Poopy Problems

Abbie's potty training is coming along well. I'm confidant that she's progressed to beyond the point of liquid accidents. When she's doing something fun like watching Dora or watching Diego,* she knows to hold it. That way she can release it while she's sitting on the potty to stay clean, or occasionally she releases it when the television goes off to express anger. Either way, it's an intentional release of liquid.

Solids are a different matter. She still has no idea how to poop in the potty, or how to poop anywhere besides her pants. She tries. She sits on the potty. She grunts. Sometimes she toots and triumphantly exclaims, "I pooped in the potty!" There are never any solids in the potty, though.

I asked her pediatrician for hints on teaching her to use the potty. Most of his advice involved a bacchanalia for bowel movements on the potty. That's a great step two, but we still need help getting her to poop properly in the first place.

I've heard that we need to anticipate when she'll poop, figure out when in the day it happens, and make her sit on the potty until she does it. I mentally tracked her poop times for a few weeks without finding a pattern. Over the past few days, though, I've found a fairly specific time of day that she poops. That would be great news, except the time she poops is naptime.

About half the time I walk into her room after naptime, I discover that she pooped. In the best case scenario, that's frustrating because it's a missed teaching opportunity to find a load in her pants. In the real world, that's frustrating because the load is always in the carpet. And maybe the bed. And sometimes the walls.

Abbie hates having poopy pants. I can't blame her for that, but I can blame her for immediately removing those poopy pants instead of getting me to help her. Abbie may hate wearing poopy clothes, but she doesn't mind being surrounded by poopy objects. The result is I find a nice clean Abbie after naptime standing on a nasty carpet.

So I'm adjusting her naptime routine. Today I sat her on the potty before naptime, and emphasized the importance of pooping. Before I left her in bed, I reminded her to come get me if she needed to poop. When she howled in protest a few minutes later, I rushed to her room, found it still clean, and sat her on the potty again. I returned her to bed, and continued talking about proper pooping procedure. When I heard silence from her room for several minutes, I assumed the best.

15 minutes later she howled again. I rushed into her room to find poop everywhere. Then I howled.

* That's a near complete list of the activities she enjoys anymore.

Hobble King

My mother was in town this weekend, and that means one thing:* A trip to the fast food restaurant playground.

My mother always likes taking the kids to a restaurant playground, and for good reason. The kids love the food and fun, and the adults love not having to listen to the kids complain about being hungry and bored. It's win-win until I have to admit how many trips we make a week to a fast food restaurant.

The problem with a playground on this visit is Tory's leg. It's still in a cast, and, theoretically, still broken. Too much physical activity could risk further injury to his leg. Maybe just as bad, a bulky cast could leave him confined to his seat while his siblings taunt him with screams of joy from the top of the slide.

Tradition is tradition, so we loaded the kids in the car and drove to the restaurant for lunch. The taunting began right after we walked in the door as the children with two good legs sprinted for the playground while I held Tory tight in line for food. Tory did everything in his 2.5-year-old frame's power to join his siblings in the playground, but I didn't want him on the playground unless I could watch him closely.

With food on a tray in hand, we walked to the seating area next to the playground, and I prepared to let Tory loose. The playground has a strict socks policy, no shoes or barefeet. I didn't see a rule against casts, though, so I slipped a sock on his good foot and let him go. I thought letting him play with his cast might be a bad idea, that his rock hard cast might hurt the equipment or another child. He was halfway up the steps before this thought entered my head, so I shrugged and hoped for the best.

Tory seemed to do well. He made it up and down the slide a few times with no screaming from him or innocent bystanders. I watched him hop feet-first off a two-foot platform, and fully expected him to scream in agony after re-injuring himself. Instead he stuck the landing like Shawn Johnson, and cheered wildly for himself.

I carried him back to the table to eat, and he stayed there for most of the rest of the visit. I think all the hobbling sapped his strength, leaving him happy to sit and eat. He may have also realized that climbing isn't much fun with a dead-weight for a leg. Either way it was good to see him moving well and without signs of pain. That makes me think his leg is healed, and he should have no problem after the cast comes off on Friday. At least I hope he doesn't have any problems because he'll keep jumping off furniture regardless of the risk of injury or re-injury.

* That I'll admit to publicly.

The Arts

We visited The Des Moines Arts Festival today. This is a major national art festival attracting dozens of top-notch artists eager to show their wares to a culture-hungry public.

As an adult, I love art; I love seeing new methods of melding color, shape, and texture. Younger ones who might still be mastering identification of the triangle can't appreciate art on the same level since all displays of color, shape, and texture are new to them. This art festival realizes this, and provides an array of interactive art projects for the kids, as well as numerous vendors of fried foods for when the kids get cranky.


We took Abbie to the arts festival, but left the boys with a friend. Abbie can complete simple art projects. The boys could complete simple art projects as well, but I don't think they could wait patiently in line while several kids ahead of them complete their project.

We arrived at a row of two dozen children's art booths, each operated by a different local organization and presenting a unique project. I was thrilled that we could keep Abbie busy for hours with art projects at the festival, but quickly realized that half of the booths offered little more than crayons and a coloring page.

We found a few worthwhile booths, though. The local horse racetrack and casino gave kids cardboard horseshoes to decorate with glitter. That gives kids a pleasant connection of spending time at the racetrack instead of the one involving daddy crying. A rustic resort offered "fish painting," which involved pressing a paper against a large fish-shaped sponge soaked with paint. It sounds disgusting, but at least Abbie enjoyed squeezing paint out of it. Several booths had temporary tattoos, which provided Abbie with several minutes of entertainment while she peeled them off.

When Abbie's patience ran out, we bought her a hot dog and fries from a food vendor. Half the fries disappeared within 45 seconds. When I took them away and told her to eat her hot dog, she protested. The hot dog stayed on her plate until I informed her she would get no more fries until she finished it. 30 seconds later, the hot dog was gone in a maneuver that bordered on performance art. So maybe the art festival sank into her a little.

The Middle

Abbie started her evening by smearing poop all over her room during what was supposed to be naptime. Abbie finished her evening by throwing a large toy car at Ian's face. The middle wasn't much better.

Dr. No

Abbie seems to have finally mastered usage of the word, “No.” Until recently, the closest she would give us to a negative response was to ignore us and hope we’d forget. As annoying as it is to hear “no” all the time, her new word has some useful applications.

“Abbie, do you want yogurt for lunch?”
“No.”

That exchange tells me not to waste time and food opening a container of yogurt.

“Abbie, do you need to use the potty?”
“No.”

That tells me not to bother with the bathroom. Either she doesn’t need to or doesn’t want to use the potty. Either way, it’s also a good heads up to have towels ready just in case.

“Abbie, it’s bath time.”
“No!”

Notice that one isn’t a question, so she’s learned to apply her word across multiple situations. This direct defiance might seem like one of her more annoying uses, but I can turn it against her. By interpreting her word as “now,” it reinforces the urgency that she needs to get in the tub before she stalls bedtime until 10pm again. Plus, it’s really annoying for her when I don’t understand what she’s saying, so hopefully she’ll get the hint that annoying isn’t fun.

Put Me in the Zoo

Here is a pictorial of today’s trip to the zoo.


Mommy and Abbie had to cross a rickety bridge at the front of the zoo. Ian and Tory had to watch from the wagon because there was no way I was taking something with wheels on that bridge.


I’m guessing most four-year-old girls would freak out being so close to a couple of boa constrictors. Not ours, though. This guy was slithering when we found him, giving us a chance to watch his asphyxiating muscles work.


Abbie watches the non-rubber duckies.


Ian is staring at the caimans. The boys loved the caimans. They knelt down and giggled at them, which made me glad that glass wall was separating them.


Abbie and Ian are staring at jellyfish, an aquatic creature I guarantee I will never try to keep in one of our home aquariums.


A sea otter is showing off for Ian and Abbie. The otter swam like this in a figure-eight for a few minutes, much to the delight of Ian and Abbie. Tory stayed locked in the wagon because his cast shouldn’t touch the wet ground, and was furious at our decision.


The kids are watching a peacock. I’ve seen peacocks running loose in many zoos. Someday, one of our kids will catch one of them. Hopefully the damage will be repairable.


Ian watches an emu, or as we had to refer to it, a rhea. Thanks to the “Go, Diego, Go!” episode “Rhea is an animal rescuer,” The kids were convinced that this large flightless bird was a rhea. When a helicopter flew overhead, they warned it to turn into a bush. The emu was not amused.


Here comes the train to take us on a tour of the zoo. The kids would’ve been happy taking a tour of the golf course next door, just as long as they could ride a train. Ian’s fuzzy scalp waits in the foreground.


Everyone is waiting patiently for the train ride to start. Abbie looks dejected because a four-year-old can only wait so long. In case you’re curious, I should be between Abbie and Ian in that seat, but I stepped off for a second to take a picture before we started moving.


Abbie and Tory are watching the sea lions swim below.


The zoo had a great deal. For $5, we got six graham cracker-like treats to feed the giraffes. Here Ian is enjoying the experience immensely, and mommy is enjoying it more than I think she’ll admit.


Tory got a little closer to the giraffe than we’d like. Abbie was too terrified of (or possibly just grossed out by) that huge black tongue to get close to the giraffes. I can’t say I blame her.


Tory is pointing out the elephants. There’s a baby elephant standing, a mommy elephant lying down, and a brave keeper brushing them.

Four-Year Physical

Today was Abbie’s four-year physical. For me, this was a crucial chance to catch problems with her development before the all-important pre-kindergarten year. For Abbie, this was a crucial chance to recuperate pain-free before her final set of immunizations at the five-year physical.

Physically Abbie is developing well. Her height and weight put her in the 65th percentile, which means we’re just barely breaking the size regulations when we strap her into a car booster seat. Her blood pressure is fine. Her chest sounds are fine. Her gross motor skills are fine, and I hope the doctor understood my answer between the laughter when he asked if she could jump. Abbie routinely jumps from furniture and off playground equipment, and unlike Tory, she knows how to land too.

Mentally Abbie is, um, developing. The doctor was impressed by the amount of speech she used. I didn’t even realize she was babbling during the check up until the doctor mentioned it, so I was impressed by the amount of her speech I’m able to tune out. Potty training is still coming along, and the doctor reassured both of us that it’s hard. Abbie had a chance to show off her mastery of shapes, but when she refused to tell the nurse that she was pointing to a star everyone had to take my word for it that she knows the name of every marshmallow in Lucky Charms.

Our home routine needs work, though. I’ve always been proud of limiting sweets to my kids. When I told the doctor that she drinks about 4-ounces of juice daily, I got a thumbs-up. When I revealed that she also drinks untold ounces of sugar-free powdered drink mix daily, I got a thumbs-down since that stuff counts as juice. She should drink milk instead, which was what she was drinking before the doctor told us she was drinking too much milk at the last physical. We also eat fast food too often, and fried and/or processed foods too often. We’re guilty as charged, but I get desperate since Abbie’s list of acceptable entrees consists only of macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, and chicken nuggets. At least I make her get some apples when we eat fast food.

After the doctor finished offering advice, I rounded up Abbie and headed for the door. As I grabbed her hand, the doctor asked if I wanted to give her her five-year immunizations. It turns out she can have those any time between ages four and six. I shrugged and said, “Why not?”

Abbie’s legs were stiff tonight from the four shots. For consolation, she ate chicken nuggets for supper. Those nuggets came from our freezer so at least they didn’t count as fast food.

Another Milestone

Tory can now climb into his high chair unassisted. His cast doesn't stop him from doing anything, it merely slows him down.

Talk to Me

My children haven’t developed language skills like I expected. I knew they’d learn short words first, progress to longer words and phrases, and finally culminating with sentences carefully crafted to annoy me like “But everyone else is going” and “Can I have the keys to the car?” I figured the button-pushing phrases wouldn’t appear until the teen years, but I thought I’d be able to hold a conversation with my children by now.

I’m still waiting on the conversation skills. The kids don’t answer questions well, and most of their longer phrases are copied straight from elsewhere. If I ask them how to stop Swiper, they know the answer is “Swiper no swiping!” If I ask them where they left their pants when they disrobed, they answer with blank stares.

Ian was copying a routine from Diego tonight. “I’m Ian,” he said substituting his name for Diego’s. “What’s your name?” He repeated this a few times before I caught onto it and answered.

“I’m daddy, what’s your name?” I asked to continue the conversation.

“I’m Abbie,” she said picking up on it. “What’s your name?”

“I’m brother,” said Tory. We’ll keep working on his conversation skills.

Carnival Time

From left to right, Ian, Mommy, and Tory preparing to ride the merry go round.


Abbie is also ready to ride the merry go round, possibly the Greatest Ride Ever for her.


Tory is loaded into an elephant ride and refusing to look at the camera.


When we let loose the kids on the elephant ride, they split into three separate cars. As the other children filled the ride, only Ian was fortunate enough to keep an elephant all to himself.


Abbie spinning at full flying elephant speed.


Ian spinning on the opposite end.


Abbie is riding in a fire truck on a car ride, which is a lot like the elephant ride, which is a lot like the merry go round.


Mommy is helping Tory at a fishing game. Ian is wandering off to try to sneak onto Abbie’s car ride.


Abbie won a baton at a duckie game. In three hours, she hasn’t destroyed it yet.


Abbie is riding on a children’s roller coaster. The boys are too little to ride it, which is a fact they loudly protested.


Tory is sitting on a lawn tractor outside the carnival. You can clearly see his cast on his broken leg, and almost read some of the many signatures he’s collected in this past week.


The lawn tractor exhibit might’ve been the boys’ favorite part of the carnival. I wish I’d known that before buying tickets for the rides.


We stopped for ice cream on the way home.


That maybe wasn’t the greatest idea. Notice Abbie won’t eat the cone, but instead sucks the ice cream from inside like one of the many mosquitoes buzzing around our house.

Unbreakable Spirit

Tory can now walk unassisted through open areas in spite of his cast. Never underestimate the power of a toddler determined to copy his siblings.

The Guessing Game

Daddy: "Guess which wild animal showed up on our back porch today?"
Mommy: "Raccoon?"
Daddy: "Nope."
Mommy: "Bigger or smaller than a raccoon?"
Daddy: "Smaller."
Mommy: "Mammal or insect?"
Daddy: "Neither."
Mommy: "Neither? Reptile?"
Daddy: "Yep."
Mommy: "Snake?"
Daddy: "Yep."
Mommy: "Garter snake?"
Daddy: "Ding ding ding!"
Mommy: "Just a garter snake? Not a bull snake or anything nasty?"
Daddy: "Just a garter snake."
Mommy: "Well, that's okay. They're helpful. They eat insects."

That wasn't the response I expected from my darling wife, but then again, she grew up on a farm. I'm not sure how the snake wound up on our porch, but I'm willing to bet Abbie was involved. The thing was curled into a ball and looked dead when I found it, but it slithered away when I threw it back outside. And, yes, the kids were very interested to see it.

Getting Back on His Feet

Tory is adapting well to his new cast. He can crawl, cruise, and climb on furniture. He even fell off the couch today, just like he still had two good legs.

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Today, Abbie peed in her underwear six times, and pooped in her underwear two more times. Happy Fathers Day!

Those are the Breaks

Tory had his broken leg set in a hard cast this morning, and he's taking it better than I expected. He can't move, but he's okay with that. He manages to get everything he needs by rolling, reaching, and whining. He doesn't seem to be in pain, and is surprisingly happy playing with whatever is in front of him.

As a bonus, I have one less child running around the house, getting into trouble, and setting a bad example for his siblings to copy. Plus, I always know where he is for mealtime.

Summer of 3 Ft 2

Today started well enough. The kids slept until a decent hour. I didn’t have to put anyone in timeout before lunch. The skies dried up long enough for me to hang laundry outside.*

As I worked on laundry, I heard Tory scream and knew things were about to go way downhill. Tory’s scream wasn’t one of those “she pushed me” or “she took my toy” kind of screams. I hear those screams dozens of times a day and have learned to ignore them. This was one of those screams of pure agony, like Ian just bit him but ten times as frantic.

I found him hobbling away from our backyard play set. He walked with a limp on his left leg, with his screams jumping about an octave each time he put weight on it. I knew exactly what he did, and had a good idea of what was wrong.

Our play set has monkey bars, a feature the kids just discovered. No one can come close to swinging across the monkey bars, but Abbie can at least swing out to the first bar and swing herself back when she realizes I’m not going to help her across. The boys can reach the first bar, but they stick there, suspended four feet off the ground and unable to swing forward or back.

I’ve warned Tory too many times about playing on the monkey bars, but he ignores me like every other directive I give him. I’m sure he grabbed the first bar, slipped, and fell to the ground. Ordinarily he’d have a chance at hanging on the bar until I found him, but all the rain we’ve had probably slicked the bar making him fall right off. Ordinarily the sand beneath the play set would cushion him, but, again, all the rain packed the sand tight and hard.

Mommy was home today and immediately checked on him, hoping for an ankle sprain. I poked his lower leg and felt swelling. Mommy whisked him off to the hospital while I feared the worst.

An hour later, mommy called to confirm that it’s bad but could be worse. He broke his tibia, the bone in his lower leg, and will need a full-leg cast for four to six weeks. The relative good news is at least it won’t require surgery.

So Tory will have to stay off his feet for at least four weeks. This presents a problem because he still wants to walk. He doesn’t understand that it hurts to move, but to be fair, he also hurts when he doesn’t move. His siblings aren’t helping by going easy on him, either. The little guy is in a lot of pain, but at least we have a strong painkiller prescription. I’m currently searching for any activity he can enjoy while sitting; so far all I’ve got is television.

* In case you’re curious about the flooding in Iowa, our family is safe. Our house is on a hill, so if we suffer flood damage we’ll need an arc to evacuate. A lot of the roads we use to travel around town are closed, including the two best routes for mommy to drive to work, so getting out can be a challenge. Otherwise, we’re fine. If we lose water and/or electricity we’ll have problems, but the Des Moines utilities claim they’re in good shape.

PottyUpdate

I had visions of perfecting potty training this summer. I’d send Abbie off to preschool in nice clean underwear and finally forget the pull-ups forever. She was close to being potty trained if she could just master that poop in the potty technique. Once Abbie was potty trained I could sit the boys on the potty and hope for them to miraculously take to the toilet faster than their sister.

Halfway through June I realize this is a fantasy. The boys are still at square one in potty training. I don’t expect to make any progress with them, but that’s okay. They’re young. They still have 70 years of life expectancy left to learn.

Abbie is backsliding on her potty training, though. Far from being perfect, I’d settle for the same level of potty training she achieved a couple weeks ago.

We suffered through four accidents today, three liquid, one solid. A couple weeks ago, she rarely had a liquid accident. I’m afraid her accidents have evolved into attention-grabbers. She knew she could strip off her clothes or beat on her brothers to get my attention; peeing on the floor will grab my attention too.

Her solid accidents are disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. I can’t remember the last time she pooped on the potty. The good news here is she’s getting very good at cleaning herself off after she poops her pants. The bad news is she cleans herself by dragging her butt along the carpet, much like a dog might do except a dog would show more shame afterwards. She’ll then running out to find me exclaiming, “I’m clean!”

I’m going to go back to basics with her. I’m breaking out the scheduled potty times and sticker charts again. Apparently I should pay more attention to her as well, if for no other reason than I can stop her before she cleans herself.

Tomorrow Can Only Be Better

Abbie, with considerable help from her brothers, had arguably her worst behaved day ever today. When I had to dole out multiple timeouts before finishing breakfast, I should’ve just sent everyone to their rooms for the day. At least that would’ve limited their destructive blast radius.

The Top Ten Naughty Things My Children Did Today

10. Abbie pulled a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and drank from it.
9. Everyone blew bubbles in their drinks at every meal.
8. Tory dumped Abbie’s cereal into his bowl before she could sit at the table.
7. Abbie pulled the dog’s fur.
6. Ian pulled an open ketchup bottle off the counter and onto the floor.
5. Everyone terrorized the chinchilla and shook his cage.
4. Abbie removed the boys’ diapers.
3. The boys climbed on the windowsills.
2. Everyone helped break Tory’s bed frame.
1. Abbie kicked, slapped, pushed, and pulled hair of every family member.

Doctor, It Hurts When I Move My Hand Like This...

I’ve endured a pain in my left hand for the past week. It’s not a severe pain; after close examination mommy concluded that it only rises to the level of “suck it up.” It’s a dull pain, seemingly centered deep in the hand, and is triggered by movement.

I don’t know what caused the pain, but it feels like I overstretched something. I thought that I had slept on it wrong in spite of my extensive sleeping experience. In a previous, fully rested life I might’ve noticed something like a sleeping position that props my hand in a fully stretched position for hours at a time. Now it’s possible that my brain is so sleep deprived that it’s willing to sacrifice a couple tendons instead of disrupting the sleep cycle long enough to make me roll over.

The “slept wrong” theory fell apart when the pain never lessened. I’d fall asleep with my hand hurting but propped in a non-stressful position, and I’d wake with my hand in the same non-stressful position with the same pain in it. Either my body is maliciously straining my hand all night and putting it back into position before I notice, or I’m doing something during the day to overstretch it. Or there could be something seriously wrong, but I’d rather not thing about that.

I think I found the source of the pain this evening. While I was swinging the kids, I noticed that my hand hurt with every push. Every swing felt like something was being overstretched, pulled farther than it was meant to be pulled. With three kids to swing who haven’t learned to pump, that’s a lot of pushing on my part. With their tendency to scream when their velocity slows, I might miss an ache in my hand as I try to keep them moving and happy.

I’ve adjusted my swing technique to save wear on my hand. I’m using both hands to avoid putting the entire strain on my left hand. I’m bending my back into an unnatural shape in order to push with my hand at a natural angle. I’m trying to force them to learn to pump because the sooner they swing themselves the sooner I can give my hand a permanent rest. I’d like to swing the kids less, but I’d also like to sleep a solid eight hours every night, so I’m used to not doing what I’d like.

Storms of Fury

Nasty storms are blowing through the area tonight. When I heard the tornado warning announced for our county, we pulled the kids out of bed and huddled with them in the basement. The kids were initially grateful that they got to stay awake and play in the basement. That glee quickly degenerated into sleepy, cranky fighting. As soon as the worst of it passed I sent the kids back to bed, even though the storm was still strong and the tornado sirens were still blaring. At that point I figured the danger of them biting each other was greater than the danger of a tornado hitting our house.

The Shirt off their Backs

My Children’s Top Ten Excuses for Removing Clothes

10. The slide was wet with dew and soaked my pants.
9. The sun feels good.
8. A Kool-Aid spill left my shirt uncomfortably damp.
7. That yellow monkey shirt looks better than the red monkey shirt I had on.
6. I got a little overzealous washing hands.
5. I had to check my brothers’ diapers.
4. I forgot where I left my pants on my way to the bathroom.
3. Removing clothing is a great attention-getter.
2. I didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.
1. You didn’t hold me down and put a shirt on me yet.

The Birds

We hung a bird feeder in the tree in front of our house. We can now check birds off the list of animals not taken care of by our household. Reptiles are about the only thing left on that list, but there's no way I'm going to encourage those snakes living in our garden to hang around.

Abbie likes birds, so we figured she'd enjoy watching birds eat. Mommy helped her hang the feeder, and Abbie waited patiently for the birds to find it. After several seconds of waiting, Abbie lost her patience and yelled at a bird that was flying near our house yet oblivious to the seed bounty we offered to it. The bird did not follow her advice, and continued flying onward.

The next afternoon, Abbie spotted a chickadee at the feeder. Abbie went crazy, jabbering about how cute the bird was, how great the bird was, and generally going on about it in more loving terms than she'd use about any family member.

Now the crows have found the feeder. They emptied half of it today. Filthy birds.

The Semi-Annual Birthday Cake Picture

This is Abbie's birthday cake. The picture is an edible image. The "cake" is really a giant frosted chocolate chip cookie. We made a cookie for Abbie's birthday because we know she'll eat a cookie. When presented with cake, she only eats the frosting. Abbie still only ate the frosting off her birthday cookie.