Flag Line).
15. I worked on the case of a death row inmate, and met with him, weeks before he was executed.
16. I like fancy stationary.
17. I still have my high school letterman jacket.
18. I’ve met Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, George W. Bush, and James Baker
19. I can fit my entire fist in my mouth
20. When I was in high school, my dad flew a Confederate flag in our front yard.
21. I eat ice cream every single day.
22. I still have my Cabbage Patch Kid.
23. I love being alone.
24. I have Monkey’s umbilical cord saved in a Ziploc bag (would’ve saved Turtle’s if I’d seen it fall off).
25. I think Woody Harrelson and Jason Bateman are the hottest male actors around.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Letting Go, Part II
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve excused myself for my perceived lapse in parenting skills by saying, “Well, I have twins.” I find my little saying quite useful, especially when I’m noticing that the girls’ gross motor skills lag a little behind other kids their age, particularly when it comes to climbing stairs and ladders and using playground equipment and that sort of thing. For example, our neighbor’s daughter, A., is three months younger but has been more advanced in climbing skills for months. Both she and our other friends’ son, L., were walking well by the time they were 12 months, whereas my girls weren’t fully walking until 14 and 15 months.
But, like I said, “I have twins.” Which means my girls spent more time in the Pack N Play, more time in their strollers, and less time at the playground, and that I was less tolerant of climbing on the couch or getting near the stairs. I simply couldn’t manage keeping two babies safe while they toddled in different directions, so I restricted their movement quite a bit, and that means it's taken them a tiny bit longer to develop the same skills as their singleton friends. I didn’t (and don’t) stress about this, because their development is perfectly within the normal range, and I knew they would (and will) “catch up” if there is any catching up to be done.
Well, recently we went to Terra Burger, a new (delicious) organic burger place by our house with an awesome playscape. I noted to myself that “when the girls got older” it would really be great, since the playscape was really for kids at least 3, with big ladders and slides and lots of openings for jumping, rock climbing, pole sliding, and other deadly activities.
Still, I allowed the girls to climb up the easy ladder to go down the easy slide while I hovered near, climbing behind them on the ladder, holding hands down the slide, freaking out when they crowded each other at the top of the slide; you know, all the responsible things.
I noticed with interest when the other family with twins arrived; the kids were boy/girl and looked to be identically aged to Monkey and Turtle, and the parents seemed to be close to my age as well (I notice the parents’ ages, being a little older than most mothers of two year olds). We sat at tables next to each other and I saw the look the other twin momma gave our table, then saw her murmur something to the twin daddy. I’m sure she was commenting about how good our girls were, sitting still and eating everything on their plates. How do I know this? Because I was watching in absolute astonishment as THEIR kids took one bite of food and then rushed back to the playscape – the “big” side of the playscape, mind you – and played and played, up and down and all around, without so much as a stumble. I noticed their parents never took their eyes off the kids, yet neither did they hover like overanxious hens. They sat at their table and watched their kids have a blast.
I confirmed with the other twin momma that there was in fact just a one week difference in the ages of our children (hers were younger). I sighed as we left, realizing that “I have twins” would no longer suffice as my reason for avoiding play equipment over 12 inches tall. I know Turtle’s fall earlier this year (see Letting Go, April 16) has continued to haunt me. I know I have to try again to let go of that fear. I know it’s time for me to sit at my table and watch my kids have a blast. Will I actually do that? Stay tuned . . . .
But, like I said, “I have twins.” Which means my girls spent more time in the Pack N Play, more time in their strollers, and less time at the playground, and that I was less tolerant of climbing on the couch or getting near the stairs. I simply couldn’t manage keeping two babies safe while they toddled in different directions, so I restricted their movement quite a bit, and that means it's taken them a tiny bit longer to develop the same skills as their singleton friends. I didn’t (and don’t) stress about this, because their development is perfectly within the normal range, and I knew they would (and will) “catch up” if there is any catching up to be done.
Well, recently we went to Terra Burger, a new (delicious) organic burger place by our house with an awesome playscape. I noted to myself that “when the girls got older” it would really be great, since the playscape was really for kids at least 3, with big ladders and slides and lots of openings for jumping, rock climbing, pole sliding, and other deadly activities.
Still, I allowed the girls to climb up the easy ladder to go down the easy slide while I hovered near, climbing behind them on the ladder, holding hands down the slide, freaking out when they crowded each other at the top of the slide; you know, all the responsible things.
I noticed with interest when the other family with twins arrived; the kids were boy/girl and looked to be identically aged to Monkey and Turtle, and the parents seemed to be close to my age as well (I notice the parents’ ages, being a little older than most mothers of two year olds). We sat at tables next to each other and I saw the look the other twin momma gave our table, then saw her murmur something to the twin daddy. I’m sure she was commenting about how good our girls were, sitting still and eating everything on their plates. How do I know this? Because I was watching in absolute astonishment as THEIR kids took one bite of food and then rushed back to the playscape – the “big” side of the playscape, mind you – and played and played, up and down and all around, without so much as a stumble. I noticed their parents never took their eyes off the kids, yet neither did they hover like overanxious hens. They sat at their table and watched their kids have a blast.
I confirmed with the other twin momma that there was in fact just a one week difference in the ages of our children (hers were younger). I sighed as we left, realizing that “I have twins” would no longer suffice as my reason for avoiding play equipment over 12 inches tall. I know Turtle’s fall earlier this year (see Letting Go, April 16) has continued to haunt me. I know I have to try again to let go of that fear. I know it’s time for me to sit at my table and watch my kids have a blast. Will I actually do that? Stay tuned . . . .
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Book Reviews
I mentioned in my last post that I read a lot; I thought I’d talk about four books I’ve read lately that are a good sampling of the types of books I read in general. I checked out all of them from the Austin Public Library. I really like the feature of being able to go online and request a specific book from the library – it's routed to my chosen library when it’s available, I get an email, and it’s waiting for me to pick up on my next trip. I also enjoy getting parenting books from the library first, because after I’ve read it once I can decide whether the book is worth owning. These are just two tiny reasons why I think the public library is awesome, and not just for kids. This concludes my public service announcement for the library system; let’s get on to the book reviews.
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez. Considering that this is one of the most acclaimed novels by one of the most significant authors of the 20th century, you may be surprised that I’ve just gotten around to reading it. But it was never required reading for me, so I just read it last month. Here’s what I learned. It’s long. It’s dense. You have to pay close attention to keep track of the characters. There’s a lot of magical realism in it (which is to say, there’s an element of fantasy but without hobbits, wizards, or sexy vampires). I had to struggle to finish it, and I consider myself an avid reader who finishes every book she starts. It’s also amazing and inspiring (if you admire the art of writing) and the characters kind of sit in your bones as permanent residents of your psyche, flitting in and out of your memory as you go about your week. Also, people who know about books will think you are really smart when they see you reading this at the airport.
Goodnight, Nobody, Jennifer Weiner. This is classic contemporary chick-lit fiction, or “beach reading” as I like to call it. I read it simultaneously with One Hundred Years because I thought I might need something light to break up my heavy reading, and I was right. It’s a murder mystery set among stay-at-home moms in suburban Connecticut. The main character finds being a suburban SAHM gloomy and oppressive so that ruffled my feathers a little, but I got over it and enjoyed the book. I think it is above average quality and it may not be fair to label it “beach reading.” You won’t get nods of approval from literary snobs at the airport, but you won’t feel embarrassed that you read it, either.
How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk, Adele Farber and Elaine Mazlish. My name is Twin Momma, and I’m addicted to parenting books. There, I said it. I think I read at least one each month; I can’t get enough of them. I’d like to own this one so I can obsessively reread it over the next ten+ years. It is a very practical book about, well, how to talk to and listen to your kids. It gives great examples, uses cartoon illustrations effectively, and generally gives you real words to use in real situations. I especially liked the section on how to praise effectively. I found myself saying “you’re so good” and “you’re so smart” all the time but this explains how to praise the action to build self esteem, like, “It’s so fun to go places with you when you hold my hand and stay close!” or “You kept on working on that snap until you got it closed – now that’s what I call determination!” Yes it’s dorky but I swear I’m already seeing more smiles on my girls faces when I compliment them now, and that’s all I really care about. This book dovetails fairly nicely with The Happiest Toddler on the Block.
Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe. Back to the acclaimed classics that will impress your airport friends. If you want a real review, go to Amazon and read the official one there, it’s pretty thorough. I’ll just tell you this book is a little bit more accessible as far as your literary classics go – it’s not too long, it’s easy to keep up with the one main character, and the prose is simple. It’s about pre-colonial Nigerian tribal life and it’s centered around the life of Okonkwo. See, I was actually able to tell you what it was about. If you asked me what One Hundred Years of Solitude was about I’d just kind of shrug my shoulders and shake my head.
As I come to a close I’d like to recommend one last book to you, one that I consult almost every day: The Six O’Clock Scramble. It’s a great cookbook, especially if you don’t know how/don’t like to cook but need to figure it out because now you’re a stay-at-home-mom and you feel responsible for making dinner every night. Simple, tasty, healthy meals that even I can make, and I swear that is really saying something.
Happy Reading!
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez. Considering that this is one of the most acclaimed novels by one of the most significant authors of the 20th century, you may be surprised that I’ve just gotten around to reading it. But it was never required reading for me, so I just read it last month. Here’s what I learned. It’s long. It’s dense. You have to pay close attention to keep track of the characters. There’s a lot of magical realism in it (which is to say, there’s an element of fantasy but without hobbits, wizards, or sexy vampires). I had to struggle to finish it, and I consider myself an avid reader who finishes every book she starts. It’s also amazing and inspiring (if you admire the art of writing) and the characters kind of sit in your bones as permanent residents of your psyche, flitting in and out of your memory as you go about your week. Also, people who know about books will think you are really smart when they see you reading this at the airport.
Goodnight, Nobody, Jennifer Weiner. This is classic contemporary chick-lit fiction, or “beach reading” as I like to call it. I read it simultaneously with One Hundred Years because I thought I might need something light to break up my heavy reading, and I was right. It’s a murder mystery set among stay-at-home moms in suburban Connecticut. The main character finds being a suburban SAHM gloomy and oppressive so that ruffled my feathers a little, but I got over it and enjoyed the book. I think it is above average quality and it may not be fair to label it “beach reading.” You won’t get nods of approval from literary snobs at the airport, but you won’t feel embarrassed that you read it, either.
How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk, Adele Farber and Elaine Mazlish. My name is Twin Momma, and I’m addicted to parenting books. There, I said it. I think I read at least one each month; I can’t get enough of them. I’d like to own this one so I can obsessively reread it over the next ten+ years. It is a very practical book about, well, how to talk to and listen to your kids. It gives great examples, uses cartoon illustrations effectively, and generally gives you real words to use in real situations. I especially liked the section on how to praise effectively. I found myself saying “you’re so good” and “you’re so smart” all the time but this explains how to praise the action to build self esteem, like, “It’s so fun to go places with you when you hold my hand and stay close!” or “You kept on working on that snap until you got it closed – now that’s what I call determination!” Yes it’s dorky but I swear I’m already seeing more smiles on my girls faces when I compliment them now, and that’s all I really care about. This book dovetails fairly nicely with The Happiest Toddler on the Block.
Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe. Back to the acclaimed classics that will impress your airport friends. If you want a real review, go to Amazon and read the official one there, it’s pretty thorough. I’ll just tell you this book is a little bit more accessible as far as your literary classics go – it’s not too long, it’s easy to keep up with the one main character, and the prose is simple. It’s about pre-colonial Nigerian tribal life and it’s centered around the life of Okonkwo. See, I was actually able to tell you what it was about. If you asked me what One Hundred Years of Solitude was about I’d just kind of shrug my shoulders and shake my head.
As I come to a close I’d like to recommend one last book to you, one that I consult almost every day: The Six O’Clock Scramble. It’s a great cookbook, especially if you don’t know how/don’t like to cook but need to figure it out because now you’re a stay-at-home-mom and you feel responsible for making dinner every night. Simple, tasty, healthy meals that even I can make, and I swear that is really saying something.
Happy Reading!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Happy 1st Birthday, I See Two!
One year ago today I posted my first entry here. My expectation was that I would post 3-4 witty, pithy posts each week, develop a large readership, become a well-known Mommy Blogger, and receive invitations to guest post at other famous blogs and possibly get a regular writing gig at an online magazine.
As usual, my great expectations didn’t take into account little details like “doing the work” and “promoting my blog.” I guess I just thought Oprah would somehow stumble across my blog one day and the rest would take care of itself. After a couple of months of writing, though, I realized a few things:
One, it is hard to come up with something truly interesting to say several times a week, and I don’t have the motivation to make myself work that hard. I accepted that one post a week was all I really cared to write, and even then I would settle for “semi-interesting to my family,” or “mildly amusing to people who know me.” Two, I’m not that interested in reading other people’s blogs, getting to know other mommy bloggers, looking for opportunities to guest blog, or mastering the technology to drive more traffic to my blog. After researching other blogs and blogging in general for a few weeks, I realized there is a hell of a lot of noise out there and I didn’t want to put forth the effort to make my blog rise above the din. Three, I’m not as motivated to get my essays published as I thought I was. I have actually taken a few things I’ve written in this blog, developed them into full essays, and submitted them to print and online magazines for publication consideration, without success. A professional writer would say I haven’t put enough effort out because I’ve sent each piece to only 3 or 4 places and have done this with only 3 or 4 pieces. And that is true. But I’m not interested in using my time to mail or email my work to the (literally) hundreds of places that I could submit, and so I don’t.
I’ve come to recognize my surprising lack of motivation when it comes to writing (my supposed life-long passion) and I’ve made peace with it for the time being. I do feel like I actually have the time to do the things I’d need to do to develop a freelance writing career if I really, really wanted to, but I guess I don’t really want to. I find myself some nights, eating my second bowl of ice cream and watching old reruns of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I think, “hmm, I could be writing right now if I really felt like it, couldn’t I?”
I plan to continue I See Two for the foreseeable future, plugging away at my weekly post, and continuing to use the rest of my spare time to read (usually at least one book per week, alternating between parenting books and fiction novels), keep house, exercise, and eat ice cream. Maybe someday in the future I’ll be able to point to five years of weekly posts to convince an editor that I could, in fact, be trusted with a weekly column. But for now, I’ll just keep waiting for Oprah to find me.
As usual, my great expectations didn’t take into account little details like “doing the work” and “promoting my blog.” I guess I just thought Oprah would somehow stumble across my blog one day and the rest would take care of itself. After a couple of months of writing, though, I realized a few things:
One, it is hard to come up with something truly interesting to say several times a week, and I don’t have the motivation to make myself work that hard. I accepted that one post a week was all I really cared to write, and even then I would settle for “semi-interesting to my family,” or “mildly amusing to people who know me.” Two, I’m not that interested in reading other people’s blogs, getting to know other mommy bloggers, looking for opportunities to guest blog, or mastering the technology to drive more traffic to my blog. After researching other blogs and blogging in general for a few weeks, I realized there is a hell of a lot of noise out there and I didn’t want to put forth the effort to make my blog rise above the din. Three, I’m not as motivated to get my essays published as I thought I was. I have actually taken a few things I’ve written in this blog, developed them into full essays, and submitted them to print and online magazines for publication consideration, without success. A professional writer would say I haven’t put enough effort out because I’ve sent each piece to only 3 or 4 places and have done this with only 3 or 4 pieces. And that is true. But I’m not interested in using my time to mail or email my work to the (literally) hundreds of places that I could submit, and so I don’t.
I’ve come to recognize my surprising lack of motivation when it comes to writing (my supposed life-long passion) and I’ve made peace with it for the time being. I do feel like I actually have the time to do the things I’d need to do to develop a freelance writing career if I really, really wanted to, but I guess I don’t really want to. I find myself some nights, eating my second bowl of ice cream and watching old reruns of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I think, “hmm, I could be writing right now if I really felt like it, couldn’t I?”
I plan to continue I See Two for the foreseeable future, plugging away at my weekly post, and continuing to use the rest of my spare time to read (usually at least one book per week, alternating between parenting books and fiction novels), keep house, exercise, and eat ice cream. Maybe someday in the future I’ll be able to point to five years of weekly posts to convince an editor that I could, in fact, be trusted with a weekly column. But for now, I’ll just keep waiting for Oprah to find me.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Being the grown-up
Real Simple Magazine is sponsoring an essay contest that asks you to answer the question, “When did you realize that you had become a grown-up?” I’m not motivated enough to produce a polished essay on the topic, but I’ve been thinking about that question for months now. It wasn’t when I first became a parent, which is one of the expected, cliché answers. I didn’t even feel like a parent in the beginning. I simply felt a fierce, evolutionary responsibility for the new pets in my care, and there were only a few surreal moments in the first weeks when I would realize that these pets were, in fact, two little girls – my daughters - and I was the mother. So no, it wasn’t an instantaneous, now-I’m-the-grownup feeling. As I gradually grew to know and love my babies, so did I gradually become the grown up.
When I first saw the question for the Real Simple contest back in June, I thought with a start, “Now. Now that you ask me, I realize that I do actually feel like a grown-up.” It is kind of a weird feeling, and still pretty new, having lived my first 37 years not feeling at all grown-up inside. Oh sure, I was ultra-responsible, professionally successful, married, owned a house, etc., but none of those external indicators really matured the child inside. I can’t even say exactly what it is about the kids that turned me into a grown-up. Truly putting their well-being ahead of my own? Realizing that my words, actions, and behavior would be their primary model of womanhood? Being able to step back into the mother/daughter cycle of life after being on the outside looking in for so long?
These are big questions, and perhaps if I would take the time to eloquently describe the earthquake-like shifts that have taken place in my psyche, I’d have an essay to submit to Real Simple. But I can only offer the following external behaviors as proof that I have, in fact, grown up.
Exhibit A: Cat Vomit. I adopted my cat, Kosmo, in 1999, while I was renting a house with my friend R.H. One day he vomited on the carpet in my bedroom. I did what any reasonable person would do: I covered it up with a paper bag and went about my business. My boyfriend (Twin Daddy) learned then that if the relationship was going to continue, he would have to accept that I would never, ever, ever clean up cat vomit, kill a giant cockroach (even if it was crawling across the kitchen counter), or in any way deal with the bodily functions or remains of any being that crossed my path. I would simply put up some markers to indicate the area of the mess and wait for him to clean it up. And I could wait forever.
Then one day, my daughters began to crawl. And the cat vomited on the floor. I hurried to clean it up, without a second thought. Giant roaches have been crawling into my house to die of thirst since April. I pick them up and throw them out, without so much as a gross-out face. I even discarded of the dead baby tarantula I found in the garage before Monkey could pick it up.
Exhibit B: Cooking. One of the things that attracted me to Twin Daddy as a long term partner was his gourmet cooking skills. It was a guarantee that I would never be expected to cook a holiday meal or bake a birthday cake. It’s not just that I couldn’t cook well. I really didn’t like anything about cooking and found it to be an undertaking utterly without merit. I didn’t care what food tasted like, as long as I was no longer hungry when I finished eating it. And since it could be purchased ready to eat, I didn't see what all the fuss over cooking was about.
So then I had these two kids, and I was overcome with desire to stay home with them, make their pureed baby food from scratch, and have a warm dinner waiting for my husband when he came home. I addressed the little matter of not knowing how to cook by just doing it, a lot. I also got a really good cookbook, some cute aprons, and other accoutrements to make me feel like I was playing 50s housewife. I still don’t like to cook. But I’ve discovered the merit: a sense of pride in providing my family a healthy, home cooked meal.
How do I know I’ve grown up? I take pride in performing all parts of my job, even the parts I don’t like. I cheerfully do things I scorned in the past, because those things benefit my family. I embrace the responsibility of knowing that my children look up to me, the grown-up.
When I first saw the question for the Real Simple contest back in June, I thought with a start, “Now. Now that you ask me, I realize that I do actually feel like a grown-up.” It is kind of a weird feeling, and still pretty new, having lived my first 37 years not feeling at all grown-up inside. Oh sure, I was ultra-responsible, professionally successful, married, owned a house, etc., but none of those external indicators really matured the child inside. I can’t even say exactly what it is about the kids that turned me into a grown-up. Truly putting their well-being ahead of my own? Realizing that my words, actions, and behavior would be their primary model of womanhood? Being able to step back into the mother/daughter cycle of life after being on the outside looking in for so long?
These are big questions, and perhaps if I would take the time to eloquently describe the earthquake-like shifts that have taken place in my psyche, I’d have an essay to submit to Real Simple. But I can only offer the following external behaviors as proof that I have, in fact, grown up.
Exhibit A: Cat Vomit. I adopted my cat, Kosmo, in 1999, while I was renting a house with my friend R.H. One day he vomited on the carpet in my bedroom. I did what any reasonable person would do: I covered it up with a paper bag and went about my business. My boyfriend (Twin Daddy) learned then that if the relationship was going to continue, he would have to accept that I would never, ever, ever clean up cat vomit, kill a giant cockroach (even if it was crawling across the kitchen counter), or in any way deal with the bodily functions or remains of any being that crossed my path. I would simply put up some markers to indicate the area of the mess and wait for him to clean it up. And I could wait forever.
Then one day, my daughters began to crawl. And the cat vomited on the floor. I hurried to clean it up, without a second thought. Giant roaches have been crawling into my house to die of thirst since April. I pick them up and throw them out, without so much as a gross-out face. I even discarded of the dead baby tarantula I found in the garage before Monkey could pick it up.
Exhibit B: Cooking. One of the things that attracted me to Twin Daddy as a long term partner was his gourmet cooking skills. It was a guarantee that I would never be expected to cook a holiday meal or bake a birthday cake. It’s not just that I couldn’t cook well. I really didn’t like anything about cooking and found it to be an undertaking utterly without merit. I didn’t care what food tasted like, as long as I was no longer hungry when I finished eating it. And since it could be purchased ready to eat, I didn't see what all the fuss over cooking was about.
So then I had these two kids, and I was overcome with desire to stay home with them, make their pureed baby food from scratch, and have a warm dinner waiting for my husband when he came home. I addressed the little matter of not knowing how to cook by just doing it, a lot. I also got a really good cookbook, some cute aprons, and other accoutrements to make me feel like I was playing 50s housewife. I still don’t like to cook. But I’ve discovered the merit: a sense of pride in providing my family a healthy, home cooked meal.
How do I know I’ve grown up? I take pride in performing all parts of my job, even the parts I don’t like. I cheerfully do things I scorned in the past, because those things benefit my family. I embrace the responsibility of knowing that my children look up to me, the grown-up.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Monkey pee-peed in the Potty!
After three days of watching sis get the applause, Monkey decided tonight was her night. She'd let a little dribble out, stand up to look into the potty, then say "mas," and sit back down, do a little more, get up to look into the potty, say "mas," sit again, and so on about 10 times. Turtle went on the potty, too. Very cute and exciting, but very messy and a lot of work to clean up. So I'm going to continue on this once a day routine for awhile because I'm not ready to spend all day doing this, even if they are.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Turtle pee-peed in the potty!!
The title tells you everything you need to know. But if you want every gory detail, read on.
About six weeks ago I read a potty training book to figure out what I should be doing to prepare for the daunting task of potty training. It’s not that I thought the girls were ready (they’re only 21 months old), I just thought I needed a really long lead time to get myself ready. I bought two potty chairs and a board book about a little girl getting a new potty. I put the chairs away and spent the last month reading “A Potty for Me” every now and then, and talking about the potty at every opportunity. The girls accompany me to the bathroom, and like to flush the toilet. They point to their correct body parts and say “pee pee” and “poo poo.” They come and tell me when they have “poo poo” in their diaper and essentially lead me to the changing table for a fresh diaper.
We’d gotten to the point where we’d talked potty talk to death, so I decided today was the day to introduce the potty chairs. The girls knew immediately what the chairs were. We let them play with the chairs for awhile in the living room, and then took them to the bathroom. The plan was and continues to be to let them sit on the chairs with or without their diaper once or twice a day until it seems like they’re ready for actual training, which I am assuming is still several months away, if not more.
I had planned for “sitting” time to be a casual and unproductive affair, with no expectation other than to practice sitting. We helped the girls sit and then started singing a couple of little songs, and then all of a sudden we heard the unmistakable sound of pee going into Turtle’s potty! Twin Daddy and I cheered and clapped wildly for our little Turtle, and she was quite pleased with herself. Monkey was not too sure what all the commotion was about, but we praised her for sitting, which is all we’re really trying to do at this point.
I am trying not to get too ahead of myself here, but I have to say I was thrilled and not completely surprised about Turtle’s performance. She always goes off and squats somewhere to go to the bathroom, so it seems like she understands what she is doing and was just waiting for me to get the darn chair out and get on with it. Despite this immediate success, though, I’m still going to take it very, very slow. Diapers are pretty convenient, and I’m in no hurry for our outings to turn into nothing more than multiple potty stops along Anderson Lane. Besides that, once my babies are out of diapers . . . . well, I can’t even go there.
About six weeks ago I read a potty training book to figure out what I should be doing to prepare for the daunting task of potty training. It’s not that I thought the girls were ready (they’re only 21 months old), I just thought I needed a really long lead time to get myself ready. I bought two potty chairs and a board book about a little girl getting a new potty. I put the chairs away and spent the last month reading “A Potty for Me” every now and then, and talking about the potty at every opportunity. The girls accompany me to the bathroom, and like to flush the toilet. They point to their correct body parts and say “pee pee” and “poo poo.” They come and tell me when they have “poo poo” in their diaper and essentially lead me to the changing table for a fresh diaper.
We’d gotten to the point where we’d talked potty talk to death, so I decided today was the day to introduce the potty chairs. The girls knew immediately what the chairs were. We let them play with the chairs for awhile in the living room, and then took them to the bathroom. The plan was and continues to be to let them sit on the chairs with or without their diaper once or twice a day until it seems like they’re ready for actual training, which I am assuming is still several months away, if not more.
I had planned for “sitting” time to be a casual and unproductive affair, with no expectation other than to practice sitting. We helped the girls sit and then started singing a couple of little songs, and then all of a sudden we heard the unmistakable sound of pee going into Turtle’s potty! Twin Daddy and I cheered and clapped wildly for our little Turtle, and she was quite pleased with herself. Monkey was not too sure what all the commotion was about, but we praised her for sitting, which is all we’re really trying to do at this point.
I am trying not to get too ahead of myself here, but I have to say I was thrilled and not completely surprised about Turtle’s performance. She always goes off and squats somewhere to go to the bathroom, so it seems like she understands what she is doing and was just waiting for me to get the darn chair out and get on with it. Despite this immediate success, though, I’m still going to take it very, very slow. Diapers are pretty convenient, and I’m in no hurry for our outings to turn into nothing more than multiple potty stops along Anderson Lane. Besides that, once my babies are out of diapers . . . . well, I can’t even go there.
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