Fair warning: this week’s post contains contents of a scatological nature. And for the unlearned, no that word has nothing to do with jazz vocal improvisations. Just read on.
As I mentioned before, one of Sam’s strongest, greatest passions right now is Thomas the Tank Engine. She loves watching the show and when we brought her home a board book featuring the titular train she went bonkers and wanted to read it over and over and over again for several days straight. Now, on a seemingly unrelated point, Sam has had some trouble grasping this whole potty training business. She’s actually okay with the wet works, if you know what I mean, but learning to put numero dos in its designated place is kind of a weak spot in her program. So, I decided to follow some solid (pardon the pun) sounding advice and turn one of Sam’s strengths, Thomas the Tank Engine, against her weakness, the proper placement of …you know. I learned this from an wise old Chinese man who was well versed in the art of war. You know the guy. He used to live down the street from me in Tulsa? Drove a bitchin’ black and gold Trans Am and always talked about getting his real estate license? Yeah, that guy.
What I did was go out on my lunch break and buy Sam another Thomas book, only held on to it when I got home that night. “Sammy,” I said. “I bought you a surprise. The next time you can go poo-poo in the potty, you can have a new Thomas the Tank Engine book.”
The result was a bit more dramatic than I had expected. Sam shouted “I want to go sit on the potty NOW!” and whipped off her pants and diaper like both of them were secured by velcro and she was a Chippendale’s dancer reaching the end of his act. Before I could respond, she was naked from the waist down and bolting down the hall towards the bathroom.
The problem was, of course, that she had already gone earlier that day and the nature of the gastrointestinal process conspired against her attempts at earning her prize. She tried, though, oh how she tried. By the time the dinner hour rolled around she was still sitting there with a look of staunch determination on her face. We had to coax her down from the throne by explaining that if she had a big dinner it might work in her favor. Especially if she ate all her vegetables.
Here’s this week’s pictures, none of which relate to the story above.
There are several there of Sam with her cousin Molly, to whom she owes a great debt for all the barely worn hand-me-down clothes. They were out with some other members of the extended family at the local botanical gardens, where they had some kind of kiddie area with water sports. Sam also had her first chance to lick mixing batters, which was an experience so thoroughly pleasing that it appears to have thrown her into a temporary state of shock.
So, given all the changes we’ve thrown at Sam in the recent weeks –new home, new city, the pay-per-potty program described above– we decided it would be a good idea to throw one more at her. Next week we’re finally moving into our new house here in our new city. After living out of suitcases for two months, it’s definitely about time. We thought we’d just go ahead and spring the upgrade to a “big girl” bed on Sam, so she’ll be spending her nights in the new place trying to sleep in her new twin bed instead of the crib, for which we have other plans. I fully expect carnage and frustration galore as she gets up in the middle of the night to roam the house and pull things off shelves. Either that or she’ll learn to work the remote control and we’ll wake up to the high volume, maniacal laughter of Elmo at 2:16 in the morning.
Wish us luck.