Boom Boom Potty

Potty training is as much an art as it is a science. Some parents swear by letting their kids wear underpants or read a book about Elmo going potty. Some like to drop Cheerios in the toilet and have "target practice." None of these worked with our son, Johnny, so we had to improvise.

Recently, while he was trying to go potty, we listened to the song "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas. He had success, and we celebrated.

Now, every time he goes potty, we play "Boom Boom Potty" on the laptop:

He booms, he pows--right in the toilet! Works every time.

Johnny's an innovative kid. For example, on Labor Day, we picked apples from our backyard tree and together made apple pie. Mmm... Then Johnny dumped the cinnamon on the floor and made "cin'mon angles."

He also invented a new Olympic sport by rubbing yogurt on his feet and "skating" across the kitchen. Like the Russian judges, I gave him a really low score. I know, I'm biased.

While we were recently camping with family, my wife tried to make a bonfire so we could toast marshmallows. Unfortunately, we couldn't get the fire to stay lit. My brothers came by and got it going by lighting birch bark.

My four-year-old daughter, Belle, said, "Thanks, guys, for helping us start the fire. Mommy's not an expert at that."

We had a lot more fun fishing. I didn't even have to put hooks on their lines. I simply tied a blue sailboat to the end of Johnny's line, and every time he reeled it in, he joyously celebrated catching a sailboat:

Belle and Johnny both fell off the pier while fishing, and my brother and I had to scoop them out. We were standing inches away, but they lost their balance so fast they fell in. Luckily, the kids wore their life jackets and weren't harmed.

Hey, at least we didn't let them teethe on a python:

Being a parent of young kids is almost enough to send you running for the hills. Or, at least, running after your bare-butted son as he sprints out the back door through the yard--with all the neighbors watching--and your family laughing at you as you try to track him down. That's NOT funny.

A Parent's Post-Traumatic Stress

While I was recently changing my son John's diaper, he farted in my face. Twice. With no diaper on. I think I have post-traumatic stress.

It reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock's famous quote: "There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it."

However, with all due respect to Mr. Hitchcock, he never changed John's diaper.

I fear Cleaning Day at our house. Belle used to really protest when I'd ask her to clean up her room so I could vacuum the floor, but now she does it without prompting. In fact, last Cleaning Day, Belle came up with a song:

"Today's the day for Cleaning Day
Today's the day for showing respect."

I thought, Cool, nice start.

But then her song turned south. She opened the patio door, stepped out and sang at the top of her lungs:

"Wake up neighbors! It's Cleaning Day.
Come on over and clean my house!"

Those who have read this blog know Johnny, 3, is taller and heavier than his sister Belle, 4. He always says, “Belle, I’ll give you a gentle hug.” Except, for him, giving Belle a "gentle hug" is a little like a "gentle bombing."

Johnny negotiates like a used-care salesman: You try to make him a great offer, but he won’t listen until you start to leave.

John has taken to kissing girls. Before he does, he likes to say, "I'm gonna put my lips on you." Hey, at least he asks for consent.

Often while getting ready for bed, Johnny strips naked and dances like a sumo wrestler. He tries to say, “I've got nothing on my privates,” but instead says: “I've got nothing on my pirate!”

With times like these, it’s great to get nice notes from your kids. Belle recently made a card for my 10th wedding anniversary.

She said, “I love you no matter what I do, no matter what you do, even when I go to Heaven or the hospital. I love you Mom & Dad!”

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Every Parent's Dirty Little Secret

There's a dirty little secret every parent knows but none will discuss: They all, at some point, get a kiss from their toddler while the kid's nose is leaking. I call this a Snot Sandwich. And, no matter how frantically you scrub your lips, you're doomed to get the kid's cold.

Luckily, I've found a solution:
My 3-year-old Johnny gave me a Snot Sandwich the other day. I had to digest this hoagie right as I was leaving for work--at a time when Johnny suffers separation anxiety. I struggled with this, like many young parents, but have found a solution for that, too.

I say, "Daddy's going to work to earn money to buy milk, videos and toys for YOU." Invariably, Johnny immediately ceases crying and cheerfully says, "OK, bye-bye." Then he skips away to his toys or the pool.

Every parent at some point thinks, "OK, kid, wait until YOU have children!" But this can be a dangerous thought. Recently, my 4-year-old daughter Belle walked up to me with her stuffed-Minnie Mouse under her shirt.

"Hey Dad? I'm having a baby in 5 minutes." A second later she said, "Ding, here's my baby. I'll call her Minnie."

Hey! Don't judge. It takes a village to raise a stuffed animal.

At least Belle did the right thing and got "married" the same day. I didn't even have to prompt her! She dressed in her mommy's skirt and a T-shirt. When asked who she was marrying, she said: "Myself." Hey, she's an independent woman. As Beyonce would say, "I depend on me."

Plus, Belle is already domesticated. She loves using the toilet brush to scrub toilets. She said, "I want to scrub toilets every day." Any takers out there? I wonder if she could pay her way through college...

Or maybe she could be a professional windsock:

Luckily, Belle's career options are open because she is pretty philosophical for a preschooler. For example, while preparing for bed at our house she said, "Let's clean up our toys. That's so novel."

My son has much more basic ideas at his age. For example, he was recently playing with his sister's dolls. He laid down next to them and declared, "Daddy, I want to sleep with AAAALLLLL the princesses!"

Belle decided she was going to give me a prince's haircut (which tells you something about her thoughts on my current hair style). "We're playing haircut, Daddy," she said, using two fingers as pretend scissors--first on my hair, then on my ears, nose and throat. Who knew I had a hairy throat? I thought my throat only felt hairy due to the cold I acquired from the Snot Sandwich.

I'm comforted by Nietzsche, who said, "He who has a 'why to live' can bear almost any 'how.'"

I think most parents immediately realize their kids are their why--but few, including me, realize before they become parents how much their progeny will one day become their how.

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