In which we discuss matters of the family.
Scene: Wheeling through the produce department at the grocery store.
Poppy: Pears! Pumpkins!
Rockford: That’s right! What else do you see?
Poppy points at the pineapples.
P: That looks like a food.
A: Those are pineapples.
P, as we pass the tomatoes: Stinky Petes! Red Stinky Petes!
Later, she correctly identified lamb chops and steak at the meat counter. That’s my girl.
We tried to potty train Poppy a few months ago using the method that my mother-in-law used on two of her three children and on our niece. The book she used is called “Toilet Training in Less Than a Day” by Nathan Azrin. The basic premise calls for a pottying doll to show the child the general concept. Once they get what you’re trying to accomplish, you ply the child with whatever beverages and snacks they love the most and have a frantic afternoon of running to and from the potty. And in just hours, your child is potty trained.
With the help of copious amounts of M&Ms, my mother-in-law’s children were potty trained by naptime. Sophie took a bit longer, but she was also trained at 18 months — pretty darned early and a fact in which Sophie takes a considerable amount of pride. We were enthusiastic and had no doubt that Poppy would have similar success.
Alas, there was no joy in Mudville.
Scene: In bed. The wee hours. A clatter wakes Nichole.
Nichole, groggily: Rockford? What was that?
Rockford, speaking clearly: Don’t worry. I was just working on that problem.
Nichole works to clear the cobwebs from her brain and sits up. Rockford is on his side, with his hands extended toward his nightstand.
N: What?
A: I’m working on that problem they gave us last night. Don’t worry.
Nichole realizes Rockford isn’t awake after all. She goes back to sleep. Awhile later — another clatter. Nichole opens her eyes and glances over at Rockford, who is once again hard at work knocking things off his nightstand.