When Bribery Backfires
We are full-on into the world of potty-training. The little angel requested to go to The Emerald City in her Cinderella underwear on Friday. She made it through the day with only two accidents. The afternoon teacher told me this was something akin to running a marathon after having done a 5k, so we decided that she should wear underwear pretty much all the time from now on.
And thus began my adventure. Right after I picked her up on Friday, we went to Target, because we have fascinating social lives. I was looking for a padlock that could save my beloved computer backpack from the dustbin. It's the perfect backpack, JUST the right size, and though I and many of my envious colleagues have searched the Internet high and low, no one can find one this small. So when the clasp broke during my business trip, I knew I would have to find some way to save it without buying a new one. My salvation came in the form of an oddly shaped padlock that will be replacing the broken clasp. People will think I'm a total idiot or impossibly hip.
Anyway, this whole padlock-comparison affair took so long that when the little angel announced she had to pee, we were at least 200 yards away from the restroom. "Let's run!" I cried. "You can do it!" So there we were, sprinting across Target with the little angel howling, "I can't hold my pee in! I can't hold it, Mommy!" I refused to carry her, because, well, I'm evil and didn't want to be covered in urine. By the time we reached the restroom, I could wring out her little sweatpants. She made a valiant effort, though, and I was not upset with her.
Until she locked herself in the bathroom stall with my purse in there with her when I went to wash out the cuffs of her sweats in the sink and left her sitting on the potty.
And then she crawled off the potty and stuck her head under the door. "Hi Mommy!" she chirped. Then she crawled out of the stall. I'm not sure how she got the door locked. I had to shimmy under it to fetch my purse. I guess I shouldn't have worried about being covered in urine, because, at least in my mind, I was anyway, along with who knows what else a swab test of that bathroom floor could find. GAH GAH GAH
After all that, I headed into Saturday with a little fear in my heart. She made it through all day Saturday, even when she screamed in terror after we took her to the new dinosaur restaurant out west (it's like the Rainforest Cafe, except with frighteningly realistic dinosaurs). My beloved kept insisting she'd be okay, though I had my doubts. Not two minutes inside the restaurant, the dinosaur dropped his head, opened his four-foot mouth and gaped at the little angel, fixing her with his mechanical eyes. She screamed like a banshee. "He's going to eat me, Mommy!" she cried.
I pulled her off to the side, taking my beloved's name in vain. Of course, he was parking the car and not there to witness the event. I reassured her that the dinosaur was just Roar's older brother, and he didn't mean to scare her, but he was just, so, well, BIG, just like the baby whale in the Ariel story. Remember how the whale ruined choir practice with his big voice? This is just like that! (In the background, the dinosaur roared again and I damn near wet MY pants - I couldn't even watch Jurassic Park with surround sound.) In the midst of all this drama, it occurred to me that the little angel might have wet herself. "Did you pee?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Not even when Roar's brother tried to eat me."
"Good girl," I said. "You'll be very good at slumber parties."
We ended up taking her to Dave & Buster's, a Chuck E. Cheese for adults. The little angel, as it turns out, is a game addict. But still, no accidents. Not one in the three hours it took us to get in, eat, play games, fight our way through the Lord of the Flies ticket redemption center, and walk out with a large stuffed dog and a flashing princess necklace.
Sunday she made it through church, lunch and a nap before we went to the park. She rode her tricycle around the park, drunk with speed, until we said it was time to go. She threw a fit. After two days of relentless urine inquiries and restroom locating, I admit, I was at the end of my rope. I still had to turn-down chocolates from the hotel in my pocket. They were shaped like little stars. I held one up.
"If you can get in the car and go to the grocery store without complaining or crying, I'll give you this," I said.
She agreed, and she made it. I gave her the chocolate. Such a waste. It was good chocolate, and the little angel, she has such low standards. As she inhaled it, she looked at me and said sweetly, "I like this chocolate. I don't even have to sleep all night to get this kind."