Potty Training for Preschoolers

Potty training boys, I have to believe, is harder than training girls. After reading loads of theories about when and how best to train toddlers, I settled on the one that made the most sense to me (and that seemed easiest): wait for kids to show that they are ready.

As it happened, both my boys were ready at the same time. One was two, the other three and a half. I was a single mother and had no idea how best to instruct my boys. The books don't tell you exactly how boys are supposed to go about doing this. I guess they assume that most people who have made it to parenthood would know. For the most part, probably a good assumption.

While toying with the idea of using the potty, my son Paul began to sit on it. That seemed easy, I thought. Maybe we'll just go with that. Then one night I saw a show on television where the "cool" characters were crucifying this nerdy guy because he sat instead of stood while urinating. The next morning, as my son climbed up on the toilet, I said, "Oh no, no, no honey. No more of that. Boys have to stand." He was at that fabulous age where kids take everything you say as gospel and stood up without question.

So now he stood with his penis pointing into the bowl. I stood next to him for support. Nothing happened. He looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders and offered the only thing that came to mind. "I think you squeeze it." I said. He looked confused. Some innate knowledge must have kicked in. "I don't think so," he responded kindly. Then, miraculously, and without physical provocation, the urine just came trickling out. I think that we were both thrilled that the process happened so naturally. Wiping and putting down the seat, however, was something that had to be taught.

Piaget & Cognitive Development

When my son Paul was about three, we lived on an funky little dead-end street just outside New York City. There were only three homes on the street, one of them I lived in with my sister. In another lived my neighbor and friend Bea. Bea's husband was often gone and she had a live-in nanny to help her out with her son, who was Paul's age.

Once in a while, Bea and I would have a smoke on the porch while the kids napped or played on the swings, but mostly we were running after them or dashing off to work.

My parents didn't live far from me and would often visit. My father more often than my mother. He was retired, my mother still worked. Another sister would also come around with her infant son. Her husband was gone more than half the time on business.

Suffice it to say, there weren't a lot of men around. And family and friends seemed to have an explosion of male children around that time.

One day I could feel myself cracking. There was just too much to do, and too little time to do it in. I was about to lose it. In comes my little cherub Paul asking me for something or another. I picked him up for a minute to gather the strength to finish the day and started to quietly weep. I felt his little hand patting my back in comfort, as I had done to his many times. "Don't cry, Mommy," he said. "Only boys cry." Only boys cry? It took me a minute, but then I realized that all the boys in his life did cry: his brother, his best friend, his cousin. The nanny didn't cry, nor did my sister, or Bea, or me, (until then, but I soon found myself laughing).

When Paul observed a visiting brother of mine with a cigarette, he asked him why he would do that when only women smoked. He'd only observed Bea and me having the occasional smoke on the porch, never a man. Paul also thought that women were the only ones who worked.

He may not have technically reached the age of reason at that time, but I'd say Paul had a pretty good argument for what he saw as the truth.

Sleep Cycles

As a single mother of two energetic boys, I looked forward to their bedtime. Love them as I did, at the end of the day I was exhausted and ready for some adult time (read: a refreshing beverage and a mindless sitcom). But that was not to be for me. Night after night, the boys would come out (on their best behavior, of course) with one thing or another that they forgot to tell me, or for a bathroom run, or any number of things. With babysitters and family members often putting them to bed, I couldn't nail down a training routine.

My boys are grown now and recently I've been spending time with my younger sister and her three toddlers. I was astounded at her children's bedtime behavior. These kids practically put themselves to sleep! The one-year-old handed me his blanket one night, lifted his arms for me to pick him up, and said "night-night." Come on!

I figured she was blessed with easy kids, but it was not the case. She was given a book titled, "Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child" by a friend and followed its advice. She bought and passed on this book, she has told me, for all her friends who are headed for an experience like I had (she was one of my babysitters).

Recently, her 2-year-old daughter fell out of her healthy sleep habits. My sister dusted off the book and read the chapter on toddlers. Peace was restored before long.

As a mother who often fell asleep before her toddlers (without the benefit of either a refreshing beverage or a sitcom of any quality) I highly recommend this book, which helps get parents, and their kids, what they need.