Uncomfortable Dinner

Last weekend, after Paul ran a very cold 12.5 mile race, we treated ourselves to a nice pasta dinner out. Our neighbors at the next table were two elderly people and two middle aged people, one of whom was in a motorized chair and, apparently, wearing an adult diaper.

I was sympathetic, imagining this scenario: a middle aged person with a disability who perhaps couldn't completely care for himself, and older parents who could no longer care for him, either.

But on the other hand, my dinner was pretty miserable because the stench of bodily uncleanliness and an adult diaper that needed to be changed overwhelmed my sensitive pregnant nose. It wasn't just me being hypersensitive; Paul admitted later that he noticed the situation, too. (He was seated across the table and does not have a particularly sensitive nose.)

The party next to us were already seated when we arrived at the restaurant and sat to enjoy conversation after eating. We ate our dinner and skipped dessert while I took the kids to the car and Paul waited to pay.

I am sympathetic (and empathetic and concerned about the future of my own family). And certainly this family deserved an evening out at least as much as any other family. But at the same time I had a very uncomfortable time at a nice meal out that I, too, was looking forward to.

I'm comfortable with the way we handled the situation. The girls (thankfully!) did not complain or draw attention to the problem. I buried my nose in Paul's wine glass when necessary (after smearing a bit of menthol chapstick under my nose) and I did not need to excuse myself from the table. Perhaps we should have asked our server if we could move, but that would have felt really rude to me (in fact, writing this now feels rude to me).

But I'm wondering about the ethics of this situation. When we eat out is this sort of situation just a possibility of being out in public? Or do we as individuals have a responsibility to keep our aromas to ourselves? Certainly I've experienced uncomfortably strong perfume, smoke, and bodily aromas in public before (as well as parents who are none too prompt about changing their child's diapers). But there really is a difference, at least for me, between other strong aromas and those associated with bodily waste, at least when it comes to mealtimes.

Thoughts? Or am I just an insensitive jerk for asking?

Edited to add a link to Changing Places. If I can't walk - or stand - on my own, should I not go out in public? That sounds ridiculous, right? But when was the last time you saw a public restroom equipped with a hoist to handle lifting someone who can't lift him or herself? I don't think I have ever seen one.

Two Days

Ada is potty trained. When I say that she is potty trained, I mean that she's been out of diapers for nearly two months. She wears a pull-up to sleep, but other than that she's in self chosen (and named) "candy pants" full time. I keep an extra set of shorts in the car for both girls because that's just prudent, but I don't carry a diaper bag anymore.

And this isn't a situation where I put my toddler on the potty every hour or two to prevent accidents. Ada knows when she has go and does so independently. Sometimes she needs help with her clothing or wiping. In those cases she lets me know. But she gets up from board games, movies, and play dates to go potty. Sometimes she announces what she's doing and sometimes she just goes on her own then resumes her activities.

I have to admit, it's pretty fabulous. Ellie's potty bribe was a wooden play kitchen for her bedroom, an activity center both girls are still wild about. Ada's potty bribe was a cardboard mobile of the solar system. Other children recite prayers before bed. Ada and I say prayers and I recite her full name and home address. But before I lay her in her crib she wants me to carry her to the mobile where she'll name all the planets for me. Adorable.

We used the same approach to train Ada as we did Ellie. It was really really really really hard. But then it was over and it worked. Did I mention that it took 2 days? They're horrible days. And when you're in the midst of it, there's no guarantee that it will work. Certainly it didn't work the way it was supposed to according to the book (Toilet Training in Less Than A Day by Azrim and Foxx, © 1970).

A quick word about this book. It's based on research from the 1960s and is painfully dated. By this I mean that it is sexist. Mom the does training wearing heels and an apron. It is classist. Mom stays home with the children in a house with a yard, dad works a daytime office-type job. And it uses the "R" word repeatedly for people with developmental disabilities. It's clinical, rather than insulting, language in this context (the book discusses modifications to the program for toilet training institutionalized adults and developmentally delayed children) but I know that word is a trigger for some people.

But toileting itself hasn't changed very much since the 1960s, and nor has the need to teach our children to quit soiling themselves and our carpets. My favorite things about this approach are that it teaches independence. When we started, Ada couldn't even pull her own pants up and down, let alone use the potty independently. Two days later she took great pride in both accomplishments. Also, I prefer two really hard days to months of on-going, if low-key, struggle.

Paul took the first shift, while Ellie and I went to the zoo. Bath, bed, and we started again the next day. Paul went to work, Ellie was home from school for the summer. Dry pants checks every 5 minutes, practice potty trials every 15 minutes, just me alone all week with both girls, afraid to take Ada out in public. The first day was a novelty, a party. The second day was push-back. Accidents, accidents, and more accidents despite a full-time focus on the learning of independent toileting.

Day three - CLICK.

We have had setbacks. I delayed this post for a week or two because after vacation we had to readjust. But now it's been long enough that I'm confident in Ada's abilities to manage this new task on an ongoing basis.

"Mommy LOVES dry pants!"



Modifications. With Ellie we made the mistake of not forcing her to be more independent. It was hard but we required more of Ada, and eventually we got it. We did modify the method a little, though. For instance, I prefer to empty the potty chair myself rather than having her do it. Also, once it was obvious that she understood what she was supposed to do, I stopped requiring ten "practice potty trials" for every accident. It was obvious that she knew what to do, and the "potty quickly!" trials then became traumatic rather than fun. One or two sufficed on the second day. YMMV, but this was the right approach for Ada. Trauma surrounding potty = BAD. Pushing the boundaries and requiring more than is comfortable for either of you = GOOD.

Monday Irritations

The next post I want to write is celebratory, so I'll just get some whining out of the way now, like a front blowing through before the sunshine.

1. Potty
2. My feet

Potty.

Ellie was ready to potty train at 18 months. She had both awareness and control at an early age. She'd always worn cloth diapers and did not like the feeling of being wet or dirty. She was a regular sort of gal, and started depositing her morning offering into the potty chair rather than her diaper before she was even 2 years old, as long as we got her out of her crib at her request and didn't make her wait too long.

But we didn't potty train Ellie for more than a year after that, during which time we lapsed into disposable diapers, pull-ups, and putting Ellie on the potty at irregular intervals. Ellie was nearly 2-1/2 before she could walk quickly to the potty from various places around the house. She was older than that before she could pull her pants up and down by herself. We didn't want to take her out of diapers before she could toilet herself without assistance, and I'm still not sure if that was the right call or not. It certainly led to many extra months of enforcing bad habits.

The only reason Ellie doesn't have more accidents now is her iron bladder. She can hold it for hours and hours and hours when she wants to . . . until the next time someone forces her to the bathroom or she just gives up and has an accident. I'm trying to see it as a big step forward that she's been telling me when she has had an accident lately, rather than ignoring it. Our big mistake with Ellie: not making her take ownership of the process. And that is HARD to correct.

Ellie also spends ridiculous amounts of time on the toilet doing nothing except touching things that shouldn't be touched (hair on the toilet seat? why not? hands rubbing the top of the bowl? good fun!). These things make me crazy and I'm very glad that cameras do not follow me into bathrooms capturing my worst parenting moments.

With Ada my complaint list is shorter: aim. Keep it in the potty, little one! I love your independence but wish you didn't somehow tinkle over the front edge of the toilet and onto your socks, especially at Lowe's. That is all.

My feet.

I have plantar fasciitis. Basically, I have fallen arches. They hurt a lot, though not all the time. Years ago, I had to give up my two favorite exercises, cardio kickboxing and rollerblading, because I was whimpering with pain after increasingly shorter intervals of activity. Giving up the only exercises I enjoyed led to - you guessed it! - weight gain.

Militant attention to stretches, proper shoes, and taking of anti-inflammatory drugs shoved the problem into remission, though I still couldn't run, squat, or skate. But at least I could walk around without pain.

Then I spent a week on the beach, walking in sand (boo hiss) and in flip flops (nasty, terrible things). Since then I've been - as usual - carrying children around. And my feet have been hurting again, more than ever. It's terrible.

So lots of stretching and no working out for me last week, this week, probably for a few weeks to come. Which sucks.

By the way, if you've never been fat you probably don't know this. When you go to the doctor for ANY reason while fat, the doctor suggests that the fat is the problem. Your feet hurt? Lose weight! In my case, the foot pain indirectly caused the weight gain, not the reverse. Official advice for treating plantar fasciitis: stretch, wear supportive shoes ALL the time, ice, drugs, rest/avoid extended physical activities, LOSE WEIGHT.

That's a neat trick! If I figure out how to lose weight while resting and avoiding extended physical activities, I'll be sure to let you know. And I'll only charge you a few thousand dollars for the knowledge. That should pay for all my orthopedic shoes . . .

Tomorrow: good things!

Act Active, Girls, Act Active*

Late this afternoon, we rented bicycles and a little trailer thing, then rode all the way around Forest Park.

First of all, I don't know exactly what they mean by "comfort seats," but I don't think I'll be sitting "comfortably" for several days.

Second, it was a blast.

Third, I was so tired at the furthest part from our car that I thought I might puke. (I'm REALLY out of shape; I used to roller blade around the park like it was nothing and that's harder work IMO. Today was the longest 10k I've ever experienced.) Fortunately, that was the end of the hardest bit so my jelly legs managed to get me back to our starting place. I am very impressed with Paul pulling the girls in the trailer all the way!

The girls did pretty well in their little trailer, and really appreciated the trip to the playground at the end.

Check out the bike path. We took the red one all the way around the outside, starting and ending at the History Museum, which was just about perfect. The hardest parts are near the Science Center, Zoo, and ball fields/picnic pavilions, so there are some distractions from the pain. Or at least witnesses to my panting. ("At 1,293 acres, [Forest Park] is approximately 500 acres larger than Central Park in New York.") Forest Park Forever.

We're looking for more ways to get the whole family involved in fitness. When the girls are in the trailer, they're not exactly being active, but at least we're setting a good example. And they're in the fresh air. There are lots of places to ride around St. Louis. If we do this a few more times and still enjoy it, we might consider investing in some bikes and a trailer of our own.

Finally, how cool is it that a week ago Paul was just introducing Ada to potty training, and today we thought nothing of taking her to the church, to ride around the park, and out to dinner in underpants?! (Note that "underpants" sounds like "candypants" when Ada says it.) Sunday night and Monday were HARD WORK, but paid off fast.

*The title is a quote from one of my high school gym teachers. "Acting active" was all we had to do to get in "A" in his class. The boys had to actually participate in the assigned activity to pass. This was less fun for the girls than it sounds, since dribbling a basketball in a corner for an hour is far less fun than playing a game.

Today Was About a Week Long

I'm pretty sure I had a dozen half-baked posts floating around in my head at some point. But then today happened and now I have buzzing where my brain should be.

Tomorrow is the monthly Barrie Summy Book Review Club, and I'm torn between reviewing Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro and Toilet Training in Less Than A Day by Azrin and Foxx.

I would really rather review the former, but I still need to finish it, and the latter keeps getting in the way for messily obvious reasons!

The Book Review Club (February)

I am excited to be a part of Barrie Summy's new Book Review Club. When I first signed on, I had such high hopes for myself. "I'll wow them all," I thought. "I'll be both funny and insightful. I'll review War and Peace like it's never been done before!"

Now, I've never actually read War and Peace. Not even the Cliff's Notes version. I'm not proud of that, but I'm not too ashamed to admit it, either. And what did a little detail like that matter, anyway? The first review wasn't for ages. It was days and days away! Blink. It's today.

And the book I've spent the most time reading this week is Once Upon a Potty by Alona Frankel.

There are different versions of this classic tome, and I'll be talking about the one we have, the Girl version, complete with matching Prudence doll, her plastic potty, and an accompanying DVD.

When Ellie was about 18 months old, she developed a great interest in the potty and her developmental therapist recommended this book. Ellie loved the book from our first read through, and still requests it regularly nearly 4 years later. She was, however, completely creeped out by the weird-looking Prudence doll for quite a while so we substituted a beanie Dora the Explorer on the plastic potty. She loved that, and the DVD was an even greater hit.

But this is supposed to be a book review, right? Ellie immediately "got" this book, and wanted to keep it right next to her potty chair to read every time we were in the bathroom. Which, as you might imagine, was frequently. Her favorite part was the page where Prudence sat on the potty. "And sat and sat and sat and sat." 77 times. Even now, as a five-year-old, she's happy to sit on the toilet as long as it would take her to sound out the words "and sat" 77 times. I'm not kidding; I counted. 77. I've certainly had ample opportunity to do the math.

Now Ellie has a little sister who just turned two and is very interested in all things potty-related, including this book. Fortunately, Ada prefers me to truncate the "and sat and sat and sat" page. She likes the next page more, where Prudence stands up and sees what's inside the potty. Both "Wee-Wee and Poo-Poo!"

As we all know, a good picture book tells a story in both words and pictures, where the illustrations work as hard as the text to convey meaning. This book is no exception. It's just that I'm not quite clever enough to have figured out what Frankel was trying to illustrate with her drawing of "poo-poo."

Ada gets the whole potty concept, in theory and in practice (if somewhat inconsistently). But she studies this one illustration with her head cocked to the side, then looks up at me. "Ice cream?" she says. Now that she draws (hah hah) this to my attention, I see that she does have a valid point. (Ah-hem) It's just that now whenever we read this book - a mere 2-3 times a day - I sort of want to vomit 2/3 of the way through.

The whole time I've been writing this - and for entire months of the last few years - I've had the fabulous little jingle from the DVD stuck in my head. Because I think you'd enjoy the same experience, here it is. My gift to you: The Potty Song


Final thought: highly recommended! A very good read. Appeals to all ages.

Warning, this is a potty post

This will have to be quick; apparently Blogger has a scheduled outage in a few minutes.

OK, so Ada has shown some interest in the potty. By this I mean that she knows what it is and wants to sit on it sometimes. When she sits, she always goes, even if she's just had a diaper change and can only go a little. And when she does have a BM in her diaper (sorry, those not interested in diaper talk, which has got to be pretty much everyone) she often goes and gets a fresh diaper and brings it to me immediately, sometimes spreading the new diaper on the floor and lying down on it awaiting my attention.

So she's clearly got some control and some interest. Common sense seems to indicate that I should jump right on this and get her potty trained. But I can't bring myself to do it.

For one thing, she's 1! That doesn't mean that she's not ready, just that I'm not ready.

For another thing, I like changing diapers. No, I'm not crazy. It's just that with diapers things are much easier and more controlled for me. I don't have to worry as much about accidents, about finding clean and accessible potties when we're out, about when was the last time she went, etc.

But the big thing, the main thing, is that I'm just so burned out that I can't bring myself to do it.

Some of you might recall that Ellie started using the potty happily when she was 18 months old. That was 3-1/2 years ago. And the process is still ongoing. Sure, she's been potty trained for a year and only wears a pull-up to sleep (and is showing signs of eventually moving toward giving that up). But it's still a work in progress. And in some ways, things are worse. My frustration with the situation has become so obvious that Ellie now fights going to the potty, rather than being excited by it, even when I'm not around.

But I am frustrated. Really frustrated. And I try to deal with that, or at least hide it, but I've not been successful.

I know, from glancing back over this blog, that there was a time when Ellie took control of her own potty schedule. But I don't remember it - it was last spring, apparently, but it seems now like a figment of my imagination - and can't imagine it ever happening again.

Not only do I have to remind Ellie to go, I have to make her go, while she whines and sulks and tries to escape to "go play." And if I don't, she'll have an accident then come tell me about it.

And even if we get that back on track, where she realizes in time that she needs to go and takes herself to the potty, she'll still need help. She can't raise and lower her pants completely independently, and still has trouble navigating the turn around on the stool and sit on the toilet maneuver without a spotter.

Once she's on the toilet, she doesn't want to get off and will stay indefinitely. It's not like I was an early person before, though being a parent has definitely changed my perspective on how long it takes to get out the door, but it's nearly impossible to get places on time now. How do you budget for a child who "needs" to sit on the toilet for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes just as you're leaving the house, even if she just went a half hour before. (And, indeed, doesn't really go.)

It's all very parent labor-intensive.

I get that it's about control. I get that it's a battle that I can't win. I don't want to fight it, really, I don't. But I can't seem to break the cycle. I just get so frustrated by the situation, all of which is exacerbated by the fact that I hate bathrooms all by myself, and I know better than to spend longer than is necessary or touch more than I have to in there.

So, I'm not really potty training Ada, though I do let her sit on the potty when she asks, and praise her when she goes, and I talk to her about the process sometimes. But I can't bring myself to get all energetic about doing it because I haven't had a break in this potty process for three and a half years, and no clear successes or light at the end of the tunnel.

At every age, I say: this is the best age yet.

But now there's a worst, too. My hands-down least favorite parent responsibility is the potty. No contest. (Lo and behold, it has nothing to do with Down syndrome at all.)

Why I Love Febreeze

When I write the memoir covering this part of my life, I think the title will be, And Everything Smells Vaguely of Urine. Or maybe not.

Several weeks ago, Ellie was having more accidents than usual, and I was getting really frustrated. Then it occurred to me: there are often set-backs right before big developmental leaps forward.

That was indeed this case here, as - celebration! - Ellie has taken control of her potty needs. She still needs assistance with dressing and undressing (though far less than she used to) and getting up onto the toilet, but I no longer have to remember: what time did she last go? should I insist that she go now or wait a little longer?

She tells us, every time. Alleluia!

On the other hand, Ada has developed an interesting quirk that's insuring that we go through diapers at a prodigious rate. While playing, she'll periodically run up to me - that child is in perpetual motion, often just spinning around in circles until she falls down when she has nothing else to occupy her - saying, "Potty!" Then she runs to the bathroom and waits at the door, saying, "Diaper!"

She wants to sit on the potty, with her diaper off. Then she jumps right back up again, without allowing time to accomplish anything useful, though there's probably no need - the diaper is already wet.

I am delighted that my 14-month-old seems to be comfortable with the idea of the potty and possibly is even alerting me when she's gone.

But seriously? Already? I was rather hoping for a break. At least it's getting warmer, which means that clothes are easier to remove.

Oh, She's Smart

Ellie is going though a resistance phase. She's pushing limits and pushing our buttons. Masterfully.

I get that it's an assertion of control. That's obvious from her constant rejoinder, "Mommy, whateryoudoingnow? Daddy, whateryoudoingnow?" as we try to transition her from one activity to the next, even if we've previously laid out the plan. This one is easy, we just go through the order of events again, helping her feel like she knows what's coming and has some control over it.

We also give her unstructured time for free play, regular choose-between-two-acceptable-options choices, warnings in advance of transitions, and, you know, love and hugs.

She's such a great kid: so thoughtful, so polite, so funny and sweet. If Ellie met you once, months ago, chances are very good that when she sees you next, she'll remember your name and the name of your child (even if that child is not currently with you, in which case she'll ask after him).

But at home . . .

"NOOOOOO!" Sadly, there's no way for me to demonstrate her demon-child voice in writing.

She knows exactly where to push and when, to get a response. Like resisting sleep at night (especially hot-button issue for Paul) and fooling around in the bathroom (especially hot-button issue for me). The last few nights, she has discovered a new one that really gets us both. To set the scene, let me start by explaining that Ellie sleeps in a pull-up, which she hates but is not physically ready to give up.

Ellie walks out of her bedroom at some point, naked from the waist down and saying, "I go potty!" as she heads for the bathroom. Soon thereafter, a puddle of urine is found in the middle of the bed, often soaking through the sheets, blankets, extra pad, and into the waterproof mattress cover. Pajama pants and DRY pull-up are right next to the bed, carefully discarded in advance of the scene.

Let me stress that this is purely behavioral, not accidental, physical, and not a waking dream of some sort.

ARGH!!!

Pizza Party

Yesterday was Ellie's (somewhat belated) 4th birthday party. If there's anything she loves more than Finding Nemo, it's pizza. And I'm a huge theme person (if you hadn't noticed) so I went all pizza with the party.

The invitations were pizza themed. And when the kids arrived, they sat at the dining room table to decorate pizza placemats and party hats with stickers of common toppings.

Then I brought out the Boboli shells and bowls of sauce, cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, and green peppers, so that the kids could make their own pizzas. While those were baking, they all played outside, then downstairs in the basement playroom.

After eating pizza to their hearts' content, the kids watched Ellie open presents and we sang some of her favorite group participation songs (stirring soup, I see the moon, these are grandma's glasses, etc.). And then we had cake, or, more precisely, cupcakes. Ellie doesn't much care for cake, but she has a mild cupcake obsession. This made a slight decorating challenge for me, but the end result was well worth it. The pepperoni are Fruit Roll-Up, the green peppers are Dots, and the cheese is shredded coconut with yellow food coloring.


First birthday: mini castle





Second birthday: Dora's Backpack





Third birthday: pug dog





Fourth birthday: pizza

The take-home gifts this year were aprons and pizza-related stickers instead of gift bags. This was a relatively simple party, but I don't know how people do this without two parents, two grandparents, and an aunt in town to help out. I can't even decorate a cake without at least two other adults hovering over my shoulder and giving me encouragement every step of the way.

Now that it's a couple of weeks after Ellie's 4th birthday, here's where she is. (I have a 4 year old! Unbelieveable.) She's happy to tell you that she's 4 now, if you ask. We didn't bother taking a spare outfit with us to church today; why bother? Her last real accident was . . . I'm not sure when. Nearly a week ago, I suppose. She's still in a pull-up overnight and for naps, but she's sometimes waking up dry so I have hope that we'll be able to give those up eventually too.

At Ellie's 4-year-checkup last week, her pediatrician was amazed. She kept calling Ellie a superstar, in every way. She's in the 95th percentile for height and weight for children her age with Down syndrome, and other than a little belly (especially during birthday month) is in great physical condition. She's all about the pre-reading skills, and apparently we need to be working on reading more seriously; the pediatrician thinks she's ready. She can count. She's never had a serious ear infection, and is, overall, a remarkably healthy kid.

I've come far enough to say, without hesitation, that we're very lucky parents.

Officially a Big Girl

“At what age were you/your kids potty trained?”

When I talk to people about having a daughter with Down syndrome, ages always factor significantly into the conversation. Although we expected these things to come much, much later- if ever - my daughter talked and walked when she was 1, knew her letters and numbers at 3, and was potty trained . . .

Some of our friends have different approaches to potty training than I do, and that’s fine. Certainly there is room for different opinions here. But until Ellie was able to tell me when she needed to go, walk to the potty herself, pull her pants up and down herself, and go days at a time without accidents, I didn’t consider her potty trained.

In fact, I decided not to put Ellie in big girl underpants until I thought she was ready to be nearly accident-free. She’s been comfortable using the potty since she was 18 months old. That’s 2-1/2 years, folks, that she remained in diapers after learning to use the potty. But consistency has been our big problem: she gets distracted and doesn’t remember to tell us when she needs to potty.

Also, it took a long time for her pull her own pants on and off; unlike many toddlers and preschoolers, she has never been interested in self-dressing or even dressing her dolls, so potty time remained a parent-help-required experience.

Another big hurdle has been parental reluctance. Neither Paul nor I were excited about consistently taking Ellie to the potty every hour for days on end, so we didn’t. There were huge benefits to us in this period. It’s lovely to be told once or twice a day when our daughter needs to go potty (no more poopy diapers!) and we could then change wet ones at our convenience. I got to avoid most public bathrooms and run errands or attend public events without patronizing horrible conveniences like the ubiquitous Johnny-on-the-Spot.

Did I mention that Ellie BM trained herself over a year ago? We've had very few poopy diapers since then, and absolutely no BM accidents at all since we moved to big girl underpants several weeks ago.

Eventually, for all of us, it was time to force progress. I found a book whose system I was comfortable with. It’s research-based, and was designed in the 1970s by psychologists working with institutionalized and severely developmentally disabled adults. (The book is also very much a product of its time, so consider yourselves forewarned.) It was then adapted for use with typical children, with an appendix added on for dealing with children with disabilities (this was the 70's; they use the "r" word). “Success” is measured by a child who recognizes the need to go, takes down own pants, goes, wipes, pulls up pants, empties potty bowl into toilet, and washes hands independently.

Interestingly, this was the same book my mom used to potty train me. She found it enormously frustrating – though it worked – and she pitched it rather than using the same approach with my younger sisters.

I was 2, by the way. Ellie was 3.

It took more than a day, and I still help out as needed, but she meets my criteria for being officially potty trained.

We’re so proud of you, Ellie.

Potty Training in Less than a Day by Azrin and Foxx

Dolls Do It Too

I'm back! The Summer Writer's Institute was amazing, and I'll be posting about it for the rest of the week. But in the meantime . . .

In retrospect, I should have guessed what was happening.

Ellie was playing by herself in the front room on Saturday afternoon, and, frankly, I was thrilled. I was still exhausted from my 2 weeks of writing-working-not sleeping and was grateful for a few minutes to read lazily on the couch in the family room while Paul, who has been doing most of the childcare around here, took a shower and rested briefly.

My angelic young daughter walked back into the family room, picked up her Miss Piggy potty book (Bye bye diapers/Bye bye smell/Bye bye cold wet wipes as well) and her favorite Dora doll, the one that talks and sings and lights up and absolutely cannot go through the washing machine.

"Ellie, would you like me to read you that book? Do you need to go potty?"

"No. Bye bye mama!" She headed back into the front room and played happily for several more minutes.

Then she brought Dora back into the family room and put her on the potty.

I came over to help, and to encourage Ellie to take a turn on the potty. I noticed a couple of things simultaneously. There was a gritty brown substance all over (in the potty Dora was sitting on, on Ellie's cheek and legs, on the floor around them) and something smelled really really bad.

The phone rang, and I grabbed it while trying to wrestle Ellie out of her clothes to see if she'd had a messy/leaky diaper. She did not.

"PAUL! Could you come out here and help a bit, please! I need you to take care of Ellie while I answer the phone and try to determine what stinks in here." I was not using my patient voice.

I went to the foyer and looked into the front room and immediately knew what the problem was. For the first time in many months, Lizzi had decided to use the front room as her own personal patch of grass. And she had been prolific.

Ellie had spotted the pile and taken advantage of it, putting Dora on top of "her" poop, then showing her how she should have gone in the potty.

I told the friend on the phone that we'd meet up with her a little later, rather than sooner. Paul took Ellie to the bath, then the two of them gave Lizzi a bath. I cleaned up the poop, vacuumed the floor, used a strong chemical spot cleaner, then used our little Bissell to wet clean the floor, then vacuumed again. Then Paul and I each changed into clean clothes, washed our hands, and we went out to dinner instead of staying in our recently disgusting house.

I worked on Dora with Shout wipes to no avail; she still reeks.

More No, Please

Today at school Ellie was . . . much like she's been at home for the last couple of days.

"Ellie was . . . I don't know how to describe how Ellie was today. Chatty! But mostly she just said, 'no!'" said Ellie's teacher when I stopped by to pick up Ellie from preschool.

"She went poo poo in the potty, but then she stood up, looked right at me, and reached her hand into the toilet! Later, when I was changing her diaper, I had to use the safety strap on the table because she just wouldn't lie still. Then she crashed and wouldn't even wake up for lunch until just a few minutes ago."

We're now in the stage of the antibiotics process when she will no longer tell me when she needs to go to the potty, or when she's gone in her diaper, because the cleaning up hurts so much. But the not-cleaning-up makes the problem much worse. So there are many tears. 3 more days of this . . . and lots of yogurt: yogurt in her oatmeal, yogurt in her dinnertime milk, yogurt for an afternoon snack . . .

We see her doctor again tomorrow, though. I'm going to ask her if it's possible that this hyperactivity and rough behavior is a symptom of the medication, or even of her illness itself.

Maybe she'll also be able to tell me why Ellie sometimes holds her arm to her chest and cries, "Arm! Arm!" like she's in terrible pain. Nursemaid's elbow? But no, she's inconsolable for a while, and then she forgets all about it in half an hour and uses both arms normally again. Odd.

It's shocking how quickly I've become accustomed to my walking, talking little Ellie. It's inconceivable that I wondered when she'd begin to talk. It's impossible that a mere 7 months ago I wondered if she'd ever be walking around the house or to and from the car independently. Amazing.

Reckoning

Today we got a little hint of what life must be like for some other parents.

See, Ellie didn't get to go to school all week last week. And we weren't out doing exciting things, either. She was sick, and we kept her (mostly) quietly at home. By today, she was climbing up the walls.

The morning began with a crash: she broke a lovely blue glass vase that we got for our wedding. The vase began a trend of people giving us blue glass presents, and my blue glass collection has moved as both it and Ellie have grown. From the dining room table to the bottom shelf of the tall cabinet Paul's grandfather made for us, finally to the top two shelves of the cabinet. Eye level for me. Ellie reached it by standing on the arm of an easy chair and yanking the beaded, tatted cloth that some of the pieces were resting on.

A little later, as I was changing a disgusting, antibiotics-related diaper, she reached out and grabbed it. My fault: I left it within reach. But she doesn't usually do that. Poopy hand.

See, when other people bring their children to our home, they start moving things around and noting obstacles. Our house isn't perfectly child-proofed. But it's child-proofed for us. We know what Ellie gets into and we've addressed those things. Mostly. When we started putting locks on cabinets, we did it one-at-a-time, as Ellie became fascinated by each cabinet in turn rather than exploring all at once.

But back to today.

When I needed a few minutes alone in the bathroom, Ellie laid down on the floor outside and started kicking the hollow-core door, hard, with both feet. Shod in sturdy Stride Rites and orthotics, natch. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

She got into cupboards she's not usually into and got out appliances she's not usually interested in.

She removed the cushion from the rocking chair in her room, climbed up on it, and pushed her floor lamp over. Then she climbed up onto her bed to better examine and dissect the workings of the lamp.

She decided to drink from the dog's water bowl.

She unplugged every cord she could find.

She went to Paul's dresser and pulled the top drawer down. Only her hyper-flexibility saved her from being crushed by it.

She was fascinated by the (gas!) stove while we were cooking.

She "climbed" down out of her booster seat by herself at dinner.

She broke the door off a wooden bench/cabinet.

She climbed up on the arm of a sofa to reach the cherrywood secretary, removed one of the drawers, and got out the stone coasters I'd "hidden" inside.

What's so disturbing is that one or both of us was right beside Ellie as she did nearly all of these things.

"There's no way tonight doesn't end in a trip to the emergency room," Paul said.

Now she's sleeping like an angel. No trips to the ER today. But I am so very glad that she's going to preschool tomorrow! She still has a cough and her energy level isn't back to normal - she crashes earlier for her nap - but she needs this outlet. And so do we!

As we were finishing up dinner, Ellie was playing quietly in the living room. She'd excused herself from the table earlier, as you might recall, by sliding out of her seat. She walked back in as we were finishing up, with something in each hand.

"CD?" she asked us politely. She'd thoughtfully opened the cases and obtained a CD for each of us. A Dr. Seuss album for me, and Ani Difranco's Reckoning for Paul.

Crawling Out from Under

. . . or Counting Chickens

Late Monday night I had my last episode, though I was still queasy and worthless all day on Tuesday. Ellie woke up for an emergency toddle shortly after 5:00 am on Tuesday, then kept us busy for a couple of days. Fortunately for all, Ellie didn't get as sick as I did, possibly not even as sick as Paul, who worked on through his bout with this junk. Also fortunately, she developed a strong preference for using the potty rather than a diaper. And, at the first opportunity, she brought me a pull-up rather than a diaper as if to signal that she's about done with this baby stuff.

Ellie was right as rain on Thursday, when I decided to get something else. I've had a lump in my throat for several months that I "affectionately" refer to as my snot clot. It abruptly decided to start causing problems, including progressive sore throat and rapid loss of voice. Today was even worse. But surely tomorrow will be better. And things are much less painful when I am very quiet and constantly sipping ice water.

So, the Blogger server that hosts this blog deciding to crash and be down all week was actually good timing. I wasn't here anyway. I hope that you all were out enjoying the wonderful weather!

After Labor Day

We had a wonderful weekend visiting my parents. On Saturday, the weather was perfect. It was sunny and in the upper 70's, with a gentle wind off the water to keep the bugs away. We had a picnic on the beach while Ellie played in the soft sand, then we wandered down to the hard-packed sand at the edge of the water. The tide was beginning to come in, and Ellie had fun splashing in the surf. She kept scooting forward to get wetter. Grandma walked her out to the first sandbar and helped her "jump" over the waves. If you've never seen Lake Michigan, if you've never been to the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, you can't understand the magnitude of this lake. The air was clear enough for us to see the Chicago skyline rising beautifully across the water. As always, we try to avoid looking due west. We all try to ignore "steel city."

Sunday was also perfect. The weather was overcast, and after lunch we headed out to Guse Christmas Trees. This was opening weekend for Guse's fall festival. The highlight was the enormous corn maze. This corn field - again, those not from farming communities might have trouble with the scope - was huge, 7 acres. We walked over 3 miles of trails before finding our way out. According the numbered map we were each given, we missed number 8. But we found number 6 about five times, so we figure we made up for anything we skipped. I just love the fall. Ellie slept in her stroller through the maze, so the highlight for her was the enormous sandbox of dry kernels of corn. Heaven.

This morning, Ellie got to go to the park for the third morning in a row. Then we visited some friends. While the adults were chatting, Ellie decided to stand right up in the middle of the room and walk to her daddy. Priceless!

Of course, she has yet another sinus infection and the trip back was a bit of a bear. But she's such a trooper. And despite our best efforts (read: inconsistency and laziness) she's making progress with her potty training. Now she tells us *before* she poops, and *as* she's peeing. A major step in the right direction!

Well. . .

Maybe not every single minute of it. For instance, my beloved lass has been using the last three mornings while Daddy has been leaving early for jury duty to push at boundaries.

This morning, for example, has been full of joyful exuberance including filling a smelly diaper and not telling me she needed to go until afterwards (and then clapping for herself with pride). Very soon after, on the changing table, she decided that it would be a great time to wiggle away from me and stand right up, wiping herself on the wall, then peeing all over herself and everything else. And if you think the changing table is bad, you should see when I try to change her on the floor. Whew.

And I still have to wrestle both of us into clothes and somehow get Ellie into her DAFOs (Ellie's don't come up so high and are not pink) and TheraTogs (this is a new experiment that I am not loving) yet this morning, then off to school and work. I hope Paul's trial finishes up today!

Now she's trying to figure out all the wiring around the computer by pulling it out and wrapping it around her neck.

Mischief!

I left Ellie to play in her room while I finished lunch this afternoon, since she didn't seem inclined to nurse or go down for her nap just yet. After a few minutes I realized that I was hearing a suspicious amount of silence, so I went to check things out. Ellie wasn't in her room, the guest room, or my room. Wait. Did I remember to close the door to the master bathroom? I don't believe I did. But it's closed now!

Ellie quietly scuttled across the hall to my room, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind herself. When I found her, she was standing at the bathtub playing with my soap, but she'd clearly already spent some time placing her tub toys in her potty chair.

Of course, she had recently filled the chair with a truly impressive quantity of poo and I'd lazily decided that thorough rinsing was clean enough and I'd get the seat with an antibacterial wipe this evening - after all, it's not like anyone touches the inside of the bowl, right?

That'll learn me. Lots of Dial on the hands and into the sudsy kitchen sink with the tub toys. Then more following Ellie around while my little monkey attempts to climb everything that will stand still long enough, from furniture to short stacks of books. I love this. Every minute of it.

Miracle Child

I never thought this was possible. Most days I don't really believe it. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

1) This morning, at my Bible study end of the year party, the babysitter left early and Ellie and 2-1/2 year old Trevor were left to fend for themselves while their mothers addressed postcards to every member of the church. They played together. Not parallel play - they played together. They rolled a ball back and forth. They fed each other cookies. They climbed over each other.

2) This evening during speech therapy, Ellie had a conversation with her speech therapist. "Mama!" Ellie said when I left to go to my monthly bookclub meeting. She smiled and blew me a kiss. Ellie's speech therapist - let's call her Mary - was trying to get Ellie to say, "Pop bubble."

"Eat," Ellie signed. Paul gave her a cracker. She ate it.

"Bubble pop!" said Mary.

"Eat," signed Ellie after vigorously shaking her head "no." Perhaps I should note that speech therapy falls right during dinner time and Ellie wasn't interested in her afternoon snack this afternoon so it's unsurprising that she might be hungry.

"Are we going to have to stop for some dinner?" Mary asked.

Ellie looked up at her very seriously and signed, "More."

"More what?" asked Mary.

"More Eat," signed Ellie.

3) Paul called me with some news a little later, after he and Ellie had eaten dinner. Ellie just got a new potty and we'd never used it before. She pooped on the potty tonight after dinner. Later, right before her bath, Paul put Ellie on the potty again. She peed. First two tries, two successes on the potty.

Where's that other shoe?