Potty-mouthed boy ready for next step?

The other day, my son took a diaper from our portable caddy and handed it to me. He then grabbed the box of wipes, a changing pad and laid down on the floor. And just this week, as I picked him up from the day care, he said, "potty," and raised his shirt, indicating that he needed to be changed.

If the kid can do all that, I thought to myself, he is ready to be potty trained. But the question is: Are the rest of us ready?

My mother has been encouraging us to potty-train my son since before his first birthday. And my excuse was always that he couldn't be fully trained until he moved into a day care room with bathroom facilities. But when that happened a few months ago, he still didn't seem ready. My next excuse was the pediatrician's assertion that 18 months would be a good time to start. And now that 18 months have come and gone, I'm still unconvinced that it is time.

I understand that there are clear advantages to taking him from Pampers to Pull-ups: Every time I look over my receipts, I'm always in awe at the sheer amount of money we spend on diapers each month. And one can only change a wriggling toddler on the bathroom floor or picnic bench so many times before it grows old.
Each weekend, I pore through my books and search the Internet looking for a solid answer on the appropriate age at which a child should be fully potty trained. And every week, I am shocked to find that there is no one answer. A Google search for "potty-training tips" yields nearly 2.5 million results. Is it any wonder I'm so confused?

I even took a quiz that was supposed to gauge a child's readiness to be potty trained. My results? "Remember that there are no hard and fast rules about when a child is ready that will work for every child."
Sigh.

Some of the signs are there: He says potty, pulls up his shirt and is always ready to hop up on his new potty seat. But as my husband and I encourage him, the water running in the sink - I've been told it helps; it doesn't
- he seems content to simply sit there for several moments before snatching off a bit of toilet paper from the roll and holding it out for us to dispose.

My experience with him reminds me of a story that has made the Internet rounds in several different adaptations.

While out to sea, a large boat became shipwrecked and there was only a single survivor. This man prayed and asked God to save his life. Soon thereafter, another boat came by and offered the man some help.

"No thanks," he said. "I'm waiting for God to save me."

The men on the boat shrugged their shoulders and continued. As the man became more deeply concerned, another boat came by. Again, the people aboard offered this man some help, and again he politely decline. "I'm waiting for God to save me," he said again.

After some time, the man began to lose his faith, and soon after that he died. Upon reaching Heaven, he had a chance to speak with God briefly.

"Why did you let me die? Why didn't you answer my prayers?"
"Dummy, I sent you two boats!"


Through all of my research, I am waiting for an answer - a sign - that meant my son was ready for this next step. And like the drowned sailor, I've already received my answer. Now it is just a matter of whether I will be brave enough to accept it.

Seasons change

For about the past couple of months, I've been feeling some kind of way. Like, I am so sick of myself.

I'm tired of being/feeling negative; I'm tired of letting myself get wrapped up in things that really have nothing to do with me; I'm tired of fighting for things about which I really couldn't care less about.

I'm just tired.

So, for the past week, I have started an experiment. I won't get into specifics about what the experiment entails, but I will say that so far, it appears to be working. (The reason I won't get into specifics is because, frankly, I don't want to be asked about it. It's kind of like going on a new diet plan; every five minutes, it seems, someone is asking how it's going. You eat a hamburger and people are all like: I thought you were on a diet. And in spite of what I am sure would be very well-meaning comments from very well-meaning people, I don't want to hear it. Hearing it, in fact, might actually do the opposite of what was intended.)

I will say, however, that the end goal of this experiment is to come out me, but a happier, more positive version. I will worry less. If it is an important life decision, I will put the burden on God to fix; no worries for me. If it is an important work decision that doesn't directly involve my position, I will let that burden go to the person to whom the job belongs. Again, no worries for me.

Unbeknownst to them, my friends and family are also a part of this experiment. Because in order to keep myself on track, I absolutely cannot get wrapped up in other folks' drama. I cannot allow myself to wallow in problems; therefore, I cannot stand next to you in the pit as you wallow in yours. What I can do is try to help you or, if you don't want my help, pray for you. I can also ignore you. And though I hate to do that, if your conversation, question, concern, threatens to derail the progress I feel I am already making, I must.

Often, I think we -- especially women -- take on everyone's problems. We try to be everything, all the time, for everyone. Frankly, no one (save for Jesus, but even he had to die in order to bear our sins for us) is built to withstand those types of burdens.

This experiment, I hope, will help me to realize that.

Wish me luck!

Family days bring more than traffic

My first week at Fort Jackson, I received some advice: Limit on-post driving on Thursdays and Fridays — Family Day and graduation.

At the time, I didn’t know what Family Day was. But, for me, it soon became nothing more than a traffic hassle. Everywhere I went, from the PX to the Shoppette, it was packed. Quick errands took longer than usual. And forget about grabbing a burger or taco on Family Day; I’d either bring my lunch or eat off-post. But several weeks ago, a last-minute errand took me away from my ordinary routine, and into the PX, on a Thursday.  

I’m almost always in a rush, but that day, I took my time looking for shoes for my son.

As I walked through the PX, I saw the usual throngs of family members, but this time, I saw something more.

I saw Soldiers, after nine weeks of wearing combat boots, trying on high heels. I saw dads being reunited with children — children who were at that age at which two weeks could mean the difference between having a crawling baby and a toddler. I could imagine that these children were much different than when dad left for Fort Jackson more than two months ago. I saw brothers shopping with sisters, moms hugging sons. And for the first time, I saw beyond my own selfishness.

Many of these brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, wives and girlfriends were experiencing military life for the first time. They had never before seen a military installation, let alone been to one. For those of us who live here, the pause of traffic as a battalion of Soldiers marches across the road is commonplace.

But for these visitors, who I see snapping photos of said Soldiers with their cameras and cell phones, it is something new and amazing. They are seeing through fresh eyes what we have come to know from our own Soldiers — the discipline, the strength and the courage.

I often peruse the Public Affairs Facebook page and am astounded at how many family members and significant others of our Soldiers in training reach out to each other. They thirst for information about their loved ones. They passionately follow, as much as they can, each week of their loved one’s training. And they also become friends with each other, even if only online. So, as I looked around at these family members interact their Soldiers, I thought about the numerous posts I read each day. The posts in which a mother’s baby boy is leaving the nest for the first time. The newlywed who will be reunited with his or her spouse at graduation.

These loved ones have poured their hearts out on our page as they fretted over receiving letters, mailing care packages and missing phone calls.

I won’t say that I will never again complain about traffic on Thursday and Friday, but I will be more patient. Because now I know something about these family members that I didn’t before: To me, Family Day was an inconvenience; to them, it was everything.

First published in the Fort Jackson Leader at www.jackson.army.mil. Link to the original is here.