I had to share this because it made me laugh out loud. Last night, when I was reading my weekly Preschooler Bulletin email from Babycenter, one of the top headlines jumped out at me (see the green arrow below). The New Spanking: Hot-Saucing.
I laugh because it is not so new in my eyes. You see, my parents were pioneers of this discipline tactic! And, before you get the wrong idea, I fully endorse it (when used appropriately – ONE drop of MILD sauce, people). My brother and I were never spanked or smacked or switched. Instead, we were “hot-sauced” as this article calls it. I only remember being “sauced” when we used bad language (stupid, idiot…you know, words you use to describe your sibling when you are between the ages of 8 and…well, now.) As soon as she was aware that the word exited our lips (thanks to a tattle), Mom would get the bottle of Tabasco and place a drop on our tongue. I liked this discipline. It was way more comfortable than what I had heard about spanking, and much better than taking my phone privileges away. And today, wouldn’t you know, I love all things spicy? I put hot sauce on EVERYthing. Everything. So, when I saw this article, a sense of fiery pride rushed through my spicy veins — my parents broke new ground in the world of discipline! They were Hot-Saucing Pioneers! I am forever grateful for them sparing my toosh, to instead tame my tongue. Thank you, Mom and Dad.
Taylor has been doing really well with the termination of her “papi” (Taylor-slang for pacifier). She only gets it at naptime and bedtime, and doesn’t even ask for it other than that. When she wakes up in the morning, before we even leave her crib-side, she spits her pacifier out into her sea of stuffed animals. She sometimes even leaves her blankie behind if she thinks that her stuffed turtle is having a bad morning. It’s pretty cute.
In the “early days” of the paci extinction, she was a sneaky little tot. She’d disappear for a minute, then nonchalantly come out with the paci in her mouth. I’d quickly snatch it away and deposit it back in its home (the crib). I learned quickly that I had to hide her pacifiers under her blanket, on the side of the crib that she can’t reach from the outside. I’m a smart cookie. Anyway, Jimmy’s parents sent this comic series to us the other day and it totally reminded me of Tay. Love it.
Taylor loves Elmo. And Dora the Explorer. But, she adores Elmo. So naturally, we’ve used the fuzzy red guy in the scheme to potty train and to handle paci-withdrawal. So far, the paci-weaning has not been too bad. She whines for it only when she’s cranky or bored. We’ve totaled about four Category 5 tantrums so far. At home, I can usually distract her onto other things, and she forgets before her eyes pop from her head and her ears begin to steam. But, in the car, when her mind begins to wander to paci-land, I try to rationalize with her. When she asks for it, I tell her ‘baby Elmo has your paci because he’s a baby. Isn’t it nice of you to give your paci away to your favorite little baby. You’re a big girl, not a baby. Elmo loves big girls.’ And on and on. Well, she’s not having that.
Exhibit 1: In the car on Saturday…
Taylor asks, “Mommy, paci?”
I answer, “baby Elmo has your paci, sweetie”
“Nooooooo,” says Taylor
“Yes, sweetie, Elmo is a baby and he needs your paci”
To which Taylor responds, “no, Mommy, me baby! My paci.”
Apparently, there is a limit to Elmo-love. So, we sang the ABCs all the way to our destination to keep her mind off of her paci. And that worked. This whole parenting thing sure develops your creativity. Thank goodness for my right brain-iness.
PROCEED READING AT YOUR OWN RISK.
POTTY TALK BELOW.
Now, the status of the potty. We had a HUGE success on Saturday when Tay made poopy in the potty. WHOOHOO! There’s a little disclaimer to it though. I know what my baby looks like when she’s “making a deposit.” I grabbed her, ran to the bathroom and placed her on her Cushie Tushie throne. So, she didn’t instigate seeking the potty, but it was a successful deposit nonetheless. We had a HUGE celebration. I have never been so excited to see poopy. I think I actually scared her with my screaming and 900 hugs. So, that was very exciting. But, the tinkle part is much more difficult. I never know when she has to tinkle. It just happens. After talking with a few experienced potty trainers, we implemented Operation Elmo on Sunday. We went to the store and made a big deal out of buying her first pair of Elmo panties (and some Dora ones too). We got home, explained that ‘we don’t pee pee on Elmo’ and dressed her in her new panties. We asked her every 10 seconds or so (no exaggeration) if she had to go potty. She’d usually say “nope” and continue on. But, every once in a while, she’s say “yes.” We’d drop what we were doing and SPRINT to the bathroom. She’d get her Cushie Tushie off the rack in the cabinet, pull up the step stool, lift the lid, ask for help to get on the potty and sit down. She’d instruct you to sit down on the floor and she’d begin to sing “Tinkle tinkle little har, ha ha ha ha ha…” and sway her head from side to side. She’d say “all done” and hop down. But there was never any tinkle in the potty. She just liked the process. We did this for about 3 hours last night. My thighs got a great workout, but, alas, no tinkle success. We had several accidents, which occurred between the every 10 seconds that we’d ask. Seriously. The child peed five times, totally on cue between the times that we’d ask if she had to potty. There was one time, about 3 hours in, that Jimmy was on tinkle duty and she had an accident. (We agreed that we NEVER want to show any sort of frustration towards her as she learns – which, by the way, is really hard!). I overheard Jimmy, as the accident was occurring, gently tell Taylor, ‘No, baby, we don’t tinkle on Elmo. He can’t swim.’ I had to muffle my laugh.
So, there you have it. It’s only been two days, but Operation Elmo has not been successful thus far. Taylor does not care about Baby Elmo needing her paci because, DUH, she is a baby too. And, apparently, she does not care for his sanitation or safety because she drowns him in pee. I’ll keep you posted on our progress. Prepare your snorkel, Dora, you’re next.
Not surprisingly, we kicked off the weekend with a small natural disaster. Tornado Taylor gusted through the living room, forcefully knocking a barstool to the ground. Thankfully, all evacuated safely…except for her pinky finger. The tiny victim was squished between the metal leg of the stool and our hardwood floors. The little limb survived, but is now a beautiful hue of blackish-purple. According to her Paramedic Uncle Matt, it’s just a bad bruise. Phew.
On Saturday, we had an intervention. First, a little bit of background: Taylor is a great sleeper. She goes down for naps and bedtime with no problem. If she ever squeals after we leave the room, it means she either threw her paci or blankie out of the crib. We go in, put it back in the crib, and she’s good to go. Another bit of background: my child is a nude baby activist. When we get home from school, she takes off her clothes and screams “naked!!” She naps naked, she plays naked, she eats naked. I’m sure you’ve noticed, since most of her pictures are in the nude. Jimmy is concerned that this will continue into her teen years and she’ll think it’s acceptable to strip naked while out to dinner with her dates…
OK, back to the story. On, Saturday afternoon, I put her down for her nap. She played for a while, then started yelling. I went in, expecting to find her paci or blankie on the floor. Instead, I found a buck-naked toddler standing in the crib, looking at all of her stuffed animals, pacis and blakies on the floor. Apparently, she was streaking through her crib and all of her friends and valuables jumped overboard. We sat her down, with all of her stuffed friends, and had an intervention. We placed her diaper back on, and had a heart-to-heart about her bare-booty obsession. Back to naptime it was, and back to stripping she went. Long story short, after some advice from Tiffany, I think we found a simple solution. Put bloomers on her at naptime. When she still feels naked but doesn’t have easy access to her diaper, she stays clothed. It worked on Sunday. I’ll keep you posted if we have any future problems with her nakie baby activism.
Never a boring weekend in the Brady house!
Filed under: Parenting
If you have a child that has a history of scratching, biting, punching, slapping and/or kicking a friend or loved one, you are not alone. This is very important to Mothers like myself. We sometimes feel ostracized…abnormal…like we’re bad parents because we have crazy kids. No longer. I found a blog written by a Mother very similar to myself. Not only did she experience a tragic miscarriage a few months ago, but she has a wild and crazy toddler as well. She is wonderful. She cracks me up. She writes about all of her feelings, specific to her tragedy, specific to her toddler, specific to her regular day-to-day life, all in a lighthearted and relate-able manner. Everybody needs to laugh. And everybody needs to feel normal. Her blog is listed as one of my favorites in the column to the left. And here is the link to my most recent, favorite post. Looks like Taylor is not alone in the world of Ultimate Toddler Fighting.
This weekend was my first call to 911. And my first experience with Poison Control. Taylor made her way into the drawer on the changing table, which is where I keep (well, kept) her diaper creams and other ointments. After scaling the furniture, she grabbed a tube of gel used for healing bruises, something we used post-Toilet Repelling. She chewed on the tube and punctured it with her two bottom teeth, causing the medication to explode in her mouth. She came to me and said “Eh” with her mouth open, full of gel. Fear rushed through my body. I grabbed her blankie (the closest cloth-like material) and rubbed off her tongue, gums, cheeks, teeth, lips and everything else. The tube said “For external use only. If ingested, call Poison Control immediately.” Being the poison-virgin Mother than I am, I did not have Poison Control’s phone number on speed dial. (And, for the record, would it be too much to ask for companies that have this warning on their labels, to put the phone number on the bottle? Like “Call Poison Control. We know you may be panicking, Moms, so here it is for your reference: 888-222-1222.” I guess that just makes too much sense.) So I called 911, stuttering, begging for Poison Control’s phone number. The calm dispatcher quickly gave me the number. I called and got the most wonderful woman on the line. Patty. Her voice was so soothing. Miraculously, her questions didn’t send me further into a panic. She actually kept me from hysterics. Long story short, because we were convinced that Taylor didn’t swallow too much, if any, we didn’t get sent to the ER. Thankfully, my child did what she does with all food, she spit it out and showed it to me. I was instructed to watch her for a few hours, check her mouth for blisters and not let her lie down for fear of vomiting. Our resilient child was back to jumping off furniture and torturing the dogs in no time.
It was a scary Saturday evening that taught me a few things. 1. Put Poison Control’s number on speed dial. (Do it now, if you haven’t already.) 2. Lock up ALL medications, from Butt Paste to Benadryl. No matter how far out of reach you think you have them, toddlers are part-monkey and can tarzan-swing their butts into anything and everything. 3. Finally, even though I’ve seen my child fall face first onto numerous surfaces, come close to losing a limb or two, and, now, ingest a poison, I am still no where near being a calm, cool and collected mother in times of distress. Practice does make perfect though, so I’m sure I’ll be a pro in no time. Thanks, only, to Crazy Tay.
Filed under: Parenting
I need more therapy. After chicken chunks being catapulted at my face, pineapple smeared on my hardwood floors, dinner rolls thrown at my dogs and green beans splattered on my walls, I decided it’s time to go back into session. Please help me tame my toddler at mealtime. Right now, she gets naked for all meals and, when she’s done creating a masterpiece on her arms and belly with chicken and veggies, she gets sprayed down. I’m OK with the mess. It’s the fact that she doesn’t eat ANYTHING at home. At daycare, they say she eats seconds and thirds at every meal. I thought, maybe she’s not hungry. So, we moved dinnertime back to just a little before bedtime. We’ve also tried all different types of foods, tried her eating with us and without us, tried suction plates, tried taping her food to her highchair (see evidence above) and performed all sorts of silly sound effects as the spoon enters her mouth. No matter the circumstances, she will not eat a bite. I’m getting tired of mopping the pineapple sheen off of my floors and picking cheese out of Curby’s coat three times a day. So, please tell me. How do you get your toddler to eat?
The weekend of the 4th was fairly uneventful, and we were elated. Tay had very few emotional fireworks, just an occasional short-lived sparkler and forgettable bottle rocket, resulting in minimal smoke from her ears. So, no major Taylorworks show at the Brady household — success! Maybe it was due to the fact we had no major plans, we relaxed a lot, and Jimmy and I have been working very hard at perfecting our tantrum prevention/control techniques. And it showed.
Our key to success — consistency. We ignored the pointless explosions until they fizzled away, and, eventually, the duration shortened. And, we were very firm in our timeout policy for the intentional bad behavior. We also put a lot of thought into tantrum triggers. One of the biggest ones was dinnertime. We determined that she’s much happier sitting at the big table with Mommy and Daddy as we eat our dinner. And I like not having to wait for dinner until 8pm when she goes to bed. The past three nights of dinner have resulted in no tears and very few pieces of chicken stuck to the wall. So, the tantrums are getting better. Thanks to the Toddler Therapy, good advice, a lot of Mommy/Daddy love, and a long, peaceful weekend. Here’s a few photos from our one outing of the weekend — a cookout at The Yerdon’s. Good times!
“Well, heeeeeeey friend!”………………Taking the sports car out for a drive
Tay and Alex, fighting over the older man
Filed under: Parenting
I am starting a new series on this blog entitled Toddler Therapy, a series of posts that will hopefully help myself and other parents of toddlers in coping with the terrible twos. After searching the internet and racking my brain for ways to prevent and handle the many toddler freak outs that we’re experiencing these days, I have realized that my most helpful source of ideas (and peace of mind) is this blog — a direct channel to other parents in my boat. As new issues arise, I will post about them, sometimes post polls about them, as well. I beg of you, if anyone has any suggestions, PLEASE let me know. Because if I’m writing about it, it means that I need Toddler Therapy. Or, if you don’t have an answer to the problem, just let me know if you are going through the same thing. Sometimes, it’s just nice to hear that this is normal.
This therapy series is my best effort at helping Taylor through a rough stage of communication frustrations and desire for independence; training Jimmy and I to become the helpful Mommy and Daddy that she needs; as well as ensuring that she makes it to her third birthday. Let the therapy begin and the grey hairs subside.
Toddler Therapy Session 1: Tantrums
The word “no” sets her off every time. “No, we don’t throw Mommy’s Blackberry on the tile floor.” “No, we don’t stick our wet hands in electrical outlets.” “No, we don’t eat rocks.” “No, we don’t throw pasta at Mommy.” All of these statements send Taylor into a full on conniption fit. Banging hands on the floor, don’t touch me, five minute minimum, wailing conniption. So, my question: how do you handle tantrums? Every article that I read gives conflicting information. “Ignore them, your attention will just reinforce the fit.” “Don’t ignore them, it will lead to attachment and behavioral issues in the future.” I won’t bore you with the rest of the advice because you’ve probably heard it all too. So, what to believe? What’s the best way to handle tantrums?
Check out these bizarre (yet kind of brilliant?) Inchworm shoes (or “shooooooooes” according to Taylor) that grow with your kids’ feet. All you have to do is push a button on the side of the shoe, pull on the toe, and presto: You’ve got a larger shoe for your child’s growing-bigger-every-second feet. They’re not a bargain—the “Crawler” model, the most stylish one (in my opinion anyway), is $79. But I might cough up that much for sneakers Taylor wouldn’t outgrow 10 minutes after I bought them. Plus, she’d definitely be the coolest adjustable Turtle on the playground.
Peanut and Poppy 