What My Kids Don't Know Hurts Me

What My Kids Don't Know Hurts Me is a blog about parenting.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

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.

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