The potty wars

Sunday night Sacha pulled off his diaper while watching TV, because who doesn't prefer watching their favorite show bare-assed?

Instead of replacing his foundation garment, like I usually do, I tried a different approach, just for kicks. I told him he had to sit on the floor, not the couch, and that if he peed, he would loose TV privileges. An hour later, he was still sitting happily, engaged in the favored American pastime of watching TV while playing oneself. And he was holding his water.

He is 3-1/2, and I have been waiting for some kind of sign that he is ready, or even slightly interested, in MOVING TO THE NEXT LEVEL. Perhaps this was the sign I'd been looking for? I broke out the underwear.

Oh, how wrong I was!

Monday was relatively smooth. Apart from what I (mistakenly) thought was a minor accident at camp, he did fine. He peed whenever I took him to the bathroom. He did not poop, but I expected this would be the case, figuring he would find night time the right time to do the deed, once he was safe in a pull-up. I checked him before going to bed; nothing. When he woke on Tuesday morning, he was still clean.

Interesting, I thought; my adversary's powers of withholding are stronger than I anticipated.

When I picked him up at camp on Tuesday, I learned that he had SHIT IN HIS UNDERWEAR. (Oh, dear.)

Fascinating, I thought; my adversary is cunning too; he chose a strategic moment, when I was not around, to unleash the contents of his bowels.

This, of course, was not a fluke, as he showed me when we got home, and PROCEEDED TO DO IT AGAIN, on my watch.

It had not yet occurred to me that we were now locked in a power struggle from which I had no possibility of deescalating.

Still undeterred, on Wednesday morning, I tightened the screw a quarter turn. I told Sacha that it was unacceptable to go to camp and soil his underwear — it would be embarrassing to be expelled from summer camp for such an offense, and would look awful on his permanent record — and so, he would have to do his business on the toilet, before going to camp.

He sat on the potty for 30 minutes. He peed like a champ. NO NUMBER TWO.

And now, it was time to leave for camp. Oh, shit. (No pun intended.)

I wanted him to go to camp. He wanted to go to camp. I brought him in and escorted him to the toilet, where he peed some more. Who knew he had so much water in him?

Having grown up in New York City (Staten Island is part of NYC, thank you very much), I am a highly skilled at parallel parking, but by now, the car was wedged in so tightly that there was no possibility of exit until someone else pulled out.

I consulted some experts, namely, the camp directors, who brought me to my senses.

To sum up: I had failed to heed two pieces of sage advice, and as a third time parent, should have known better. "Never get involved in a land war in Asia," and "Never go in against a Sicilian, when death is on the line!"

Chastened, I bid a tactical retreat. Back to diapers for now. I lost the battle, but I will ultimately win the war. Although he may come alarmingly close, I know that my son will go to kindergarten in underwear.

My ignominious defeat reminded me of a few important lessons. Despite one's many years of parenting experience, you never quite know what you are doing. And more importantly, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him shit.

Whatever

Yesterday afternoon I was busy writing, and let Sacha watch entirely too much television--it's the cheapest babysitter around!

When it was time to pick up Sarah and Gabriel from school, I went into the den and gave him the five-minute warning. I also noticed that he was not wearing any pants.

This is not unusual, because my children, especially my boys, have a very casual relationship with clothing. It is always a surprise, when I check on the kids before going up to bed, to see what Sacha is wearing, compared to what clothing we put him to bed in. Some nights he take off his shirt, others his pants, and others still, he strips completely, and these are the nights I dread, because while he is undeniably irresistible in his altogether, he has also very likely peed in the crib.

So when I went to gather him for the trip to school, I was actually pleased to see he was still wearing his diaper, and had not peed on the rug, or smeared poop on the television screen. (He has done this. On more than one occasion. Disgusting.)

But he did need pants to leave the house. I took a quick scan of the room and could not locate his pants, so I said "Sacha, we have to pick up Sarah and Gabriel; can you please help me find your pants?" And he looked at me, and I saw the corners of his mouth creep with the slightest suggestion of a smile.

So I moved on to my strict voice and repeated myself. And this time, he broke into a grin.

Then I asked one last time, in my ANGRY VOICE, "Sacha, where are your pants?"

This time, he snickered, and said, "Whatever."

It was extremely funny. He was very cute standing there naked from the waist down, and to make matters worse, he is sporting a fresh new hair cut this week, and so is EVEN MORE ADORABLE THAN USUAL.

But I do not take kindly to lip from my children--now, when they are young, is the time to lay down the law; otherwise, how can I expect them to listen when they are teenagers--so I had to do my best not to break strict mommy character, although I wanted to burst out laughing. So despite the fact that I had wasted five minutes trying to get my son to produce his pants, I promptly sat his small, diapered posterior on the bottom step for a TIME OUT.

I scanned the den one more time, where I found the pants wedged in the television cabinet. I removed him from the step, replaced his pants, and off we went to get the big kids.

You may wonder why I didn't circumvent the entire situation by going upstairs and retrieving a new pair of pants. I wondered about that myself. But sometimes, despite our best intentions, we find ourselves locked in a power struggle with our children. Sacha and I were having a STAND OFF, and I wasn't going to be the one to back down. Mature, right?

So yesterday we were a few minutes late for pick-up, and I have not turned on the television yet today.