Out of the Mouths of Babes

Every Saturday I load up the car with three of my girls for ballet lessons. Today I was relaxed about this because I had located the tutus, shoes and leotards and tights yesterday. I'm slowly learning to preempt my stress.

The older child adores her class and is ready at 7 am for her 10:15 Ballet/Tap course. The younger sister earned her slot in the First Steps Ballet class at 10:30 by becoming potty trained. "Ballerinas don't wear diapers." I explained.

There are a lot of Moms in the waiting room with only one or two children. One mom asked me today, "You're an expert with having so many kids and all...how do you potty train?"

After I stopped laughing manically, (I think I spooked her), virtually every Mom was all ears as I admitted that numbers do not an expert make. Numbers just provide cover for most of my weaknesses. (My house is a mess. It was a mess when I had only one, but now I can blame it on sheer volume). I hate homework. Numbers now require that anyone over third grade be self sufficient for the most part. Organization is a decent skill. Neatness is not. I stress over being late but I'm not punctual.

Basically, I explained that while six children have come through potty training unscathed, their mother has not. Potty training involved the child becoming self willing of the act and thus far, none of my children had willingly submitted to the indignity of self imposed body control without a mighty struggle. Others might have better ideas I volunteered.

Several Moms offered suggestions but basically, all of us said, "Wait until Summer." (The Mom in question is expecting a baby any day now). The dancers interrupted the conversation as class was over.

My daughters came up to me and started sharing the candy they got from the teacher at the end of class. This week's treat was "Smarties," Those sweet and tart little candies that come in a roll stacked like pennies and look like vaguely tinted Tylenols.

As I took off my dauther's tutu and put on her cover ups, she began putting the candies in my mouth. "What are you doing?" I asked. (There were about six she was trying to shove in there).

"Making you smarter." She explained and then gave me a kiss.

"Better give me a whole roll." I quipped as I put on her shoes.

I then turned to her sister to get her ready. The youngest girl was testing out the class; she is considering potty training. This little one almost sucks her thumb. She holds it to her mouth but does not put it in. Likewise, she sits on the potty but that's it. After class, she needed her coat and shoes too.

The first toddler daughter returned and very solemly tapped my shoulder.
She had gone back to the teacher and returned with three "Smartie" rolls.

"Here." she said. "That should do it."

I popped a roll into my mouth and hoped that maybe, it would help me get through the next girl's potty training with minimum of psychological scarring.