C'est Fin

Yesterday Morning:

Berit: "I need to use the potty."

Me: "Oh, yeah, OK. Go ahead."

Berit: Does. For the rest of the day. Even in public. Is continuing to do so.

Just like that.

Groundhog's Day

Last summer, sprinklers were an issue. Whenever I put the sprinkler on the lawn -- as in, every day -- we told Berit she could play in it. And, even on the hottest days, when she was truly considering it, she wouldn't go near the water. 

Every now and then, when passing a neighbor's sprinkler that was set up at the edge of the road to water toward their house (as in, it wouldn't sprinkle toward us, only away), Berit would come with me and ever-so-gently touch the spray of water coming off the big streams. 

We talked about sprinklers, showed her how they worked, whatever she wanted us to do to help her feel comfortable being outside at the same time the sprinkler was on. 

And yesterday, while we were eating lunch, I said, "...It's like a sprinkler." And she said in pure innocence, "Mom, what's a sprinkler?"

I said, "You know, a sprinkler -- with water? Like the one from outside?"

And she had no idea what I was talking about.

This kind of thing has happened lately with her memory. Things we did last summer or a year ago are completely wiped clean, and we teach it to her all over again. It's so funny! 

The Lazy Mom's Admission Re: Potty-Training

It was so cold today that Trevor called me from the road to report that his temperature gauge had not stopped dropping since he left home. At the time of his call it was -12, -13, -15. Yet I couldn't stomach the thought of being cooped up again, so we braved the weather and went to the college to run off some energy. We met our good friends the Darts there, and Berit and Liam, who are like sister and brother with less fighting, had a blast. 

However, at one point I turned around from my chit-chatting with Ellen to notice Berit hanging onto the side of the toy bin, engaged in a very serious poop. I took her into the bathroom to change her Pull-Up, and found no diaper changing station. So I put my mat on the floor of the dirty bathroom, fed up with the potty-training refusal, and told her, "You know, if you would just go on the potty we wouldn't have to change you this way." (She is disgusted by germs and anything that might get her dirty.) "Oh," she said, unaffected.

This is the kid I thought would breeze through potty-training. She tries to be like a grown-up in every way, yet apparently loves the feel of a big gloppy poo on her derriere. I'm trying to stick with a program recommended by my sister-in-law, who also has a daughter like our Royal Sensitivella, which is basically ignoring it altogether. We told Berit that the potty was around, and if she wanted it she could have it. And though she loves wearing Big Girl Panties all day long, still no potty on the... potty. 

I will admit this, though: I love, love, love not having to sit with her in a bathroom while she poops. Pull-Ups make shopping, playtime, driving, everything easier. I see how long it takes her to complete a Number Two and I thank my lucky stars that I wasn't on the hook to watch her while she did it in the bathroom. 

So maybe I should give up the worry. I mean, I guess it works for me. The garbage is awful and the Pull-Ups peeking out of her size 3T pants everywhere we go scream "Bad Parent," but really, REALLY, if I'm completely honest, it's a whole lot easier this way.

It's Not Easy Missing Green

I don't remember when Berit's obsession with the color green started. My mother-in-law claims it was when she took Berit to Hallmark a year-and-a-half ago and let her pick our her own Crocs, and she picked green. My mom thinks it's because of oh I don't know, something that she bought Berit, which has slipped my mind because really I think my mom made it up to best my mother-in-law in the green-love department. I personally think it was just there in Berit, and she never had the chance to voice her opinion on colors because she was a baby, and then suddenly there was a wall of Crocs in front of her and she could point and be heard.

Anyway. Berit loves ("loves-loves-LOVES") the color green. There has never been another choice for her; and when she has said she liked another color to get the popsicle I had or because her blanket is blue and she loves her blanket best, she always added: "But I love green."

She sometimes dresses in all green. She needs green food, if possible. If something green is presented to her, she makes an impressed face, where she opens her eyes into circles and gives herself a double chin by pushing her face back while keeping her shoulders forward. When other people wear green, she likes them. When other people who are close to her wear green, she says, "Thank you for wearing green for me." I think you get the picture.

The Green has crept into our lives like slime, oozing into our own choices. I saw a green diaper bag at the store, and had to have it, where two years ago I may not have looked twice. When we shop, we have to be careful not to buy too much green for ourselves, because it's the first color we reach for. I deliberately dress Marta in other colors, to keep green special for Berit. It's weird, I know.

A few months back Berit became interested in Cinderella. I'm not sure why (I have a sneaking suspicion the grandmothers pushed it, but no harm done), because we don't watch the movie really and we never introduced it to her ourselves. Recently, however, her interest has grown into an all-out lovefest, where she has to wear the same Cinderella outfit every day and EVERY NIGHT and the same old blue headband because she thinks it's Cinderella's and prefers that we address her as Cinderella.

And she has started asking for blue things. Not more than green things, but she is choosing another color occasionally, and it's so strange for me. I don't like it. I'm a little mad at Cinderella. I was quite pleased that Berit wasn't being all pink-stereotypical-girly-etc. 

And now Trevor's rushing me to end my computer time and I can't think of a proper way to close this post, and it will seem meaningless and a waste of your good reading time. Maybe I'll think of something profound to add to it later, but until then, the green girl is still reigning, just in an imposter's blue dress.

From The Mouth of B

General play is interrupted by a loud, ripping, toot from Berit.

Lisa: "What was that?"

Berit, breathlessly and awestruck: "It was an ANGEL."

********

A few nights ago Berit came into our bed, afraid of "That Bad, Scary Man," who was unexplainable at the time and unknown to Trevor and me. However, today, as we were heading downstairs into the basement, while passing a few of Trevor's records that are face-out, Berit nonchalantly said, "There's that Bad, Scary Man." 

It seems that Willie Nelson is haunting the dreams of our oldest.

Mind Your Manners

After opening a zillion (literally) gifts from Santa and my parents at my parents' house...

Me: "Berit, what do you say to Grandma and Pop?"

Berit: "May I please have some more presents?"

Potty Faking

How many women in the history of blogging have posted about potty training trials? Oh, count me in. 

Berit is three in February, and really, completely, totally understands the potty concept. She wears "big girl panties" at home, holds it for hours and when she's ready to "go," she changes herself into a Pull-Up. Yes, you read that right.

And yes, we've given her tons of time, attention and access on the potty. She knows it well (though we don't dare pressure her, parents of the New Millennium that we are). She sits on it often. She even says, with a gleam in her eye and excitement in her voice, "Here it comes!" "I can hear it!" "I'm doing it!" But she knows she's not. She's teasing us. Really -- I'm not being cynical. She's really, really, messing with us. She laughs and rolls her eyes. She gets up and puts on a Pull-Up, pees, and takes it off to put on her "big girl panties" again. 

Sometimes she goes. Never Number Two, which is already an issue for her with Pull-Ups (she's sworn off diapers altogether), so God only knows how she'll put that business in the potty. But occasionally she'll pee where she's supposed to -- I've even allowed the potty chair to be in the living room (I know) so she can be social while she waits. It makes music when she goes, which was exciting at first, but now the music goes off even when she moves around, so it's lost its luster and just taunts us.

I get tips. I get so many tips from people who just don't understand. The 24-hour potty training, the naked week, the guilt trip. These tips are not for Berit, our sensitive child who could really take something like the potty to her therapist two decades from now.

Yet I beg for tips. Somebody tell me the right way to do it. I want her to go to gymnastics. I hate waiting and waiting, sitting by the chair. I want preschool. I want life beyond Pull-Ups.

Domesticated Sophistication

I've just come home from Book Club, for which I made Trevor stay home from his work party (he's the boss). Don't worry Kelly Kaatz, he's there now, making it, I'm sure, for a final round of drinks. I write this because I love Book Club (you'll notice I'm capitalizing it now), even though we've only had two meetings including tonight. We spent a whopping five or 10 minutes chatting about the book Tender At The Bone by Ruth Reichl (interesting, light, a nice read) and then moved onto very important topics like preschool, the lack of anything really great to do indoors with kids in the winter in Petoskey (and how someone should do something about this), the city council, the Catholic Church's take on certain intimate actions within marriage and potty training. (Notice I snuck that one in the middle there.) Trevor actually called the house we were at to remind me to come home. I love Book Club.

I was going to head straight to bed but I needed to write about this lovely song Berit's been singing, with Trevor's ever-prompting. The song is originally sung by Boots the Monkey from Dora the Explorer. 

Boots sings: "I speak Spanish. And English, too. I like them both, how about you?"

And Berit sings: "I speak Spanish. And It-squish, too. I like to poop, how about you?"

I find no need to correct this.

Family Jewels

I have a very large jewelry box given to me on a Christmas some years ago, that's filled with jewelry from some years ago. By that I mean the jewelry I wore before kids -- long earrings, glittery necklaces, baubly bracelets -- things kids would rip off, chew on and pull at all day long if they could. I've never actually been much of a jewelry kind of girl -- I have my standards; my wedding and engagement rings, my tiny diamond studs, my pretty watch my parents gave me for college graduation. I also have a few thin necklaces that I occasionally wear, and an eternity band Trevor gave me when I delivered Berit, a black onyx bracelet he gave me for my 30th birthday, and, for fancy occasions, a huge blue zircon necklace from Trevor when Marta was born (her birthstone). So now that I write it all down, I guess it sounds like a lot, but I don't wear it all at once. And now you know what I own in case you were thinking about robbing me.

Anyway, those are the only things Berit ever sees me wear. But today, when Marta was sleeping, I took her into the bedroom and took out my giant jewelry box. I said, "Berit, now that you're a very big girl, you can look in this special box. This is not for babies, this is for big girls. I know you're going to take care of the things in here." She was very serious. I opened the top, the side doors, the big drawers, and watched her face light up in awe and joy. "Can I play with them?" she asked. I took a big breath as she looked at me with pure hope -- "Yes."

So while she touched every single piece and laid them all out carefully for inspection, I got dressed, pleased that I found busy work for her that made her so happy. And when I walked by her she said, "Mommy, these are GORGEOUS and WONDERFUL."

I let her wear a necklace all day, and she loves it. She was impressed that the necklaces and bracelets were "cold, very cold, and very-very cold!" And when I called her to come get ready to go, she took a few minutes then came out very casually and said, "Mom, I cleaned it all up." And she did -- hung the necklaces, put bracelets with bracelets and earrings with earrings. I'm so happy to have found something new to bond with her over -- something that no grandmas are doing; something that makes me a little different for the next few days, at least.