I STILL HATE POTTY TRAINING!

Those of you who have been following the train wreck of my daily life through this blog may remember my documentation of Joaquin's potty training extravaganza. Those of you who were late to the party, or just want to relive the joy, I direct you to the original post, found here: I HATE POTTY TRAINING

So Gabriel has been extremely interested in all things bowel and bladder related for a few months now. Either that, or he is a creepy little kid who enjoys staring at people when they're sitting on the toilet. Could be both, who knows.

Anyway, somehow I found myself on the crazy train to potty training again, which I don't really want to embark on with a newly-turned-two-year old, but the lure of one child in diapers is just too seductive. So, common sense be damned, observe me at Wal-Mart. Observe me with four children, trying to find the cheapest potty ($10, but made from exciting new "plant-based plastic"- isn't most plastic plant based? Or at least fossilized plants?). Observe me, with four children and a "green" potty, trying to find the cheapest set of underwear that wasn't festooned with trademarked characters. Observe me ignoring my list and purchasing several items for myself as a sort of retail therapy. $52 dollars later, out of Wal-Mart.

We get home, and I give Gabriel the vocabulary lesson.
"Underwear. Potty. Sit on the potty, pee or poop in it, and you get M&Ms"
"Nemenems?" The promise of candy gets Gabriel's interest. I play on that.
"Yup. You pee on the potty, and you get a whole handful of M&Ms!"
At this point, Joaquin saunters into the kitchen, looking suspicious.
"Mama? If I pee on my potty, do I get-"
"No." I say, cutting him off.
"But-"
"No!" He turns to Gabriel.
"Gabriel, will you share some of your nemenems with me?"
"NO!" says Gabriel, too street smart for this foolishness.

And with that, it begins. Gabriel, delighted not only by the promise of candy, but the "clothing optional" attitude I've adopted runs around the house au natural, doing naked dances, and standing on top of his potty and body slamming stuffed animals.

Then it happens. He sits, pees, and stands up, declairing "POOP!"
"Poop?" I ask, looking up from my book, which I've been able to read for 15 uninterrupted minutes, because the kids are all so consumed with potty fever that they've left me alone.

I look in the pot.
"Not poop. Pee. But good job!" A short lesson on where poop comes from vs. pee is delivered, and then the house breaks into the same jubilant song we created when Joaquin was potty training (why the hell we should remember that, I don't know). M&Ms are given to all. 10 minutes later, the scene is repeated. Pee, singing, sugar.

By bedtime, he's peed four times on the potty, hasn't had a single accident, and I'm beginning to suspect that he's got a masterful control over his bladder and is able to force urine out at will, simply to get more M&Ms. Whatever works. I'm feel confident, the kids are happy (if slightly sugar-buzzed), and the household falls into a deep and blissful sleep.

And then the morning comes.

Evil Gabriel has returned. Stubborn, shrill Gabriel, who insists on putting his underwear on by himself. This results in two legs in one hole, stumbling, falling, and more screaming. He then labels underwear as evil, refuses to wear it, and I have spent the last 15 minutes issuing commands that he not put his penis on various objects: dinosaur books, the carpet, the Guitar Hero microphone...

But the capper for the whole morning came about 35 minutes after his morning cup of coffee (yes, yes, I know...). I was upstairs, writing this blog, Ken was downstairs reading the news, and Gabriel? Yeah. Gabriel was pooping. On the carpet. But the good news is that the carpet selected was downstairs, and Ken was the one who made the discovery, so he cleaned it up. I'm not sure how I got away with blogging while he cleaned, but I'm not dumb enough to ask.

I'm dumb enough to try potty training Gigantor this early, though.