Here we are: Neil and Lizzie are three, and potty training....well let's just say it's been an adventure.
Current status: we love our big kid underwear, we will pee on the potty, but don't even THINK about asking us to poop on that thing! And if you have the audacity to suggest such a horrible thing, you had better come prepared with a bribe. Current acceptable bribes include five marshmallows for one poop, or a horse. A real one.
It's full-on Threenagers at our house. The other day Neil asked to wear his red shirt. I got it out for him, he screamed bloody murder when I tried to put it on him. "No! Not this shirt! The red shirt!" So, I asked him to point out which shirt he wanted, because I was holding his only red shirt and he was insisting that it wasn't the right red shirt. He grabbed a blue shirt, insisted that he didn't want the red one, and he wanted the blue one, but don't put the blue one on me because, psych, I want that red one that you just put away when I insisted that red was blue. And while we're on the subject of your shortcomings in meeting my demands, mother, where's my soccer ball? I must have this ball within 2 inches of my self at all times. Get it, now, before I go all Bruce Banner on your ass. Hulk want soccer ball! Hulk want red/blue/red/blue/let's settle on yellow shirt! And goldfish!
Mommy wants a drink.
So, we try to reason with them. "Yes, I know you want to break mommy's glasses, but she needs them to see, so you'll have to settle for breaking your own sunglasses instead. Oh, I know, you're upset. This feeling is called anger. When things don't go our way, we get upset and angry. But don't worry, the anger will go away when you remember that you haven't tried to eat the candles when I'm not looking."
Until my next post, enjoy this image of the twins on the "time out wall," because we want the sprinkler on, but don't want to get wet, but keep the water running or we'll scream like you're pulling our finger nails out with pliers.