Potty Training: Part II - by Cara Potapshyn Meyers

I should have known better. I should have listened more attentively. I am the kind of mother who pays attention to her child’s burgeoning milestones. But somehow, I missed the cues on this one.

When my son was 11 months old, he wanted to “walk” down the stairs face forward. I let him. I held on to his hands as he dragged one foot after the other down the flight of stairs. And then he would crawl to the top and we would start all over again. Everyone fought me, allowing my 11 month old, who wasn’t even walking yet, walk down the stairs face forward. “Teach him to crawl down backwards,” I heard. “You’re making a big mistake letting him do that,” was another comment (I defer to our Blogger, Laura Houston’s blog from last week here). Still, I held my head up high and said plainly, “He sees all of us walking down the stairs face forward, he is going to learn to do it eventually anyway, so why not teach him the proper way now and allow him to practice while supervised?” Still, I got horrified looks and comments.

At age 2, my son wanted to learn to cut using real, adult scissors. Not the blunt tip, children’s type. Real, sharp, adult scissors. He was relentless. We had them locked in a top drawer in our kitchen and my son would hang on the drawer, cry and tantrum, aching to use those scissors himself. One day, I couldn’t take it any more. I thought, “You want to learn to cut using real scissors, go ahead, let’s cut.” We sat on the floor for almost an hour with my son perfecting the cutting  of tape off a spool. Once all of the tape was used up, I explained that there was no more, but when I was able to get more, we would practice again. My son has never had a scissor injury, and every nursery school teacher had commented that they never saw a child my son’s age cut paper for crafts so well.

By age 3, my son was done with the toddler climbing apparatus at the park. He was ready to master the apparatus for ages 5 and up. I let him go. Again, I had horrified looks from parents. One mother could see my son’s Pull-Up sticking out above his pants and actually said, “Children who still wear diapers should not be playing on this equipment!” I asked her to show me where that “rule” was written anywhere in the park facility. She turned her back on me. My son mastered the “older children” apparatus. And when he was unsure of himself, he always knew to ask me to help him off. But in general, I let him test his wings to his heart’s content. And to this day, other than bruises, he has never injured himself doing any of the things he knew he was capable of doing. He even jumped off our local pool diving board at age 3 with my husband assisting him to the side of the pool. Today, at age 7, he does aerial flips off that same diving board and swims to the side himself. The lifeguards cringe. I stand next to them and reassure them that my son knows exactly what he is doing.

Finally, when it came to potty training between 2 - 3 years old, my son resisted with a vengeance. After getting into so many exhausting battles, I gave up and thought, “Fine.You want to take Pull-Ups in your backpack to Kindergarten and change them yourself, be my guest.” I literally gave up. My son was not ready to make this monumental change yet. I backed off and went my merry way.

One day, my son’s nursery school teacher pulled me aside on a Friday afternoon, when I went to pick my son up from nursery school. She said that he told her that he wanted to wear the Spider man underwear like the other boys. He was a little more than 3  and 1/2 at the time. So his teacher and I devised a plan that I would take him to buy Spider man underwear over the weekend, make a huge deal about wearing the underwear to school on Monday instead of Pull-Ups, and I would pack several changes of clothes and shoes should he have accidents during the day.

My son had one accident that first day, and never had another after that. He knew he was ready. He knew it was time to “graduate” to “big boy underwear.” By letting him take the lead, he was hugely successful! And it was all because I let him determine when he thought the time was right!

So, I was rather taken aback when my son, who has been wearing Huggies Goodnights to bed since he was 4, all of a sudden said to me that he didn’t want to wear them anymore. They were always fully saturated every morning. And my son is a very sound sleeper. There is no waking him in the middle of the night to take him to the bathroom. But I wanted to respect my son’s request even though the “evidence” proved otherwise.

I put a water absorbing liner on top of his sheet and explained that we would use it “just in case” of an accident. We also restricted his fluid intake 2 hours before he went to sleep. He also had to empty his bladder when we saw he was getting sleepy. And we sent him off to bed that first night with me thinking, “This is not going to work. He’s too sound a sleeper.”

My son did have an “accident” that first night. However he went 2 weeks straight after that night not wetting his bed at all!! He knew he could do it! He knew he was capable! Yet, to my surprise, after all of these years, I failed to see the cues and be more in touch with my son and his own understanding of meeting his own needs and milestones!

This past weekend marked 2 straight weeks of no accidents! I gave my son a “Medal” of accomplishment and I asked him to help me take the liner off the top of his bed! He was ecstatic! He graduated to “Big Boy” status!! Yet, unlike the times I knew he could accomplish certain risky things, this time I wasn’t so certain that my son would be as successful in this situation. But I did honor his request to try. And now I am as unsure as to who is more proud, my son or me!

I’ve always been highly in tune with my son. But I think that, of late, my own life events and personal issues have overridden being more in touch with my son and his emerging needs and fulfillments as he grows. I never want to lose that innate understanding of my son. And I always want us to have strong bonds through communication and nonverbal actions.

This was a huge wake-up call for me. One that I am taking quite seriously.

We started putting a Lego set together over the weekend but never finished it. I think tonight, it will be successfully completed!

Bringing Nature Inside - by Cara

When my son was three years old, his Nursery School ordered live caterpillar larvae that were self-contained with food. The children could observe the caterpillars grow in the classroom, day by day. I was fascinated as well. I had never actually witnessed caterpillars grow, develop into chrysalises, and hatch into beautiful butterflies, so I eagerly went to their mesh “home” every day when I picked my son up from school! This amazing gift of nature intrigued my son and I so much, that when his Preschool class ordered caterpillars the following year, I inquired where to get them so that we could watch this process at home, too.

The next year, when my son was four, I ordered a container of caterpillars to observe in our home. Each container holds five caterpillar larvae. My son sat the container next to his bed at night and we would observe which caterpillars were the BIG FAT caterpillars, as I read, “The Hungry Caterpillar,” by Eric Carle, to him. The first thing my son would do in the morning would be to see how the caterpillars fared through the night. If they were all there and moving around, he was thrilled.

One day, while my son was at Preschool, I noticed that three of the BIG FAT caterpillars had made their way to the top of the container and were hanging upside-down in a “J ” shape. I sat on the floor and gasped as one twirled and twirled! I was certain it would fall, but it didn’t! I kept checking on them throughout the day; their fuzzy bodies became hard encasements, right before my eyes! I went back again and again to marvel at the intricate beauty that nature designed!

When I picked my son up from Preschool, I told him that three of the caterpillars had made their chrysalises! He was ecstatic! His teacher warned not to transfer the paper the chrysalises were on to their mesh “pavilion” until all five caterpillars made their chrysalises. The next couple days, my son and I were glued to the caterpillar container, waiting to see with our own eyes when the last two caterpillars would form their chrysalises!

Two mornings later, it happened!! Before my son went to Preschool, he saw the last two caterpillars hanging upside-down, “J ” shaped! Since he is an early riser and didn’t have to be at Preschool for a few hours, we both sat and slowly watched as the caterpillars lost their “fuzz,” which were replaced by the hard chrysalis shell! My son and I were both in awe! My son was so excited that he wanted to bring the container to school, even though there was an identical one there. I suggested he ask permission from his teacher first. She said that once they all become chrysalises, it is best to carefully transfer them, on the paper, to the “pavilion” and let them be still and quiet until they hatch.

I did as my son’s teacher said. We waited. Everyday we looked for a hatched butterfly, but none were hatching. All of a sudden, exactly a week after they formed their chrysalises, the first three hatched overnight!! Three, fluttering, Painted Lady butterflies were dancing around the pavilion! It was suggested to put a flower with some sugar-water in a shallow bowl inside the pavilion to supply food to the butterflies. I ran outside, in my slippers, and cut a peony flower off one of my bushes, doused it with sugar-water, and put it in the pavilion!

Exactly two days later, the last two Painted Lady butterflies emerged!! We kept them in the pavilion until the upcoming weekend. You could tell that they wanted to be free because they had all managed to flutter to the top of the pavilion, anticipating their freedom.

That weekend was a glorious one! A perfect day to release butterflies! We opened up the pavilion and four fluttered and danced to the heavens! However one didn’t want to leave. We coaxed it. We tried gently blowing on it, but it wouldn’t budge. My son suggested that we keep it inside the house a few more days because, “Maybe it’s a baby.” His compassionate suggestion seemed reasonable, so I prepared to close the pavilion back up. As soon as I started to close the top flap, out came the last butterfly, awkwardly fluttering to the nearest flower on our porch. The butterfly probably was a little immature and couldn’t fly too far or too high. We left it to sit on the flower.

After several hours, this last butterfly finally gained the courage to test its wings and fly away to another spot! It was free to explore the world!

Since then, every year, in April and May, I order two containers of butterflies. A total of ten per month. My son and I make predictions about which container will turn into chrysalises first. Or which one has the BIGGEST, FATTEST caterpillars! We love it! And we never cease to get excited when they turn upside-down and become “J ” shape, nor watch their incredible transformation into beautiful butterflies!

This past weekend, we released ten, very eager butterflies into the world. It was our second batch for the season. We waved goodbye, cheered them on for being so strong, and watched until the very last one disappeared behind a tree.

I love this tradition I have with my son. I know he loves it just the same. I plan on doing it with him for at least several more years to come! I hope he will remember the incredible gift of nature. And I hope he realizes that as much as you want to keep something, or hold on to it a little longer, sometimes you have to set it free. Even if you don’t think it has the ability or the courage, it just may surprise you! I think about my son this way. And sometimes he DOES surprise me with his ability and courage. So I say to him, “Fly, my Little Butterfly! Fly, and be free!”

Putting Things in Perspective -- by Jamie

Last weekend, the mother of one of Jayda’s day care friends invited us to join them in attending “Disney on Ice.” Jayda was thrilled when I explained to her that “Mickey Mouse and all the Princesses would be ice skating, and she and her friend could sit together and watch them.” Mickey and Minnie introduced the show, and Jayda clapped happily from my lap. But as the characters from “Aladdin” came out for the first act, and a procession of genies skated out across the ice, kicking like Rockettes, Jayda quickly turned around and buried her face into my neck. I suddenly realized that a performance that had appeared magical and impressive to me, seemed ominous and frightening to my little girl.

As the show continued, though Jayda did enjoy it (and woke up the next morning demanding, “I want to go to Disney again!”), she also dragged me out to the lobby for walks at inopportune moments, changed her position (from my lap to her own chair back to my lap) at least a dozen times, constantly fished for snacks from my pocketbook, and often tried to engage me in conversations (“Mommy! Talk about our day!”). While Jayda’s friend, who is several months older than Jayda, sat mesmerized in her seat for the entire show (even through the intermission!), Jayda lacked the focus—just as she doesn’t have the patience to sit through a DVD at home (or even more than 5 or 10 minutes of a TV show, for that matter)—without constantly getting up to play.

Jayda’s in nursery school, and her development over the last six months has been astounding. She goes to the bathroom on her own now—even shuts the door in my face, insisting on her privacy. She also grabs her bedtime books from me and takes a turn “reading” to me almost every night. And when I remind her that something is “for grownups,” she counters, “I a big girl now! I can do it/use it!” So, sometimes I forget that Jayda isn’t even three years old yet. Often she forgets it, too. But our experience at “Disney on Ice” was a much-needed reminder for both of us that Jayda’s still a toddler in many ways: She gets scared of monster-like genies no matter how graceful they are, and she can’t sit still for a show—even if it is vastly entertaining. And that’s just fine. I don’t need to rush her to grow up any faster.

Sometimes we expect too much from people—or even from ourselves. And I think we’ve all been victims of not seeing clearly what’s in front of us. The other day, I met an old friend for lunch in the city. First and foremost, he’s an old friend. But he’s also my former personal trainer. Before I had Jayda, I trained with this friend three times a week for many, many years. And while I still work out and eat healthfully now, I certainly don’t have the physique I’d attained while training with Jim. As he sat across the table from me, Jim told me I looked great, and I scowled at him. While I don’t expect to have the 8% body fat I used to, I would like to be 10 pounds lighter, and I certainly don’t feel like I look fabulous these days. But after our lunch, Jim emailed me that I really DO look great…”much better than I believe.” Reading his email made me smile. And I realized it’s all about keeping things in perspective. Every woman—and every mother—needs to keep things in perspective: Her daughter’s true age. The way she looks. Even the kind of mother she is. And sometimes all we need to do is take a step back and look at things from a different angle (or from another person’s viewpoint) and we’ll better see the truth. It’s a good thing to do once in awhile, and I think we all need to remind ourselves of that.

Back to School -- by Jamie

This was a big week in the education-department for the Levines: Jayda started nursery school, and I registered for some important classes of my own. Both were big milestones for each of us, though Jayda’s transition was far easier than I expect my return to college will be.

Jayda has been at the same day care center since she was 3-1/2 months old. She’s always been ahead of the learning curve, and has been promoted into each of her classes at an earlier age than most of the other kids. Thus, in September, when many of Jayda’s friends (who are slightly older than Jayda) were moved up to the nursery school program, I expected Jayda would be following them. But due to classroom overcrowding and some annoying day care bureaucracy, she lagged behind for awhile. Ultimately, my daughter successfully potty trained, vastly improved her vocabulary, spent much of her time helping the younger kids in her toddler room, and, in sum, displayed what I felt was extreme readiness for nursery school. Fortunately, by the holidays, my relentless hounding of the school’s director finally reaped success, and to my relief, Jayda became the only child allowed to transition to nursery school in January.

Jayda’s first day in nursery school was drama-free for both of us. She took to the ground running—literally—and leapt out of my arms, shouting, “Mommy—LEAVE!” as she ran to join her old friends, who were playing happily in her new classroom. When I came to pick Jayda up in the afternoon, her new teacher informed me that Jayda had had a terrific day, and it had seemed “like Jayda had been in nursery school forever.” As I’d suspected, Jayda’s move into nursery school had been long overdue, and she’d been more than ready to get started there.

I, on the other hand, am likely to have more trouble adjusting to my new classes. I received a B.A. in Communication from the University of Michigan in 1991, and never imagined I’d be going back to college at almost-40-years-old. For more than 15 years, I worked in children’s publishing—as a writer, a school book club editor, a marketer, and a buyer—and have always loved my career. But sadly, as the result of corporate downsizing, I found my job eliminated a year ago. Freelance writing and consulting have kept me financially afloat, but I’m no longer fulfilled by my daily work, nor do I have the job stability I need as a single mother. After much soul-searching, I’ve decided to pursue grad school, specifically for Speech Pathology—a career that would profit from my occupational experiences and strengths, and provide the job-flexibility and salary I need to raise my daughter.

However, I can’t just take the GREs, apply to grad school, and get started on a second career. First, I must fulfill several Speech Pathology-related undergraduate prerequisites. And before I could even register for those classes, I had to apply to (and be admitted to) a special university program. Fortunately, I was accepted to the program at Queens College, and this past week, I met with an advisor to help me select my classes. At this late date (classes start at the end of January), most of the classes I needed were closed, and I was only able to get into two. But that’s a start. And what with commuting to Queens from Long Island twice a week, continuing my freelance work (I still need to bring in as much money as possible), and taking care of my daughter, I guess that’s enough to get my feet wet.

Because I’m a “planner,” it has been my natural inclination to map out my “school plan”—to consider all the work I’ll be doing for my classes, as well as the time I’ll need to spend schlepping back and forth to the campus. But not everything involved with going back to school at my age is so easy to predict. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to listen to a lecture, take copious notes, or study for a test. When it comes to being a student, I’m out of practice—as well as out-of-the-loop in regards to modern-day college practices. Even applying to school this time was a novel experience for me: When I applied to Michigan, I typed out my application and essays on an electric typewriter—and mailed a check to the school. This time, I applied online and simply entered my credit card number. A lot has changed in two decades.

This week, while I waited for my appointment with my advisor at Queens College, I sat in a waiting room with other prospective students, who, technically, were young enough to be my children. And that’s going to be an interesting experience, too. Things may be different in grad school, but right now, while I’m taking my undergraduate classes, I’ll be sharing lecture halls and assignments with young men and women who are literally half my age. And that will definitely be an adjustment—for me and for them, I’m sure. I’m fairly certain none of them will be juggling their studies with mother- or fatherhood, and I’ll be a novelty.

The other day, I told Jayda I was going back to school, and she got very excited about it. She wondered, “Is it a big school?”—like the elementary school we pass on the way to her day care center—and asked, “Will you be going on a school bus?” which is her own personal fantasy. And, of course, she asked if she could “come, too.” There is actually a nice playground outside the Speech Pathology department office building, and I may bring her there to check it out in the spring. While my time at school certainly won’t be full of fun and games like Jayda’s nursery school adventures, hopefully it will still be a positive experience. And I may as well show Jayda some of the fun that can be involved, since nothing—including going back to school—is a solo venture for me anymore.


Back in September, Jayda and I appeared on a local cable TV show in a segment about SMCs. If you’d like to check it out, here are the YouTube links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehgwxZfhNL8 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYEavdyFDUM http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJ9aaxXA_TA

Like Mother, Like Daughter? by Jamie

My daughter, Jayda, will turn three in May, and she’s been in the same daycare center since she was 3-1/2 months old. It’s a small daycare—a warm, nurturing environment where everyone knows Jayda, and she loves it there. Technically, she can stay there until she enters kindergarten, and many of her classmates will do just that. But, lately, I’ve been starting to think she needs to go somewhere new in September, where she’ll be challenged more.

My birthday is in February, and my mother started me in nursery school early, because I appeared to be very intelligent. Then, because I missed the cut-off date for public kindergarten, and my mom didn’t want to keep me in nursery school for an extra year, she put me in private kindergarten, followed by private first grade. Finally, the public school system accepted me as a 6-year-old second grader. Yes, my mother pushed me ahead—and I thrived because of it. I was always reading levels ahead of my classmates, was an overachiever throughout middle school and high school, and graduated with honors from the University of Michigan. I’m smart. And my daughter is smart, too. Along with my blonde hair, blue eyes, and passion for candy, it seems she’s inherited a bit of my intelligence.

I recently started scouting out new nursery schools for Jayda, and have been quite impressed by what I’ve seen. One place has a shiny new computer center, a large indoor padded playroom, and a small petting zoo. Another is smaller, and more worn-down, but it also has a small computer room, weekly music classes, and even teaches Spanish to 4-year-olds. I’m thrilled there are great options for us—and both places actually bus the children to school if you don’t require extended hours. These days, whenever Jayda sees a school bus drive by, she lights up, and begs to ride on it, so I know she’d be thrilled to take a bus to school. Or would she? When the reality hits, will she be scared to death to climb aboard?

When I consider the tuitions, I lean towards the place with the shiny new computer center. It’s incredibly large and modern, with so many fabulous amenities, and it’s almost the same price as the smaller, older place. But maybe the smaller school will be warmer and more appealing to Jayda…and the bigger place will seem overwhelming? I’m really not sure. I want to do what’s best for my child…and I simply want her to thrive. But I also want her to be comfortable at her new school. It’s a tough call…especially when I know Jayda’s still very happy at her present daycare center…and probably would continue to be so for awhile.

I guess I can liken this scenario to my workouts at the gym. I’m comfortable doing the same old workout every day: I know what to do, I’m good at it, and I feel pretty happy afterwards. But when I force myself out of my comfort zone and challenge myself to do completely different exercises, ultimately, I’m always thrilled with the results. No matter which school I choose for Jayda, big or small, I’m going to be pushing her out of her comfort zone: A new place, new people, and new things to learn will probably seem scary at first. But change is good—especially for a smart little girl who thrives when challenged. And now it’s up to me to make that change for her. I just wish it was easier!