Things I have used to bribe/entice/reward my daughter for using the potty in the last five days:

• M&Ms
• Games on my iPhone
• Books
• Songs
• Congratulatory phone calls to
  • Daddy
  • Grandma
  • Grandpa
  • Aunt Rachel
• Pennies (for her “collection”)

We may be turning a bit of a corner, in that she has finally started telling me that she needs to use the potty. It is often a false alarm, but I’ve been praising her and thanking her for telling me, even if there’s no actual production.

Our first trip out of the house yesterday afternoon was not terribly successful.  We went to a playdate at a friend’s house, but it turns out to have been the most gargantuan playdate yet.  Our previous record for number of kids was 12, but yesterday was a whopping 18 kids, all but one under the age of 3.  It proved to be a bit much for Rebecca, who had two small and two larger accidents in quick succession.  She was clearly sort of trying to hold it, but also wouldn’t release when I scooped her up and sat her on the potty. Alas, work in progress.  And despite bringing a few changes, she rode home with no pants.  What can you do…

This morning, however, was much better.  She had a spontaneous ask-to-use-the-potty moment that, when I let her play a game on my phone in an effort to keep her on the potty for more than 3 seconds, actually resulted in success!  Yipee!  We then had a totally dry trip to music class (with one false-alarm potty request, and yes, I had the travel potty set up discretely in the corner), and followed it up with an accident-free stop at Starbucks.

Someday, I promise, I’ll stop writing about potty training…

O hai.

Guess what? Potty training hasn’t killed me! I’m not sure I yet believe that it has, in any way, made me stronger. But I’m not dead yet.

As I talked about on HDYDI today, we went for the cold-turkey approach with Becca.  I more or less followed the advice given in the 3-Day Potty Training eBook.  Saturday morning, we said goodbye to diapers and put her in underwear.  I was then glued to her side for the next three days.

Holy shit, is that exhausting.

So, I kind of pride myself on having fairly independent kids. While I’m obviously with them all the time, we get out to a lot of classes and activities where they can do their own thing. I don’t usually spend an entire day attempting to entertain them.

In order to really devote my attention to Becca, I sent M out with Daniel for as much of the weekend as possible.  M did a great job, took Daniel all over the place, and they really had a great time. I think it was a nice weekend for both of them, and I was glad to not have any extra distractions. I highly recommend doing the same if you find yourself trying to do potty boot camp with one kid and not another.

We did pretty much whatever she felt like doing. Stamps, finger painting, puzzles, books, an extra episode of TV here and there.  I really wanted to pick my battles selectively and not get into too many avoidable discipline situations, so it was kind of anything-goes for activities.  As long as it involved staying in the house.

Anyways, if I tell you the first day by the numbers, it won’t sound so bad: one success, three or four accidents.  Yep, that’s it.  My girl can, and does, hold it.  I suspect that, in the long term, this will prove to be a very good thing.  But in trying to train her, it doesn’t provide a lot of “teachable moments.”  It’s a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting… staring… asking… suggesting… building tension… and then an accident.  So, while there was not a lot of clean-up to deal with, there also was no sense of learning or progress.

And I had a wicked knot in my shoulder and tension headache. Apparently you hold your head in a weird position when staring at a 2-year-old all day.

Day two was, in a word, frustrating.  Again, she can hold it for hours, so it’s a lot of waiting for a single event. Still, not a lot of messes. But also not many chances for success and reinforcement.  It was particularly frustrating as I watched her squirm and dance around and stall and distract and delay around lunchtime, when I knew she needed to go. She sat on the potty several times, to no avail.  Forcing her to stay put seemed like the wrong approach, but as soon as she was happily playing with trains… accident.  Argh.

In the meantime, she was clearly a little stressed by this big transition, and/or had picked up on the fact that I was trying to choose my battles.  Her behavior went, pardon the expression, down the toilet. Sass, attitude, throwing things, grabbing things. I went back to our usual counting of poor behavior and things got a touch better.  But a late-day accident sent her into over-dramatic wails.  In a sense, I was sort of glad to see that having the accident bothered her, but the histrionics were really not what I was in the mood to deal with.

At the end of day two, I was beyond tired and frustrated and wanted to throw in the towel. After a little time to space out and cool off after the kids went to bed, I talked it over with M and we agreed that this is a no-going-back kind of approach. If we give up and do diapers again, we lose our credibility for the next time. Best to just suck it up.

Going into today, day three, I was both steeled and nervous. No longer could I send Daniel off for the day with M, so now I had both kids cooped up in the house for another day, only one of whom was potty training.  But we may be on the upswing.  Morning had two successes and no accidents.  The naptime Pull-Up was dry (yes, we’re using Pull-Ups for nap and bedtime).  There was a late-afternoon accident that I tried to prevent but didn’t quite make it, and then another success before bedtime.  Three-to-one, the balance swung back in the right direction. Plus, the kids could entertain each other, so I could simply supervise much of the time instead of constantly playing cruise director.

Still tired, but spirits improving. I hesitate to call it an unqualified win, as all of today’s successes were led by me. I have yet to have her just stop, tell me she needs to use the potty, and then do so.  It’s been a lot of me watching her for signs of pausing, agitation, or other clues that she needs to go.  Sometimes she’ll decide to give it a shot, sometimes not.

That said, I declare Rebecca done with diapers. We aren’t going back. It will continue to be a work in progress, obviously, but she is now in underwear during waking hours.

And, so help me God, we are leaving the damned house tomorrow.  All of this staying in goes completely counter to my entire parenting ethos.  Playdate, here we come.

I’ll bring a change of clothes.

I’m really just piling it on deep, this week.

We had a houseguest all week. A very nice, low-key friend, but an extra soul in the house nonetheless.

I had a nasty head cold.

A friend needed someone to watch her kids for most of the day, Wednesday. They’re friends of ours, and we go to the same music class on Wednesday morning, so I happily volunteered. At just before 7AM, I welcomed another pair of 2.5-year-old twins into my house.  I fed all four of them breakfast, took them all to music class, and then took them all to Starbucks (because it was cleaning-ladies day and I had to keep them out of the house).  I fed them all lunch, and miraculously got them to all take a nap at the same time.  And then wanted to fall down, dead.  They were all well-behaved and, despite my van resembling a clown car, the day went well. But holy crap was that exhausting.

Thursday, we went to Trader Joe’s and I decided to let the kids push their own carts. Daniel tipped his over five times, splitting his lip and prompting the nice manager to ask if I wanted a bag of peas for his face.  Instead, we got balloons. Which they spent the rest of the day fighting over.

Friday, I took the kids (by myself) to their first dentist appointment. As expected, Daniel was super outgoing and cooperative, if a little wriggly. I had made the appointment out of a concern for Daniel’s bite (turns out his front teeth simply do not come together when he bites down). Dentist says it’s a result of him chewing on his blanket, and will resolve itself when we get rid of the habit, which she didn’t seem to think was of immediate importance.

Rebecca talked a big game about it when we were at home.  Got to the office and she didn’t want to leave the lobby. Come to her turn in the chair and she had a complete freak-out.  At least when she’s crying, her mouth is open. So as long as I held her forehead in the right direction, the super-kind hygienist was able to do a quick teeth-cleaning.  It was great.

But, you know, I’m really not quite exhausted enough.

Tomorrow morning, M is going to leave the house as early as he can, and take Daniel to the museum. Because Becca and I are having potty-training boot camp this weekend.  That’s right. Cold turkey. Goodbye diapers. We’ve got the undies, the potty seat, and the M&Ms.  Wish me luck.

And if you don’t hear from me by Monday night, send a St. Bernard with a barrel of whiskey or something. I’ll be the one passed out in the corner.

Last weekend, we gave the kids their first taste of the theater.

Well, OK. Let’s not over-state things.  It wasn’t Hamlet.  It was Sesame Street Live. We went with a friend and her daughter, and I’m happy to report that it was a hit.

It had several good things working in its favor, of course.  It was Sesame Street. The characters were already familiar and beloved.  The show was clearly going to be on their level.  Also, the show we went to was at 10:30 in the morning – a perfect outing time for the afternoon-nap set.

I honestly wasn’t sure how to explain this idea to the kids as I tried to prep them for the experience.  “It’s a show. It’s Sesame Street. But not on TV. On a stage. (Oh, wait, you don’t know what a stage is.) Well, whatever. Elmo and Big Bird will be there.”  That was good enough.

They did a great job staying (more or less) in their seats, and in an auditorium full of young children, there isn’t much of a premium placed on keeping too quiet.

The show started with some pretty flashy lights and upbeat music, which was enough to send Rebecca into M’s lap.  There was some initial crying, followed by (her current favorite) hiding behind her hands, but eventually she peeked out. By the second half of the show, she was excitedly sitting in her own seat and watching intently.

Daniel, on the other hand, was enthralled from the get-go. True to his technical-director/set-builder/light-designer daddy, he was particularly interested in how the colors and shapes of the lights on the curtains kept changing.

Intermission was a good break to run around in the hallways, but all three kids were excited for it to start up again.  As the second act neared its end, the din in the auditorium went up as several hundred preschoolers hit the limits of their attention span.  And when Daniel had a meltdown on the way to the car, I can’t say I was entirely surprised.

As an adult, of course, it was a little weird and trippy to see Cookie Monster doing a cartwheel and Elmo shaking his groove thing, as well as a strange use of a Vanessa Carleton song.  But, hey, the kids had a blast. So if you find the Sesame Street gang is headed to a venue near you, I highly recommend checking it out.

Pretty much every day, my kids nap from around 1-3pm. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less (or, as in today, seemingly NOT AT ALL).  But generally, I have a 2-ish hour break in the afternoon.  As most other moms I know, especially those who are at home full-time, I live for naptime. I need the quiet time, I need the break from demands and tantrums.  Delightful and awesome though my kids can often be, we all know it’s exhausting.

As much as I love that time, though, it’s never ever long enough.  On any given day, for any given naptime, here’s what’s probably on my to-do list:

• Sew
• Shred
• Shower
• Laundry
• Dishes
• Blog/Email
• Catch up on DVR
• Sit still
• Read
• Clean
• Cook
• Sleep (almost never)

On a really good day, when I’m feeling efficient and the kids take an extra long nap, I might touch on two of those. Maybe three (Shred, shower, email).  And, obviously, I can only do things during naptime that I can do inside my own house.  I can’t go for a run, pick up groceries, or anything else.

No wonder I feel chronically behind.  If I use the time to exercise, then I’m not getting any sewing done.  If I use the time to sew, I don’t have time for a blog post. I can’t keep up with the very few shows that I like to watch.  And despite getting a Kindle for Christmas, I have spent almost zero time reading.

There isn’t exactly a solution, of course.  Sure, some of those things can be done when the kids are awake (throw in a load of laundry, prep dinner, etc.).  And many of them are hardly necessities.  But still… if only there were a few more quiet hours in the day, right?

About two weeks ago, the inevitable happened.

We had gone to visit my in-laws in Florida.  It was a late-night arrival, and while the kids stayed awake pretty much the whole flight, Daniel passed out while leaning on me as we made our descent.  I pulled him up to carry him, and he didn’t wake up. I picked up various carry-ons from the floor, slung them over my shoulder, and made my way out of the plane, and he didn’t wake up.  I put him into his cold, gate-checked carseat and buckled him in, not a peep.  Latched the seat into my mother-in-law’s car with him in it, nothing.  Took him out of the car, brought him inside, put him down on the bed, and pulled off his shoes and jeans, and still, he slept.

We plopped both passed-out kids into the mini-cribs that always await them in Florida, plugged in the GoodNite Lite, and hoped they wouldn’t freak out when they woke up in a strange place.

At the appointed hour of the nightlight wake-up, I heard happy chatter and got up to retrieve the kids.  The door was cracked open, and I could see a light on, much brighter than the yellow sun we brought with us.  “That’s weird,” I thought. “Maybe that light is on a timer? Or maybe my mother-in-law heard the kids before I did and is in there?”  Then the light turned off.

I opened the door, and there was Daniel. On the couch. Turning the light off and on (much to his grumpy sister’s chagrin).  I asked Daniel how he got onto the couch, and he happily described that the blue moon was on (the nightlight), but that he had a poopy diaper and he climbed out (blessedly, said diaper was still intact and latched to his person).

I had long suspected the kids had really outgrown these mini cribs, and was amazed they made it as many trips as they did without the self-propelled exit. I was glad he hadn’t tipped it over, with its somewhat high center of gravity.

But hey, we made it to almost 2 1/2 before our first incident of climbing out of the crib. And we haven’t had another one.  Here’s why:

1. Luck.  Not just luck in that my kids aren’t super persistent climbers, nor particularly mischievous as toddlers go, though that is certainly lucky.  And I’m not naive enough to think that they’re really listening that well when I say that climbing in and out (as Daniel still sometimes talks about) is dangerous.  No, we’re lucky that we bought the right cribs.

They’re from Babies R Us, nothing spectacular. As I recall, they were about the least expensive ones we could find that we didn’t hate.  What makes them awesome is that, at the lowest mattress setting, it’s so deep that the crib rails come almost to my 2.5-year-olds’ shoulders.  Other cribs we’ve used while traveling, even the full-sized ones at my dad’s house, come barely past their belly buttons.  No wonder most kids climb out so much younger: the mattress just isn’t deep enough!  Did I know this when I bought these cribs? Of course not. Dumb luck.

2. Engineering. You notice I said we’ve used other full-sized cribs (as well as pack & plays and mini cribs) before, and this was still our first (and, so far, only) climbing incident.  There was one other unusual circumstance when Daniel made the literal leap.  In his passed-out state, though I did manage to get his shoes and jeans off, I didn’t bother to put on his sleep sack.

Yep.  My kids are still in sleep sacks.  Have been pretty much every nap and every night since they were six months old.  Even when the cribs would seem to have made climbing easier, they still can’t quite swing that leg up, or get the traction on their feet.  And to that, I say, Hallelujah.

I’ve heard people say they stopped using sleep sacks because they worried about restricting the kids’ mobility, but I can assure you that my kids can do just about anything (except climbing) in those things.  Walk, crawl, whatever.  There’s a little bit of luck in this one, too, as my kids have never made any kind of consistent effort to get out of their sleep sacks, though I suspect they’d be quite capable of it if they tried.

Of course, this will all be coming to an end.  Sometime this year, we will bid farewell to our beloved sleep sacks (which don’t appear to come in a larger size than the XL they’re currently wearing).  We will pull off the front rail and turn those cribs into toddler beds.

But for now, they have warm toes, and there are no suspicious thuds coming from their bedroom. I’d better enjoy it while it lasts.

A few days ago, we got a little care package in the mail from my mom.  I suspect she was at Babies R Us, shopping for my sister-in-law’s baby shower, and couldn’t help herself.  The items were, to say the very least, a big hit.

Daniel adores his (it’s actually a set of Superman pajamas), and though he completely soaked the shirt at lunchtime, insisted on wearing the cape again after nap, so I ended up safety-pinning it to another shirt.  Rebecca had to be coaxed out of her “spinning dress” for nap, and asked to put it back on again within 30 seconds of waking up (though neither time did she want to remove her other clothes to put it on – it’s a onesie with attached skirt).  There was a major bedtime tantrum when she had to take it off for the night.

I honestly wasn’t sure if my kids were old enough for dress-up, yet, but I guess the answer is YES!  Rebecca and I went to Joann’s today and got some fabric to make a cape for her, too.  I suspect there’s some elastic and tulle in my future as well…

Well, OK, two years and five months, but whatever. As of this morning, I am back to the weight I was when I got pregnant. Three years ago.

This goal is only sort of a mid-point to me.  A good goal. An important one.  One that I’m proud to have achieved. But far, far from the end.

Five months ago, I weighed 226 pounds. Two hundred twenty six. There, I said it. It’s out there. You know. I can hardly describe how ashamed I am of that number, not to mention how long I sat there.  And how long I looked like this:

August 17, 2009. That’s me. HUGE. Horrified.  But however long it took, a switch flipped. Time for a long overdue change.

Weight Watchers, EA Sports Active, Jillian Michaels, my gym’s childcare room, the Shredheads, Twitter, and Couch to 5K. Five months. Twenty-six pounds.  And now I am here:

The thing is, I still weigh 200 pounds.  I am still, by all objective measures, fat. Obese, even. I’m way, way heavier than I ought to be. I am not proud of my weight. My body is distributed completely differently than it was the last time I was at this weight. So much more belly, now. And the loss of volume is revealing some rather alarming “twin skin.” I am not happy with where I am right now.

But.

While I’m not setting any speed records on weight loss, but it has been steady. In the 20+ weeks I’ve been counting, I have lost something all but about three weeks.  I am proud of that.  This weekend, I finally was able to buy some new jeans. It took more than 20 pounds, but I went down a pants size. I am proud of that. I am stronger, happier, more in control. I have not purchased a pint of ice cream since August. My kids see me put on my sneakers and say “you have on your exercising shoes!” I am proud of that.

I am proud of this:

And this is why you take a “before” picture. I hate mine.  It makes me want to cry.  But you know what? If I didn’t have it as a comparison, then today’s picture would also make me cry.  Putting them together lets me see progress, however gradual, however slow.

Onward.

I’ve already written about my current exercise/fitness goal, but I also need a new weight-specific goal.  So here it is: I want to have a BMI that is simply “overweight” instead of “obese.”  That’s 21 more pounds.  For a rough timeframe, I think I should be able to do it by June.

Bring it.

I’ve always been pretty bad at doing hair.  My own, someone else’s, doesn’t matter.  No creativity, no skill.  And, really, it has barely mattered. As someone who has had long, straight hair her entire life, I never needed to do much.  Wash it, brush it.  Throw it in a ponytail.  Eventually I mastered the double french braid, but that was more utilitarian than cute.

Well, now I’ve got a little girl.  A girl whose hair grew straight in front of her face.

And who thought barrettes, rubberbands, and the like were the tools of the devil, trying to steal her soul.

Eventually, she grew to accept the presence of the barrette. No idea why, just one day she got distracted and stopped screaming about it.

In fact, she started insisting on two barrettes. Every day. That she had to pick out BY SELF. That never, ever matched each other. Or what she was wearing.

I can’t imagine what possessed me to try to put pigtails in her hair, but I did it. Whenever I could distract her, I did it. Because it’s stinking cute.

And yet, all the time I had put into parting her hair to the side every night after bath, in the hopes that it wouldn’t fall in her face, meant that I now had to fight the part every time I tried to do pigtails. So we mostly stuck with the barrettes, which were alright, but annoying and always slipped out. Still a mess.

I even attempted a single ponytail, once. Kind of cute, but didn’t stay in.

I don’t know what took me so long to hit on the two half-ponytails. Duh! Keeps the hair out of the face, doesn’t fight the part. Genius! Trouble was, she still really preferred the barrettes, so I kind of had to distract her to let me do the ponytails.

Then, I realized something. She had become completely enamored of the barrettes themselves. She loved the accessory. She didn’t want ponytails, because she loved the barrettes. Duh, mommy! Ponytails AND barrettes!

And so, now that is our routine every morning. She demands ponytails AND barrettes, each of which she has to meticulously inspect and choose from the basket of hair accessories. And every morning, I have to practice my ponytail technique. I’ll figure this stuff out yet.

It was over four months ago that I began my most recent battle of the bulge. First, it was a wager among friends as to who could lose the most weight in a month.  I won (though I have yet to cash in my prize – dinner on them).  Then, a slightly larger competition amongst other blogging types, Biggest Loser rules (% of weight lost in 6 weeks). I came in second.

And then, in October, I became a Shredhead.  In addition to the ass-kicking provided by Jillian, I found a great support system via Twitter, and that has really helped carry me and push me throughout the fall.  Exercise became a routine. Weekly weight loss became the norm.  If it weren’t for that pesky 2 weeks in Chicago, I might have even made my weight loss goal (I’m close, just a few weeks later than I hoped).

I’ve started to get into a rut, though. A little bored with my exercise routine.  A lot of Shredheads, I noticed, took up running.  Oy, running. I have always hated it. I have always sucked at it. I’ve even tried the Couch-to-5K (C25K) program once or twice, and failed miserably. I’m not sure I made it to the second week.

But that Jillian, she gets into your head.  While still overweight, I’m getting a lot more fit. I started to think about running again. A 5K is 3.1 miles.  I can do that. I can do that.  So I decided to shake it up and do the C25K again. Treadmill, this time, to control my pace. Not that I planned on becoming a runner, but more as a straight physical accomplishment.  Something I should be able to do. Something I will do.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I do better if I have a goal in mind. A fixed point towards which to move.  Clearly, I need a race. One in the vicinity of the end of this training program.  Except, well, how many 5Ks are there in Massachusetts in March?  Seriously, it could be 75 or it could be a blizzard, there’s just no telling.

Enter the Shredheads, several of whom are running the Disney Princess Half Marathon in March.  In Orlando.  Oh… would you look at that… there’s also a 5K as a part of those festivities!  Florida in March is nice, not cold but not too warm….  And would you believe it, kids under 3 don’t need a ticket to get into the parks…?

Last night, I signed up.

I don’t yet know how exactly we’re getting there, where we’ll stay, or any of those other pesky details.

But I signed up for a 5K. In Disney World.  On March 6. Nine weeks from today.

I’m on week 4 of C25K, and that five whole minutes of running is kicking my ass.  Did I mention that there was ONE time, in high school, that I ran a whole mile?  ONE TIME. EVER.

I have lost my mind.  But, hey, I’ve also lost nearly all of my baby weight.  Might be an acceptable trade off.