Jim had scheduled this week off work a month ago. It was slated as the great Get All Those Pesky Monkeys Off Our Back week: potty training, finishing of the den (progress had been put to an agreed-upon halt during soccer season and the holidays,) figuring out of our old/new insurance and medical crapola (because I am crippled with panic about such things and require another adult around as moral support,) and the sorting of all of the soccer jerseys, warm-ups, balls and duffel bags that had been stashed around our house and garage from last year's season.
So far the soccer sorting is practically done: the enormous piles of clothes and bags and balls and are neatly organized and stacked into Rubbermaid tubs in the garage, and all the phone calls nagging the girls to turn in the rest of their stuff have been made. Also, a huge stack of bills has been paid and a worrying insurance claim has been figured out.
The den is going to get there, too, I'm thinking. It's all cleared out of any removable furniture and toys now, leaving only the TV, giant computer desk, and one pretty hefty loveseat. The rest of our house overfloweth a bit with toys and tables right now, but I can live with that when the promise of fresh paint and pictures being hung is glowing on the horizon. Today: spackling and sanding. Tomorrow: the sky's the limit.
But the potty training... Ah, the potty training. This will be day three of Mission: Underpants, and so far we've had only two successes, one of which happened at the gym childcare center, of all places. They don't even have a potty chair, just a regular old toilet, which she refuses to touch at home, and yet she willingly sat and peed on it for Miss Ashley! This solidifies my belief that she could, in fact, physically control herself if she HAD to, but she's just kind of too lazy to care when she's at home and isn't going to be embarrassed about wet pants.
So yeah, for going on three days now, she has cheerfully been wetting her pants and running to tell us about it, despite sitting on the potty at half hour intervals all day long. Fortunately she is okay with wearing rubber pants over the panties, otherwise our house would now be thoroughly saturated with urine, but even as it is I have done countless loads of soaking and washing and drying of said underwear and rubber pants. And in spite of my beliefs that potty training should be natural and child-led and not motivated by guilt or fear of accidents, I have to admit that our patience is wearing mightily thin. There has been much lecturing and nagging and reminders about being a big girl now, then feelings of guilt about the nagging, and subsequent hugging, praising, begging, purchasing of bribery items and offers of dance classes and Dora the Explorer games and leftover candy canes if Addy will just PEE PEE ON THE POTTY FOR THE LOVE OF MOMMY'S SANITY!