Training, take 1453

Of late, I have come to the realization that my children are going to read this blog. In fact, sometimes Toby reads it over my shoulder and drives me NUTS. "What does precocious mean?"

Anyway, I expect some grief from an awkward preteen Brynn about this one.

My mom is staying with us for a few months, and has taken on potty-training Brynn as her most ambitious goal, second only to getting the kitchen floor clean. Either one of those things would send me into a joyous frenzy, but honestly, the potty training is the stuff of dreams.

I've tried, you know. God knows I've tried. To my memory, this is the 5th or 6th serious attempt. It always starts with her showing a vague interest on her own, which thrills me, and so I go and buy potty seats and little training pants and princess wipes and such, and she kills it for a day. Then she decides to take a more casual approach, and stop by the bathroom immediately after she technically needs to have been there.

I once continued a campaign for 3 weeks. In my mind, I thought eventually it would kick in and she'd get it. I refused to put her in a diaper. After 3 weeks, I quit. I quit with a vengeance.

So Mama comes and she has strategies, involving guilt and peer pressure and eternal vigilance. I threw in a bribe of a ballerina music box, which Brynn won after several days of no accidents. Since she got the music box, things have gone downhill. I repo'd the music box. Now she thinks it works like she can get the box back every success, and then just trade it in for the luxury of an accident. This kid.

She is smart. Really, really smart, so it's not about intelligence, or her prematurity. I don't know what it is, but somehow, we are going to win this one. OR, we will quit and wait for her preteen friends to SHAME her into it.