It’s real. It’s happening. And I have the forms to prove it.

My kids are starting preschool in less than a month.

The envelope I’d been waiting for showed up last Thursday.  A welcome letter. Details on start dates and phase-ins. 16 pages of emergency contacts, vaccination records, parental consent, and even a questionnaire about when they started sitting and crawling and walking and what their favorite foods are. Class lists with the names of kids I’ve never met before, and a quick count that shows the rooms to be more than 50% boys.

As a Montessori school, they’re really big on independence. And while I have long thought of my kids as fairly independent children, I’m suddenly realizing the things we need to work on them being able to do by themselves.  They’re mostly able to handle the potty by themselves, but seem to still want me to be a big part of the process. Still, without me there, I think they’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.

My bigger concern, actually, is the fact that they specify wanting the kids to be able to dress themselves. I know it’s developmentally appropriate, but it’s something my kids have never shown any interest in doing. I know, right? I don’t have that story of finding my 18-month-olds stripping all of their clothes off, nor do I find them post-nap wearing an odd assortment of pajamas, skirts, and socks on their hands.  Just not my kids’ thing.  So, now I’ve got four weeks to make progress on the self-dressing front. They’re looking at me like I’m nuts when I ask them to try putting their underwear on by themselves.

In the meantime, there are labels to affix to all of their shoes and shirts and jeans, new backpacks on their way, and I have to find a pair of non-character-branded slippers for them to wear in class.  We need to tweak our wake-up time and morning routine in the hopes of making it on time for school at 8:30, and maybe buy one more carseat so Daddy can handle drop-off sometimes.

Oh, and I need to come to terms with the fact that, after doing every single activity by my kids’ side for every single day of the last three years, they’re now going to have five mornings a week of learning and playing and doing all kinds of things without me.

You’ll understand if I’d rather focus on finding the right slippers than dealing with that particular reality.

I know I’ve made various claims about trying again to potty-train Daniel over the last few months, but the truth is that each was a half-hearted attempt that fizzled out as blandly as it began.  I didn’t have the mental fortitude to commit, and Daniel’s interest was passing, at best.

While I know there are plenty of kids, boys especially, who train at an older age, I was just plain tired of changing Daniel’s diaper.  It was clear to me that he was capable of using the potty, if perhaps a little under-motivated.  And, with preschool starting up in the fall, I know they would prefer that he be trained, so I at least wanted to make another serious attempt before then.

Sunday night, I looked at my calendar for the week, and then for the next six.  I realized we are completely between activities at the moment, and had literally nothing on the calendar for this week.  But, after this week, things start to really pick up again.  New classes, big outings, travel, the whole nine yards.  It was very obvious that this was the biggest stretch of free time we will have until probably mid-August.  Time to suck it up, Mama.

And so, this week has been Potty Boot Camp, Take 2 (or whatever “take” I’m on now, lord only knows).  The first day was, in a word, discouraging.  What bothered me the most is that the accidents didn’t seem to phase him in the least.  Especially the poop ones!  And there is nothing quite so delightful as trying to remove and clean a pair of toddler-sized underwear full of poop.  Wow.

But I changed my reward strategy this time.  No M&M jar (not only ineffective, but AWFUL for me to have them around), but a sticker chart.  Earn five stickers (and yes, I’ll give them out for as little as about half a teaspoon worth of pee in the potty), and you get a special treat.  Popsicle, ice cream, Trader Joe’s star cookies.  Your choice.  And to try to keep Rebecca invested in the process (and not resentful of the attention Daniel was getting), she got a treat when he earned his five stickers, too.  My little mama-girl thought it was great that she could “help teach Daniel to use the potty.”

And…

Progress. Dare I say, some enthusiasm.  Initially, there was certainly happiness over the stickers and the potential for popsicles, but a notable lack of disappointment when an accident would cause him to not earn a Thomas or Cars sticker.  But in the last day or two, I feel like I’ve noticed a subtle shift.  He seems to be shifting from “poop anywhere, anytime, in the undies, who cares?” to “save it for the naptime diaper.”  In my world, that’s a notable improvement, and one I can totally work with.  And, though he might sometimes poop in the diaper, I’ve noticed it suddenly staying dry…  This morning, as I was downstairs psyching myself up for an early-morning run, I hear a door and footsteps.  I waited.  A few minutes later, down comes Daniel, looking for me.  Pajama bottoms and (dry) diaper in hand, informing me he had gotten up to use the potty.

I could care less that it was 45 minutes before his Good Nite Lite was scheduled to turn yellow, that was a HUGE freaking breakthrough.

Other accomplishments this week include staying dry at: Trader Joe’s (where we have an unfortunate history of Daniel and poop accidents), the MOVIE THEATER (he sat through the entirety of Toy Story 3, told me he needed to use the potty with two minutes to go, and actually waited for the credits before we bolted for the bathroom!), and an entire morning at the playground.

It really feels like we’re turning a corner, thankfully.  And, to be fair, I think my mindset is different this time around.  The first time I did boot camp with Daniel, I had done the same with Rebecca only a couple of weeks earlier.  For one thing, she was relatively easy to train and I was able to back off of her relatively quickly, once I could tell she “got it.”  Daniel seemed to “get it,” and then had an enormous backslide about a week later.  I couldn’t handle all of that mess and the inability to go about our usual business, especially combined with the fact that Rebecca, while pretty reliable, was still fairly high-maintenance on the potty.

This time around, I barely have to think about Rebecca at all. She’s almost entirely self-sufficient on the potty and, despite a strange uptick in overnight accidents, is very low-maintenance.  Not only do I have a bit more energy to focus on Daniel, but I have also shifted the mindset and know that I’m going to have to stay a lot more proactive with him for a lot longer.  While I’ve noticed major improvements, he’s always been the kind of kid who gets very easily distracted and, when involved in one thing, kind of tunes everything else out.  So, if I’m constantly nearby and asking him if he needs to use the potty, and asking how the undies are doing (“clean and dry!”), he’s good about stopping and telling me.  If I leave him to do his own thing for a while, that’s when I’m more likely to see an accident.  Forgive the comparison, but it reminds me a line about house-training puppies in a book I read when I first got our dog: “If they have an accident, you’ve given them too much freedom, too soon.”  And while there are certainly more complexities to potty-training a kid than housebreaking a dog, there’s an aspect of that that rings pretty true.

Though, seriously, crate-training was awfully effective. Are you sure I can’t do that with toddlers?

I know this isn’t over.  I know he’s not going to be the same as Rebecca.  But I am cautiously optimistic that we are on a good path, and I’m very much hoping that the move to underwear is a permanent one.

My beautiful boy Daniel doesn’t have a ton of hair.  Though it came in earlier and darker than Rebecca’s, it seems to be growing and filling in quite slowly.  But I have noticed for a while now that he’s getting a little bit of the balding man’s mullet going on.  Despite not having a lot overall, the hair in the back and over the ears was getting long.  But it seemed ridiculous to take a child with that little hair to an actual barber.  So I committed the cardinal mommy sin and went out to buy a pair of scissors at the beauty supply store.  “Just a little trim,” I told myself.  Clearly, Daniel knew better than I did…

I sat him on a stool, M attempted to entertain/distract him, and my sister-in-law held the camera.  No, he wasn’t injured.  Though from the way he was carrying on, you’d think I was using those scissors to stab him in the back.

And you know what?  It looks like shit.  I mean, the mini-mullet that was bugging me is no more.  But there’s a reason people get training to cut hair.  And it’s so their hair doesn’t look like their idiot mother decided to do it herself.

So, for anyone thinking they’ll spend the $10 on a pair of scissors instead of $10 at the barbershop or kiddie salon?  Don’t.  Just don’t.  I’m resisting the urge to pick up the scissors and attempt to “even it out.”  I have come to my senses, and next time will just leave it to the professionals.

We were at our friends’ house, visiting and making dinner for them since they’re now expecting their third child.  Rebecca has been more and more confident with standing in the last week, and very insistent on me or M helping her walk around, but I wasn’t sure how soon she’d up and do it on her own.  Even when she was standing on her own, she preferred to do so while holding onto a beach ball.  I’m not sure why.

Anyways, yet again, animals provided the final push of motivation.  When she first crawled, it was in an attempt to chase the dog.  This time, she was already standing with her hands on our friends’ long-suffering cat.  The cat decided to go elsewhere, and Rebecca was so focused on it, that she just went right along.  We all cheered wildly, and proceeded to make her walk back and forth between us for the rest of the day.

Yikes!  A walker! We’ll see if she remembers her newfound ability tomorrow morning, or how long it takes her to just do it on her own.  I suspect it won’t be long and she’ll be tearing around the house on two legs shortly. That also busts my initial prediction that Daniel, though he crawled more than two months later than Rebecca, would be the first walker.  Ah well.  No rush, really!  I may have to bust out those little backpacks sooner than I thought…

The kids were great for our crack-of-dawn flight yesterday, and not long after arriving at my dad’s house, we decided to go out for lunch at a favorite old haunt.  Herm’s Palace is a burger/hot-dog joint that is practically like family.  In fact, my dad’s surprise 30th birthday party was held there, back when the original “Herm” was still alive, and before I was!  My dad and his buddies still go there all the time, though instead of the big Italian beef sandwich, he usually gets an “Epstein,” a heart-healthy chicken and pita dish that they all got together and created when heart attacks hit the group.

Anyways, they were so happy to see the grandkids, and toasted up a nice grilled cheese for them.  Scott, the son of the original owner, has been there forever.  He remembers your entire order without writing it down, repeats it perfectly to the short-order cooks, and whenever you get around to it (like after you’ve eaten), he repeats it again and adds up the total in his head.  Naturally, we had to get a picture with Scott to commemorate the kids’ first trip to Herm’s.

Rebecca and Daniel with Scott at Big Herm's

I think Rebecca is attempting her first bit of sign language.  Is it “mommy?”  “dog?” “more?”  Nah.  I think my daughter’s first word/sign is “fan.”  As in ceiling fan.  Not perfect form, of course, and you’d only recognize it if you’re really looking for it.  But if that girl sees a fan, that little hand goes up and starts twisting around.  I saw her do it with some prompting in our house, as there’s a ceiling fan in the room where we have the changing table.  But then she did it today at a store, totally out of nowhere.  She just looked up, saw the fan, and started twisting her little hand.

They’re full of imitation these days.  Raspberries are always a favorite, but you can also get Rebecca to do a little clicking sound with her tongue, and Daniel will work on emphasis with “ahhhhhAH.”  It’s a bathtime favorite.  But her quasi-recognizable sign for “fan” may be the first word connected consistently with its actual meaning.  Of course, it might be that she’s trying to tell me all sorts of things, like “da-da-da” means dog and “da-DA-DA-da” means “I prefer cheddar to mozzerella, thank you.”  But she’ll have to forgive me, I’m a little slow on the uptake.

But I’m going to go out on a limb and declare that my daughter’s first recognizable sign is, indeed, “fan.”  Now if she could just master “change my diaper,” we’d be in business.  I guess I have my motivation to keep signing to them, though.

It’s a friggin dental-fest in my house, and it’s all Daniel. Five-to-one! Rebecca’s single snaggletooth is now quite visible, and Daniel looks more like a vampire than ever. But I could tell the top-middle ones were close, and the first of those two cracked the surface last night. I swear, he’s going to have a mouth full by the time he’s a year!

Daniel decided he did not want his status as tooth front-runner to be in jeopardy. So in response to Rebecca’s first tooth three days ago, he decided to bust out tooth number four, the companion to his first fang.

I sure hope those middle two come in soon…

The score: Daniel, 3; Rebecca, 1!

Only 2.5 months after her brother, my girl popped her first tooth today. She’s been gnawing on M’s fingers something fierce, so it was only a matter of time.

As for the requests I’ve gotten for a picture of my son, Fang, I have to wait just a little longer for it to come in enough to show well in a photo. But believe me, it’s silly-looking.

I discovered yesterday morning, somewhat to my surprise, that Daniel has cut a new tooth (his third, Rebecca still has none). I suppose this isn’t a huge shock, as he’s been especially drooly and gnawing on everything in sight, but the budding tooth hadn’t been as visibly apparent as his first two. Or maybe I just wasn’t looking.

Anyways, it’s an upper tooth. But, interestingly, not one of the middle teeth. A lateral incisor, so it would seem, the one on Daniel’s left. It’s counterpart on the right appears to be on the way as well. Um, a little out of order there, buddy.

Either my son is getting fangs, or he’s just going to look like an old man or a hockey player, missing his front two teeth. Nice. That’ll be cute.