Cre8ting In a Corner- My Writing Process

Potty Training Tips: from an ol’ school mom

So, your baby is ready for potty training! How do you know? Because your child has shown interest in the potty by taking off their Pamper/Diaper and waving it like a flag. Or because you think it is time due to their age. Or, because an old family member or stranger has commented, with the best intentions but questionable delivery, it is time.

Every parent or child caretaker can agree that potty training can be challenging. Consistency is the key. As a mother of three and auntie to a host of nieces, nephews, and cousins I have cared for, I want to share a few tips that have helped me succeed in potty training. My suggestions may seem old-school. I am an 80s baby. I am also considering a working mom’s budget and schedule.

Lucky for me, my children were an easy sell on potty training. Before being ‘ready’ for their potty debut, my children were introduced to the toilet while in the restroom with me. (Busy moms will understand.)  Some may frown on this, but it heightened my children’s curiosity. It showed them what does and does not belong in the toilet. It opened doors to questions and influenced them to want to do what mommy or daddy did. Of course, good judgment should be practiced. My firstborn, my son, accompanied me to the bathroom during his pre-potty stage. At that age, he paid no attention to our differences in body parts. (He was barely exposed to any body part anyway.)

My first tip is to know your child’s personality traits and tailor your techniques accordingly. I’ve experienced three personalities. There is the big girl/boy personality. They are eager to use the potty. Then there is the What’s in it for me personality. They do not see the urgency in changing unless it benefits them. On the opposite end of eagerness is the defiant personality. This might be on purpose or a sign to firmly finetune your current techniques.

Timing is everything.  Sticking to a schedule while potty training soon creates a routine. When your child wakes up, they should go to the potty. The same morning bathroom urgency adults experience is the same as a child except they have an untrained bladder. It is crucial to know when your child usually uses the restroom after eating or drinking, generally within 15 to 30 minutes.

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Let them be naked! Naked time is a technique that I love and has been helpful, especially for difficult trainees. Timing with the potty trips should remain the same. And you will need a watchful eye. However, in my experience, there are fewer accidents when you remove their security, i.e., Pull-ups or even underwear. I believe that when a child sees the mess they are making, they feel a little ashamed, making them not want to do it again. With any accidents, let them assist in cleaning. (It helps the child feel better after the mess they’ve made.)

****Your child should help with any cleaning of accidents. It may seem easier to do it yourself, but making your child clean after themselves makes them take responsibility for their accidents. It also takes away from their ‘valued’ time, as it did for you. ****

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True and Funny: My son was the only child at his daycare that used the potty standing up when he had to pee. He also preferred to be naked during his bowel movements. Thankfully, his caretaker did not mind, and my son eventually grew out of his nude bowels phase. (He is going to kill me for sharing this.)

Although their jingle song is catchy, Pull-ups were not a part of my potty-training regime. It sends mixed messages. Pampers that look like underwear are profitable, but why not use underwear? Commit! If you are consistent with timing and repetition, you can save money and use training underwear. They are thick and washable. Pull-ups and pampers are designed to keep the child’s bottom dry. With potty training, the child should feel the unpleasantness of using the bathroom on themselves. After they pee, they should immediately want that wetness off them. Training underwear will encourage them not to have that feeling again, or at least not as often. Paired with consistency in timing, you are winning.

For bedwetters, extra attention is required. I do not encourage using Pull-ups. You want their ‘accident’ to wake them and disturb their sleep. I understand the convenience of using Pull-ups, but it is not about your convenience when potty training, especially in this case. Your routine should include extra trips to the potty, initiated by you, after they eat or drink, before nap or bedtime, and during the night. That’s right. Disrupt their sleep and guide their little booty to their potty. Eventually, you both will hate those late-night wake-ups, especially the ones for accidents. They need rest, so you will probably need to adjust their nap or bedtime to accommodate late-night wake-ups.

In the case of road trips and overnight stays, I do understand the want to resort back to pampers or Pull-ups at least as a backup. Your convenience is sending the wrong message. In both instances, make the necessary, temporary changes in your routine. If your child is not ready independently, share that with whoever provides care for them. They can support your routine and provide reinforcement. If not, then you need to reschedule. It sucks because it can be an inconvenience to you. That’s what parenting involves for as long as you are a parent.

My daughter began potty training at 16 mo.

A funny consequence of introducing my children to the toilet early was their need for more interest in using a potty chair. Either they felt like it was a toy or, in my son’s case, an insult. I support potty chairs. I like the different designs and flushing noises that have been added. It’s cute. The important thing is the placement of the potty. Although it is convenient to have the potty chair in front of the TV, entertaining your child while you handle other tasks, potty time should take place in the bathroom. The child being entertained is not the focus. Take those 10 to 15 minutes, walk them to their potty, and sit with them, using the time to talk or let them look through a book. TV, tablet, or toy is distracting.

Your child should be on the potty for at most five minutes. Anything more can seem like punishment. If they do not use the potty, have a careful eye for the signs when they need to potty. Have them revisit the potty in another 10 to 15 minutes if it is within the hour that they last ate or drank. It is frustrating to take the child off the potty just for them to have an accident a few minutes later. I know. But extending their time on the potty will not help avoid accidents. (It sounds like it should, but it does not.) A careful eye and revisits to the potty will help.

Going back to different personalities, some children will need some exceptions. For example, a potty chair in the child’s room or play area may be best for those who cannot get their timing right or if the restroom is not conveniently located near the child’s central location. Increase the potty trips for the child that is just intentionally unmotivated or defiant. The increased time going to the potty decreases their recreation time. They value their free time with their toys and imagination. Wasting that time on the potty or cleaning an accident is the last thing they want to do. For intentional accidents, there should be consequences. I have been successful in limiting my child’s free time. In addition, showing disappointment instead of frustration has more impact on a child.

***You will be able to know when it is intentional. During my senior year of high school, I cared for a child that found humor in his ‘accidents.’ His parents warned me. They smirked while showing me the location of the cleaning products. Their son would take off his pamper and ‘handled his business’ wherever he chose, then made the cutest face while showing where he did it. Afterward, he would bring a pamper, lay on the floor, and wait to be changed. Amazing, right? I considered it a behavioral problem and outside the scope of my job when I was hired. However, after a few weeks of him cleaning up after himself and recognizing his signs of mischief, on my shift, he stopped the intentional accidents. In hindsight, it was more attention-seeking than anything. As an employee, I respected their parenting choice to use pampers, but I still used timing routines. While increasing his potty-time frequency, I found out he preferred using the toilet versus the potty chair. Knowing their child’s personality and creating a routine catered to him sooner would have helped them years ago. Oh, I forgot that their son was almost four years old. ***

Every successful potty trip deserves a potty dance and/or song to celebrate their accomplishments, but, to me, that should be the extent of the praise. (FYI, my dance celebrations are always fun and leave my child wanting to do it!!) Potty dolls and toys are unnecessary, but it is up to you and your wallet. Potty time is not supposed to be fun. This is the opinion of this old-school mother. The most I have done is let them make more bubbles when they washed their hands.

Potty training will take time and commitment. Your patience and consistency will contribute directly to the success of your child’s potty training. In the instances of accidents, it is okay to be frustrated. Talk with your child and show disappointment and not anger. Let them know that it is a team effort. Realize and acknowledge when you have dropped the ball, like with timing.

Good luck, Mom!

woman in purple dress smiling
Short Stories

Group Home Chronicles: Purple Dress

Bustling chatter filled the room and woke the young girl. Her cheeks warmed knowing why everyone was excited. Today is the Adoption Fair! Every three months, a half dozen qualified applicants come to Wickham Orphanage to possibly choose a new addition to their family.

The young girl joined the others in cleaning and preparing for the fair. Today, everyone has a painted smile. Genuine or not, a smile is required by Director.

“Alright. Alright. You have two hours to get this place and yourselves ready for inspection. Don’t think I won’t take you out of rotation for today because I will,” Director yelled throughout the house, her chunky heels announcing her whereabouts.

The young girl ran to the closet to get her favorite dress; a faded purple satin dress with frayed lace on the bottom and a floppy black bow in the back. Her grandma loved that dress, which made it not only her favorite but lucky because her grandma hated purple. The young girl hugged the dress, certain her grandma could feel it in heaven.

It has been two years since her intake at the orphanage. She had only been allowed to participate in the last year. The first year is spent in therapy, school, church, and etiquette training. The second year is graduation to the fair, which means that the girl has shown that she can be productive with the potential to be great, despite her circumstances.

“Not that dress again. No. Girl, it’s played out,” one of the older girls said, snatching the dress.

“Hey, don’t do that. It’s my lucky dress. Mind your business and leave mine alone,” the young girl said, reclaiming her dress.

“I’m not trying to be mean but it’s not a lucky dress if you are still in here. I’m just saying?”

The young girl looked at the dress tightly clenched in her hands. Her roommate was right. As the young girl approached 13 years old, she knew her chances of adoption decreased. No one wants a teen that’s set in their ways. It was no time to play it safe. She needs to stand out. Maybe wearing the same dress is why she gets looked over so often.

The young girl hung the purple dress back in her closet, opting to wear a pink blouse with a khaki skirt and black mary-janes, with white lace socks. She pulled her full thick hair into a high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes shined behind her dark, sweeping eyelashes. She had practiced her smile for weeks. Director says that ‘the smile will warm the applicants’ hearts before words are spoken.’

Ready for inspection, all sixteen girls, ages ranging from seven to sixteen, stood against the wall waiting for Director’s approval.

“Today, we are meeting possible future parents. If you don’t find a home today, it’s their loss,” Director said, warmly looking directly at the young girl. She smiled pleasantly at the young girl’s change of clothes.

Several couples enter the orphanage’s large living room. The girls interacted with each other as normal, allowing the potential parents to see their naturally-planned personalities. Within twenty minutes, the young girl got caught up in Sudoku and didn’t notice that she was being watched by a couple that was amused by her choice of activity.

“Hey, looks like you know what you are doing,” the interested man of the couple said.

The young girl looked up quickly realizing that she had been engaged with her puzzle for too long.

“Yes. Yes sir. I do. I love puzzles and I love math,” the young girl babbled, trying to regain the time missed.

“I love puzzles too. And card games. My mother is the best though,” the woman of the couple joined in.

This was the first time the young girl had been approached by anyone at these fairs, yet her conversation with them was easy and seemed to flow for hours. By the end of the day, the young girl was asked to stay with the couple for a three-day visit. The young girl was excited at the possibility but knew that a majority of these visits don’t go well for girls over ten years old. Going on the visit will be more like a rare vacation from the orphanage with a guarantee of returning to the dread of reality.

The young girl was optimistic as she packed for the weekend. She was glad she listened to her roommates about changing her outfit. It got her noticed. The girls congratulated her and gave her tips on how to behave on her weekend visit. They had confidence that she would break the curse of older-children adoption.

She absorbed all the love and well wishes given to her. Even the envy from others was welcomed. Finally, a family is interested in her. Her hopes were kindled, but she couldn’t help thinking about her lucky purple dress.

Her lucky dress was in the back of her closet during one of the most important events of her life. Is the dress unlucky? Despite her doubt, she packed her prized possession and was ready.

As coached, the other girls acted as if the young girl would be terribly missed. “Your sentiments will make your fellow mate more attractive to the family or make them feel less guilty if it doesn’t work out,” Director advised.

The young girl said her goodbyes to the other girls.

She had been outside before, but today the air smelled different. The Virginia breeze felt soft. The sun was perfectly rewarding with sunshine and heat.

With one last wave from Director, the couple and young girl were on their way. She didn’t know where exactly was her destination. She should be a little worried but her excitement was persistent.

“Hey, we almost didn’t recognize you without your pretty purple dress,” the woman of the couple turned around to say.

The young girl smiled widely. She thought to herself, ‘It is lucky.’

woman in purple dress smiling
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vintage brown crt tv on parquet wood flooring
Short Stories

Group Home Chronicles

My short stories are based on true stories. True experiences of being lost in “the system”, between group homes and foster homes. The story below was written three years ago for an assignment but it became therapeutic. This is still a work in progress but in the meantime, please enjoy or at least be entertained.

vintage brown crt tv on parquet wood flooring
Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

I stood in the doorway, thankful for the musty smell of mold growing behind the wood panel of our community TV room.  The beautiful sight of the last floor model TV on earth was rewarding.  Even the dusty orange tweed couch, which I am sure has bed bugs, invited me to find a comfortable spot and enjoy the privileges that had been withheld from me for the last two months for fighting.

It was a typical teenage girl fight, over a boy. Two against one. I won. When you are trapped in a detention center, the opposite sex or any compatible mate is a prize.

Now, not the fight nor the boy matters.  I’ve missed seeing the trusting face of news anchor, Jim Kincaid, on channel 13 evening news. He is the only one that can deliver bad news and make it seem like there is still hope. I’ve waited to see his worried forehead wrinkles and inspiring smile for months. I found my usual spot on the couch. No one was there. It was glorious. Control over the TV with no arguments. It was too good to be true.

I was ten minutes deep into the current events when Jordan, the subject of the girl fight, came in with a strange grin and distant eyes. We have been dating for seven months. Not to brag, but he is the most attractive of the other boys. His looks, his money, his bad-ass attitude make him an ideal teen boyfriend- hence the jealous females.

He has his demons though. We all do, according to the state of Virginia. We are a menace to society. Good thing we are kept medicated, not allowed to feel and deal on our own. Speaking of zombies, Jordan looked as if he had just taken some of his coping pills.

He drunkenly plopped down beside me and kissed my cheek. I pushed away, not wanting to get caught by a counselor and lose my TV privileges. Right now, watching tv was more important than my teenage hormones.  Besides, I just fought his fan club. I am not going through that again.

“Stop, Jordan,” l loudly whispered after he tried to kiss me again.

“Don’t push me away. Please.” His voice was shaky, and his eyes were teary.

Before I could ask what was wrong, he laid his sweaty head in my lap, his body in a fetal position. He broke down like a baby, crying and breathing heavily.  I did not know if I should stand up and let him drop to the floor or be a friend, at the risk of missing The Simpsons later tonight.

I whispered in his ear to calm him down.  I could feel his heart racing. But why? What is going on? I tried to get the answer, but I could not understand him through the drooling and tears. I rubbed his head and wiped his tears.

His breathing began to become normal. With his head still on my lap, he laid on his back. I ran my hand up and down his chest. His shirt was wet. It must be from his tears and sweat. He began to talk gibberish.

“Jordan, I can’t understand you. Just go to sleep.”

More gibberish came from his lips, irritating me as I tried to hear the latest breaking news on a shooting that occurred in my old neighborhood. I tuned out his whining and tried to capture the rest of the broadcast, even the weather.

I continued to rub his chest. Sleep will clear his head and we can talk later about what was bothering him after Jim Kincaid signs off. Jordan placed his hands over my hand, squeezed it, then fell asleep.

I let him lay there until Pat Sajak signaled the 7 o’clock hour. I removed my hand from Jordan’s still ones and rubbed his head, attempting to wake him up. After a few seconds of no response, I shook him gently and called his name. Then I looked at my hand. Red. His sweat is red. I gasped.

“Wake up, Jordan. You’re bleeding.” I shook him violently trying to wake him. “Don’t play. Wake up.”

I got from under his head and pulled him to the floor. I started CPR, calling for the counselors between chest compressions.

“Wake up for me. Please, baby. Wake up.”

The pounding of the counselors’ feet let me know that help was coming.  When they came around the corner, I was tackled to the ground.

“I’m helping. Get off me! He’s bleeding. I’m helping. Jordan!”

I laid there with a counselor’s knee in my back, arms behind me. I watched as the overweight nurse walked with no urgency to Jordan’s limp body.

“Does he have a pulse?” she asked, standing over him, looking down.

“Yes, he does.” I could barely breathe while being restrained. “Do CPR. Please.”

One of the other counselors cut Jordan’s shirt and used it to clean off his chest. “His bleeding is from cuts on his chest. Pretty deep. It’s a T and a K.”

I collapsed into myself. TK. My initials.

Helpless, I watched them do nothing to start his heart. It was gone. He was gone.

Taylor Gaines Excerpts

Taylor’s Introduction Chapter

This is the first chapter I wrote for my book almost six years ago. After my first edit, I cut it because I felt that Taylor’s history can be placed throughout the book. When I removed it, the story flowed better. Got to the action. However, I still think that Taylor’s introduction is very important to understand her mentality and how it changes. So here it is…

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 Taylor

I enjoy the Sundays I spend with Grandma. Sunday morning service followed by a generous, soul supper, and sometimes a nap. The drive to her church is what kills me, but I’d do anything to make her happy. My octogenarian is the only connection I have left to my family and its history.

I lost both of my parents when I was seven years old. My mother was murdered by my best friend’s mom. Sounds crazy? It is!

It happened so long ago, I’ve become numb. The details of that night are still vague. I remember holding my mom’s hand until the paramedics came.

After the burial of my mom, my father did his best to live. He over-compensated for his loss with work. I remember hearing him cry almost every night, the medicine bottles rattling with his coping pills.

My parents had been together since high school. His everyday routine included my mom for nineteen years. He held on to his sanity for as long as he could. On his job site, he passed out from a heat stroke. He never woke up. 

I was angry with him. He left me! My mom fought to live! Why didn’t he?

My world was crumbling around me, but Grandma remained strong. We buried her daughter-in-law and her son within a year. She was a rock through it all. She organized both home-goings and she stood in my dad’s place during the sentencing of my mother’s murderer.

Even though Mom’s best friend, her killer, was in jail, Grandma encouraged the friendship between me and Renee. We’d grown up together. I had lost so much. Renee reminded me of how things used to be.

Even after the trial, our grandmothers would arrange play dates for us. Renee is older than me and treated me like a little sister. She would talk about her mom, Aunt Faye, and I would listen attentively. I hadn’t grasped the fact that she was speaking about the woman that took my mom and, indirectly, my father away from me. I saw how happy Renee was when she spoke of her mom and that made me happy. Confelicity.

I remember how much Aunt Faye loved to dance. I don’t remember any conversations, just her hugs, her red lipstick on my cheek, and the smell of White Diamonds. She has never tried to reach out to me. Never responded to my letters or cards. The obvious rejection didn’t discourage me, until two years ago. My attempt to surprise her with a visit blew up in my face. It was a sign that she wasn’t worth the effort. Her insolent attitude was more than apparent. Despite that, I still hold no ill-will towards Faye. My mom would not want that.

My curiosity as to why my mom was murdered attenuated as I got older, realizing that Faye would never speak about the incident. I developed a couple of theories for Aunt Faye’s behavior. I wouldn’t have handled the situation the same, but my theories help me fill in the blanks. It’s not good to assume but what else can I do.

When I was 12, I was placed in a group home, after my Grandma fell and broke her hip. That’s when reality hit. My family was gone.

Those two years were tough. It taught me how to fight physically and emotionally. Fighting off the sexual advances from the counselors, fighting the bullies, fighting to remember my parents. Those were probably the most strengthening years of my life. Between the anti-depressants and anxiety medication, I didn’t have real emotion, besides anger. I began accepting my diagnosis, understanding a little more of how my father may have felt. Then I saw Renee.

I was on an outing with the group home. We were on the strip in Virginia Beach for our ‘fun-time we-time’ trip. I heard Renee’s husky voice over the trumpet that had previously had my attention. I credited the music for my hallucination until she grabbed and hugged me tightly.

I could not believe it was her. Right behind her were two of her brothers. I felt life as I looked at their faces. My medication could not conceal my excitement to see Momma James. When she stood up from the bench, I ran into her arms and squeezed.

We exchanged contact information and for the rest of the outing, I plotted my escape. The next evening, I ran away. I remember getting off the Pentran bus and running the rest of the way. I felt free when I saw the tan and dark-brown brick, 2-story house.

Momma James opened the door and the familiar smell of vanilla and hot buttery biscuits hit me. She ushered me to my safe haven. The memories almost overwhelmed me; seeing Poppa James in the kitchen, the TV tuned to the news, and Lucky, the ‘guard dog’, laying near him. It made any punishment I may receive from the ‘droop’ home worth it.

I explained what I did to Momma James. She called the group home to let them know of my whereabouts, and she petitioned for custody the same day.

Momma and Poppa James adopted me later that year. I gained an extra last name. Taylor Gaines James. That was the beginning of my life. Living with The James made me feel secure again.

I wanted to follow in my grandma’s footsteps. My mom and grandmother used to host all kinds of gatherings. I loved seeing new faces, nice clothes, hearing good music and eating a variety of food. Being an only child, I was at most of the events. I decided I wanted to be a part of the celebration. I wanted to be an event- planner.

My first gig was for my middle school’s SCA. In high school, I helped to organize a Big Bro Lil Bro day. I also hosted side parties during my senior year. And that’s when I started seeing the profit involved with planning. Forget boys and high-school drama. I wanted to ensure my future.

Then, in college, I met Jonas, my first boyfriend. Jonas Roberts was persistent, and his humor won me over. He played football for another college, but his best friend was in my statistics class. I was 20, and, like other women, I wanted male attention. That need was fueled after watching Love and Basketball. I wanted that best friend/soulmate love. Maybe I set my expectations too high, but I believed that my best friend/soulmate was out there just as eager to meet me.

Jonas showed up at the peak of my anticipation. After a year of dating, we made love. It was a scene from a movie. It was perfect, fast but perfect. I understood the hype in high school; however, I’m glad I waited. Because I was a little more mature, I appreciated it more. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an orgasm until after another year of our relationship.

I had never seen a pornographic movie… you know, beyond what was on the HBO scrambled channels. Jonas decided to put one on while we were in the middle of foreplay. After skipping to the meat of the movie, he started kissing my neck and steadily moved lower. I tried to focus on what he was doing but it was hard when I was looking at what was on the screen.

The main character’s… the gentleman’s… the star’s member was so big. I would have felt a little self-conscious if I was Jonas. I know that would be impossible though, as cocky as he is. Watching the man… the actor… the dude sex the girl from behind turned me on. I wanted that. I wanted to be handled with the same kind of tender, roughness. I imagined myself in the girl’s place, being punished, and I was able to reach my first climax. Unfortunately, it was my last to this day. Something was missing.

After the Baltimore Ravens became interested in him, Jonas and I became distant, leaving me feeling more like a penultimate than his girlfriend. He started feeling his fame and I refused to compete. He felt that I should have fought for him when I felt that his ‘fans’ should not have been a factor. I was excited about his possibilities, but I wasn’t going to be one of his groupies.

His first year with the Ravens, he was in a car accident and I was by his side. The accident humbled him but by then, I was too far gone. I supported him through rehab. I left a week after his first game back. That’s how long it took for him to get back to the ‘swing of things’. He’s a Slut.

I was lucky to get a scholarship at VCU and a few grants. My parents left me a college fund that my grandparents built upon. With my added funds, I decided to help Renee get her bachelor’s degree. She was at a community college, which wasn’t challenging her enough. After she received her associate’s, there was no money left. I knew she would do the same for me.

Our apartment’s bathroom was my think tank. While I was planning various college gatherings, I also created my business plan. I kept myself busy, eventually spreading my event planning to baby showers and local church events. I had found what I was good at and I used my nest egg to start the business.

Before I graduated college, I had my own successful business. I know a lot of young people are accomplishing this feat and I am honored to be among them.

If Grandma is any indication, I know my parents are proud.

Cre8ting In a Corner- My Writing Process, Taylor Gaines

First Blog: Too Late?

I completed the first draft of my book over five years ago. I wanted to create a blog for my book but I read that as a writer, you should be trying to grow a following, even if your book is not complete. Makes no sense to me. I am already stressed with completing the book and now I am supposed to almost equally focus on getting an audience of followers for a book that is still a work-in-progress. Sounds like a lot to me. It’s not that I am not willing to put in the work but I want to focus on the major before overwhelming myself with the minor. I finally feel comfortable with my major to be able to focus on my minor.