Booty Boot Camp

We're potty training--#2 (no not that #2). This time it's our daughter. And this time it's a drop in the bucket.

A year and a 1/2 ago with my son, it was quite a different story. The screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" after the simple question "Do you want to go on the potty?" The dramatic one-woman act I put on to ensure he and I were both completely grossed out by the poopy monster in his underwear that to this day still has me wondering "who was that woman?" The pictures I attempted to draw of the toilet bowl and cuing my son, "Oh look, what's that...yes, that's right a potty...ohhhhh, and look what's in the potty." All of it to no avail. Until I came up with a plan.

Booty Boot Camp.

Seven full days of pure unadulterated training. Drill Sergeant Momma Yes Ma'am was ready for business and young private would be getting his privates ready to do business. This wasn't a camp made with stickers and sweets, there were workouts and chants. The uniform: one camouflage T-Shirt. Absolutely no socks, no pants, and most definitely no underwear allowed. Every move Young Private Project Boot Camp made was fully inspected. There were no "It's so quiet around here...hey what's he doing behind the couch?" moments allowed. DSMYM was like a bloodhound on a hares butt. She didn't miss one trick (well except that one when she herself had to go to the bathroom and private continued eating his Cherrio's, with lips that read cheery O upon discovery of the muddle under his seat--but that was early on in the camp.) Much of the time was spent parading around the makeshift obstacles of pillows and blankets, marching in sync, chanting.

DSMYM: 1-2 Pee Pee
YPPBC: 1-2 Pee Pee
DSMYM: 3-4 Poo Poo
YPPBC: 3-4 Poo Poo
DSMYM: 5-6 Potty
YPPBC: 5-6 Potty
DSMYM: Pee Pee Poo Poo Potty
YPPBC: Pee Pee Poo Poo Potty

Finally after 5 straight days of complete isolation in BBC, it was decided a field trip would prove a worthy test of understanding. A full-fledged all-out readiness test: complete with full uniform, steel armored tank and durable helmet. Destination: Wal-Mart. The place where all good soldiers must place both feet firmly on the battle ground. DSMYM was well prepared with kitchen tongs (for enemy fire), battle garb (in case of soiling) and power aide (for pushing this test to its limits). It was time to see is YPPBC had the makings of a fine soldier.

The time came when all good soldiers and all good sergeants are put to the test. Stuck between the extra-large grandma taking up both sides of the cookie aisle and the single-mother with five children (two in the cart, one under the cart, one on the side, and one in the aisle) the small voice came. Like a short whisper in a long cave, "Mommy I have to go potty." And we were off, like a steed shot out of the opening gate. The cart shimmied between granny and the oreos knocking them right out of her hand. No time to look back. Around the loop, cutting off a old man lazily sweeping the floor, we flew into the unsanitary bowl, whipped down pants, and let it pour. The battle had been won. And we didn't have to clean the pee off the floor.

Booty Boot Camp was a success the first time around. Thankfully I won't have to go there again.