I am writing this from the parking lot of Thomasâ€™ preschool, sitting in the passenger seat of the car (The driverâ€™s seat does not slide back far enough for me to sit with my laptop. Or perhaps my belly is too big).
Despite the fact Thomas is STILL not potty trained, he started preschool two mornings a week last month. The school is pretty lax regarding their three year olds starting the year potty trained, but state law will not allow teachers to change his pull-up. This means if he poops they call me to come take care of it.
So far Iâ€™ve been called in the middle of a run on the treadmill, in the middle of a meeting at the Target Starbucks (which is the consumerâ€™s equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter), and while paying bills at my dining room table.
Do you know how frustrating it is to THINK you have two hours to yourself, only to have a third of that time eaten up by a double round trip commute and diaper duty time? Have you ever stopped running without a cool down, then started up again half an hour later without a warm up? I donâ€™t recommend it – your muscles will coil up like a tightened spring.
Iâ€™ve tried sticker charts, Iâ€™ve tried candy bribes, Iâ€™ve tried fifteen minute timers, Iâ€™ve tried going cold turkey – the kid is just. not. interested. in using the toilet. I mean, he uses it sometimes, of course, but most of the time the mere suggestion of sitting on the potty induces a fit of whining and floor flopping of grand proportions.
As I said on twitter one day, I wish I could send him off like a Labrador to be trained by a professional.
The inconvenience of this arrangement nearly caused me to pull him out of preschool. It just didnâ€™t seem worth all the hassle, and he would still have preschool next year anyway.
Until I had a brilliant idea.
Ever since school started and my summer babysitting swap ended with a friend, I havenâ€™t found a decent chunk of time to write. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and sit in the car with my laptop, writing. If I get the call for a diaper change, Iâ€™m merely steps from his classroom, and Iâ€™m only interrupted for a few minutes.
Admit it. You are jealous of my ability to adapt.
So here I am, feeling a bit eccentric, yet very pleased with myself for creating a win/win situation (also, brainstorming ways to keep warm). Though as Iâ€™m sure you can imagine, Thomas has not pooped once during class any of the times I sat out here freezing my arse off.
What do you think the odds are he would poop as soon as I drive off to get a latte at the Target Starbucks?