In hope of avoiding early morning meltdowns over clothing choices, I had our 3-year-old pick her dress the night before. It’s white with pink, blue and polka-dotted raindrops all over. She went to bed that night happy with her decision. I was hopeful it was enough to help us through the morning routine that has become such a challenge of late.

When I went into her room the next morning, she was already wide awake, singing and talking to herself. I sat on the floor, engaging her in chatter while staying alert for signs she was ready to turn against me.

And when I sensed things were about to turn, I brought up the dress. It patiently waited on the hanger, dangling from a dresser knob. Once she remembered it, she eagerly got up and beckoned me to help her put it on.

After a failed attempt to put it on feet-first (the neck is too small to fit around her waist), she had her first meltdown of the day. Next, we tried the head-first approach, which worked. I pointed out how pretty the dress looked on her and asked if she’d like to look in the mirror to see for herself. She didn’t bite at that, but she changed her tune when I brought up the choice of what socks should complete the outfit.

Socks are on, we were ready to move on. As we walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, I hear something I was not prepared for.

“Daddy, I want makeup so I can look pretty.”

I instantly recoil.

Wearing makeup starts … at home?

My mind raced to determine where our toddler got this idea. Who told our child she needed lipstick, blush and mascara to look pretty? Was it one of her friends at daycare who has an older sister? Did one of the cartoon princesses she adores take a trip to beauty school in an episode she watched? Or was it in an article from one of the Toddler Cosmopolitan magazines I’ve seen lying about in her room? I’ve been meaning to cancel that subscription.

Then I remembered.

My wife let her put on makeup recently. She was trying to calm her down and give her something to do while they were getting ready for a weekend getaway.

I doubt my wife actually said something this absurd to our child, but now it appears the seed had been planted. We needed to do something about it.

I stalled for time. What’s the right thing to say to a 3-year-old girl about what qualifies as “pretty”? As a parent, I thought this conversation would come much later. Maybe I’d even be prepared for it by then. But that’s the thing: parenthood can throw lots of things your way when you’re not ready for them, and it’s up to you to sort them out and make the best of the situation.

+ Read: 5 things to know about kids and makeup +

On top of that, I’m a guy. I grew up concerned about action figures, cartoons and video games. I could not have cared less about how I looked as long as I was comfortable.

Now, as the father of a girl, I’m in a world I know very little about. I’m grateful I have my wife to help me through these moments, but I also want to take an active role no matter what it involves. I will absolutely learn about issues young girls face when the time comes, but for now, I want my child to be a child. I want the focus to be on who she wants to be as an individual, rather than how she looks. Or, for at least as long as that’s possible.

Finding words of wisdom

Eventually, I found my words.

“You don’t need makeup to look pretty. You’re pretty already and I love you,” I said.

If this was a TV sitcom, my child would stop and think about what I had just said. Then, she’d agree with me. We’d share a hug and a smile. One of us would then say something witty and the audience would laugh and applaud.

But in real life, my child responded with a louder and more stern demand for her face to be painted.

After some more back and forth I eventually laid down the law. “You’re 3 years old and you don’t need makeup,” I said.

She wailed and went to a corner to pout. I took this new meltdown as a chance to finish getting ready myself and let her cool off.

After some time, I managed to convince her to get to daycare. But right before we left she stopped and asked to look at herself in the mirror.

I followed close behind and watched her admire her dress and hair in the mirror, eyes full of stars and a huge grin on her face. I knelt beside her, gave her a big hug, and said, “I know you wanted to wear the makeup to look pretty, but you’re pretty even without it. See?”

She smiled again. I held out my hand to lead her off to school for the day.

As we walked, hand in hand, I thought about how both wonderful and challenging life as a parent can be. As much as I don’t want my child to get older and face the harsh realities that await her, I will do everything I can to be there for her when things get tough. I love her and think that she’s pretty and beautiful no matter what clothes she wears or what she puts on her face.

Although if I had my way, she’d walk out of the house dressed like this for as long as possible. Pretty, indeed.

A version of makeup first appeared on Our Little Mixtape. Photo: © Irina Glazaceva / Adobe Stock.

Every two weeks our daycare hosts a movie night on Fridays for any younger children in the neighborhood. A few hours of fun for the kids, and some well deserved together time (and time off) for parents.

Every two weeks we use these nights as incentive for Olivia to get up in the mornings without fussing or fighting.

Every two weeks she is *this* close to not going because she is adamantly, overwhelmingly and undeniably not a morning person.

This past Friday our daycare was showing Rio 2. I’m not sure if there’s an “Electric Boogaloo” or “Rio Harder” subtitle in there, but I’m sure it has all the qualities of a good sequel (more jokes, more explosions and higher profile birds. By the way, have you heard what the toucan has been up to in the tabloids lately? Scandalous.). Regardless, Olivia had been looking forward to seeing the movie about the birds for some time now, and we were looking forward to a quiet evening at home. I prepped her the night before, reminded her about being good, got her to agree and hoped the next morning would be uneventful.

6:40 a.m.

I go into her room and gently try to get her to stir. No dice. I figured it was still early, so I’d check back in a bit.

6:50 a.m.

I go back in, give her a gentle back rub and use a light voice to try and wake her. This time I got a response: a quick swat from her hand to push mine off her back. I guess she’s not quite ready yet.

7:00 a.m.

This time her eyes are open and she’s tracking my movement, like a silent predator waiting for the right moment to break her stillness and strike. I try the back rub again and am instantly pushed away. I remind her that she has a big day. Silence, followed by a scowl that lets me know I need to slow my roll, back the eff up or whatever slang it is the toddlers use these days to say, “Leave me alone.”

7:10 a.m.

I remind Olivia about movie night, and how only big girls who can get up and dress are able to go. “I want to sleep in bed more,” she exclaimed. I wished I could, but I had to leave in 20 minutes to get to work. Unfortunately, toddlers don’t care. In fact for them, every day is like the premise of the movie Friday (minus the pharmaceuticals): they ain’t got no job, and they ain’t got shit to do. Just remember this about toddlers: never, ever let them borrow your VCR right quick. You’ll never see it again.

After wasting more breath, I was forced to bring out the heavy artillery: “OK, well, I guess if you can’t get up that means you don’t want to go to the movie tonight.” I expected her to attack. I expected her to lash out and cry and yell about how I was denying her Constitutional right. Instead, I got more silence, a few blinks and no movement whatsoever.

Shit.

7:20 a.m.

I come back into her room and use a stronger tone of voice, letting her know that we were leaving for daycare in 10 minutes, regardless of whether she was ready. Nothing.

7:22 a.m.

At this point I’m a little anxious, a little bit country and, I’ll admit it, just a tad bit rock n’ roll. I have no idea what I’m going to do to get her out of bed. I finish getting myself ready for the day while mentally preparing for the impending struggle. In my mind I can already see the other parents, who have just dropped off their calm and cooperative children, giving me judging looks as I carry my loud and flailing child into daycare. Why must we continually have rough mornings?

And then suddenly, I hear the words that were music to my ears: “Daddy, look! I’m not in bed anymore!”

7:35 a.m.

Through some superhuman feats of strength (along with a little bit of black magic), we get out the door in record time. Olivia went to daycare with no other problems, and I got to work only a little bit late. Success!

+  +  +

That night I pick Olivia up from the movie and, as usual after these long days, she seems like she’s ready for bed.

Then the Chernobyl of toddler meltdowns commences.

She refuses to put on pajamas, screams, cries and won’t do anything we ask. And, of course, there’s the rub to these late nights. She comes home cranky, overtired and making crazy demands of us, like purchasing a small island off the coast of Hawaii to store her toys on, or letting her become the first toddler astronaut to ride a pony into space.

Every two weeks the movie night happens. Every two weeks since we’ve started letting Olivia attend we’ve wondered whether she’ll actually come home and just pass out like we think a kid her age should do after a long night. And while I’m not fond of dealing with an overtired toddler, I am looking forward to starting a tradition like this inside our household.

I want to let her stay up a little later to watch some of my favorite movies with me. To see her light up with joy at the same scenes I did, or to get closer and put my arm around her when she feels like she needs protection. I hope someday she’ll look back and remember those late nights we shared together, watching movies and talking about the things we enjoyed or didn’t. I can’t wait to create those memories with her.

But first, let’s work on getting up in the morning without being an asshole, OK?

A version of this first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

Dear Olivia,

You've tried to prove to us that you are big enough and can do various tasks, even if you're not quite capable yet. You'll want to bring your plate full of food into another room to eat, but your coordination isn't quite there and it all slides off as you're walking. You can reach the kitchen sink to empty your cup, but you'll get distracted in the process and empty half of it across your arm or shirt sleeve. You'll tell us you've finally perfected that showstopper for your Vegas magic show where you remove a tablecloth without breaking a single item, and we smile and watch as the last of our dishes are flung to their demise. I know with time and practice, you'll get this stuff down with ease. But for now, even at the ripe old age of 5 years old, maybe hold off on trying the sawing a person in half trick.

Over the course of the last year, you've learned and developed certain skills you'll use for the rest of your life. Sometimes you used those skills for good; sometimes, not so good. You started riding a bike, a scooter and a jet-ski motorcycle. You began developing your powers of persuasion to try and delay doing things:

• like eating food when you really wanted to play ("I'd really like to eat this dinner, but first I have to remind you about the colors of all the food, plates and cups we're using."),
• going to the bathroom when you really wanted to play ("I'd really like to go potty, but first I have to tell Mommy about the fact that my hair is longer than hers."), and
• going to bed when you really wanted to play ("I actually really don't want to go to bed, so I'm going to pummel you with facts about how much the human head weighs, what animals smell fear and the kind of pets our neighbor keeps."

Listen here. Or don't.

You've put a lot of time and effort into listening to your mother and me, as well as a lot of time and effort into completely NOT listening to your mother and me. There are moments when asking you to do something is the easiest thing ever. And then there are times when you fight tooth-and-nail over seemingly simple requests from us for things like: going to the bathroom, cleaning up your toys before bedtime and tying a sheepshank knot so we know you're a capable crew member when we need to hop on a boat and hunt giant killer sharks. Your mother complains that you have city hands and you're not up for the task, but I'll vouch for you.

Because of your stubborn 5 years old nature, we've had to teach you about making choices and some of the consequences that can come with them. If you choose not to listen when we ask you to do something, then maybe you don't get to do anything fun for a while. If you don't like what we're eating for dinner, you can choose to not eat and go to bed hungry. You can make the choice for taste, which is obviously Taster's Choice, or you can pick some bullshit brand of coffee that no one else will drink and you'll be ridiculed by your peers. Even if they are are also only 5 years old.

Speaking of choices, out of all the ones you've made this year I have an absolute favorite: you've chosen to start liking me for a change. I don't know what it was that started it all, perhaps when you made that right turn at Albuquerque instead of a left, but you actually want me around now and I can't get over it. It used to be that you'd spit on the floor and curse my name when I came home from work, but now you smile, say my name and sometimes even run over to give me a hug. That is unless you've been misbehaving or not listening to your mom, because I still have to be the bad cop in our household. When this happens I tend to get tears and hear you beg for a plea bargain involving state's evidence and a spot in the witness protection program where you get to live the rest of your life like a schnook.

Father-daughter bonding

I've been doing my best to strengthen this newly formed bond by doing and sharing as many things with you as I can. I love taking you to the comic book shop, the movies or the toy section of a store, because I enjoy sharing my affinity for geeky things with you. You've gotten more and more into music lately, especially The Beatles, and I love hearing you belt out their tunes. I also really, really enjoy just being silly with you. We make silly faces, use different voices and just try to have as much fun as we can. Sometimes, it's one of the few things that will break one of your sour moods or help wake you up in the morning when you don't want to get ready for school. So yes, I may look like a fool pretending to shave my face using your big toe nail, but if it makes you laugh and gets you smiling I'll do it.

I cannot express just how proud your mother and I are about how far you've come in the past year, especially in school. You've learned how to write, your vocabulary has expanded and, last but not least, you're starting to read! I generally read you two bedtime stories at night, but now you're reading them to me. It's the most incredible thing to see these changes and I can't get over it. Before having you I seriously never thought a 4 (now 5) year-old would be able to do so much. I figured at your age it would be a lot of walking, talking and maybe some basic Microsoft Excel skills. Instead, you're a sensitive, energetic, strong-willed, clever, comical little girl who I look forward to spending time with every single day.

In just five short years you've managed to surprise, overwhelm and amaze me with all that you do. For all the worries and fear I've had about whether or not I'm a good dad, you seem to be turning out pretty good so far and I hope that I've had some positive effect on that. I must be doing something right though, because I've never heard you say, "I love you, Daddy," more than I have in this past year. Coincidentally, I've also never been moved more to the brink of tears because of hearing those words coming out of your mouth. You mean so much to me and I hope I show you how much I love you every single day. And like I always tell you: I love you when you're happy, when you're sad, when you're angry and, yes, even when you poop.

Happy birthday, kiddo, from the bottom of my heart.

Love, Daddy

A version of this post about being 5 years old first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

It was 5:15 a.m. when the call came over the baby monitor.

“DADDY!!!”

I shot up, grabbed my glasses, checked the time and raced into Olivia’s bedroom. On the way my mind began running through the possible scenarios I was about to encounter: Was the air conditioner making it too cold in her room? Had she wet the bed? Did I need to open our front door to let in the next guest on her highly successful late-night podcast, I’m Not Tired?

“I need cold water,” she exclaimed under the dual humming of the AC unit and her white noise machine. Both were working hard to preserve her cocoon of sleep but were outmatched by her need for liquid refreshment.

It’s not the first time I’ve gotten this request, but I am thankful it’s nothing more serious. I grab her water bottle, head to the kitchen and ponder whether a mini-fridge would fit in her room. Perhaps, but then I’d have to check it every so often for random toys, loose change, rocks and marker scrawlings.

One of the pitfalls I face whenever my sleep gets broken, regardless of who or what makes that happen, is that my mind immediately wakes up and begins thinking about a million random things. No amount of concentration or willpower spent trying to keep me on the brink of the “sleep zone” will work. Against my wishes, I begin thinking about the work I have to do that day, both at home and in the office. The radio station in my head begins to play that song with the catchy hook that I’ve been unable to avoid lately. Then, to make matters worse, I start worrying about my direction in life and whether I’ll ever find the thing(s) I’m good at or meant to do with my time left.

All this happens within the first five minutes of my being awake, so of course, my chances of going back to sleep are about as good as the one I have of being cast as an extra in the cantina scene of the next Star Wars movie. Although, to be honest, I’d be an awesome space musician.

As I return with the water bottle, I’m reminded of how grateful I am to have my daughter in my life and that I’m able to provide for her, even with something so trivial as water at night. I’m filled with gratitude that, even though I’m not sure of what I’m doing with my life, I have some purpose in being her dad. With a heart filled with love and adoration, I go to hand my child the water bottle, certain that she loves me back and is appreciative of my early morning efforts for her.

She stirs for a second, takes one look at me and the bottle, then points toward the nightstand next to her and dismissively says, “It goes over there.”

There is no appreciation, no need for thirst quenching. I’ve just been played.

I set the water bottle down in its proper place, give her a gentle rub on the back and don’t let the door hit me on the way out. There’s no chance of me going back to sleep now, as I’m overcome by feelings of foolishness and minor frustration. As I hop in the shower to start my day, I decide that maybe all this wasn’t a wasted effort. Maybe I can use this experience as a life lesson and a means to an end. So, I’ve decided to start my own late-night/early-morning water delivery service to children in need. Rates and availability may differ depending on their location. Don’t forget to ask about our frequent rewards program and upgraded services such as late-night potty visits and checking under the bed for monsters.

Lemons into lemonade, my friends.

A version of this first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

There are times in my 4-year-old daughter’s life when I stop and take a mental snapshot of where she is in that moment and compare it to when she was younger.

I think about how far she’s come in such a short time and remember all the work we’ve done to help her. The trigger moment can be anything, like seeing her brushing her teeth on her own, listening to her say “please” and “thank you” (mostly) without being prompted, or reveling in her ability to parallel park a car on a crowded New York City street without the help of a rear-facing camera.

Recently, we took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather by visiting one of our favorite local playgrounds. We’ve had many visits there, and while plenty of them involve positive memories, some are not so positive. There have been times when Olivia wanted to do nothing but sit in a swing, exert no energy and interact with no one at all. She’s demanded to sit on a bench for entire visits, eating snacks and drinking juice, while watching other kids play, as if they were there for her amusement alone. She’s hustled other kids, and their parents, out of money with an illegal 3-card Monte setup, which she’s still doing community service to atone for.

It had been months since we’d visited the playground, and I wasn’t sure how the experience would go this time around. As we neared our destination, Olivia began peppering me with questions:

• “Will there be kids there to play with me?”
• “Can I go on the swings?”
• “Are the police still after me for that whole illegal gambling thing?”

I reassured her that her wanted status was all clear and that, since it was such a nice day, there would surely be kids to play with (and I would join in regardless). When we arrived it was clear she’d have no lack of kids to play with because it looked like our entire neighborhood was there. It was as if Mother Nature decided to give us all a break from the cold, dreary days we’ve been having and yell out, “RECESS! Everybody outside!”

_________

In order to get to the big kid slide you must first hire a Sherpa to lead you to the infamous “yellow ladder of doom.” Once that has been traversed, one must next climb the “thousand wooden steps of enlightenment.”
_______

The playground has two sides: one for younger kids and one for older. We began on the younger side and right out of the gate it was clear that the Olivia I had brought that day was raring to go.

She’s still small enough to fit in the toddler swings, so we hit those first. All I heard from her was: “Faster, Daddy, faster! Higher!” She was hell-bent on having fun, showing up all the babies on the other swings and letting any movie execs within earshot know that she was ready to be cast in the inevitable Fast and the Furious reboot where they show Vin Diesel’s childhood backstory. She could play the smart, headstrong female lead who takes no shit, pulls no punches and plays a mean game of hide-and-seek.

After the swings and some time on the slides, Olivia was ready to head to the big kid part of the playground. I was anxious at first, because I saw how many older kids were there and worried that she might get knocked around a bit, but she acted as if they weren’t even there.

She took on the big swings like a champ, holding on to the chains for dear life, face clenched in concentration as she went back and forth. She called for me to stop the swing and then said, “I want to go on the big kid slide.” In my head, the entire population of the playground stopped what they were doing, gasped aloud and collectively called out: “The big kid slide?!?!” In that instant I could swear I heard a record scratch while multiple women (and one chihuahua) fainted and my heart skipped a beat.

In order to get to the big kid slide you must first hire a Sherpa to lead you to the infamous “yellow ladder of doom.” Once that has been traversed, one must next climb the “thousand wooden steps of enlightenment” while simultaneously dodging the “big kids” — a roaming band of misfits and cutthroats who want nothing more than to hip check or push you out of their way in their search for the fabled “lost treasure of fun.” If you can make it past all that, and you are worthy (a.k.a. brave enough to go without the assistance of a parent), then you may ride the legendary slide. OK, maybe it’s not that treacherous. There’s a bit of a climb, sure, and there are all the big kids to maneuver around, but it’s really just an ordinary corkscrew slide and not something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Although it would be incredible to go down the slide while being chased by a giant boulder …

Anyway, my point is this: Olivia normally either avoids this slide altogether, watches other kids go down it or sits in our lap to go down it. Not this time, my friends. She climbed, juked and made her way to the top of this thing so quickly it made my head spin. Our daughter, who used to be timid and mostly afraid of this silver menace, was about to bravely and boldly go down the big kid slide BY HERSELF. The first time down, I welled up inside watching her go.

As she landed at the bottom I scooped her up, gave her a huge hug and told her how proud of her I was. She immediately went back for more. Each time she went back up I stood back, beamed with pride and cheered her on. This was one of those parenting moments that you tuck away in the back of your mind and hang on to for the rest of your life. Seeing your child grow and overcome obstacles is such a rewarding thing, and I’m so glad I was there for it.

In that moment, my secret hope was that each time she went down the slide it would be more enjoyable and she’d become more of a thrill seeker. I say this partly because I want her to be a bit braver and partly because I want her to take risks and see what life has to offer. But, more selfishly, because her mother gets motion sick very easily and DAMMIT I need a partner to go on roller coasters with once Olivia’s old enough.

A version of this first appeared on Our Little Mixed Tape.

For the tenth time that morning, I checked the clock.

“We’re going to be late for the bus, and for school, if you don’t get up and get moving!” I said.

Our daughter let out a grumble and finally made her way out of bed. I herded her into the bathroom for the first step of her morning routine, then back out to get dressed and brush her hair. As I worked to detangle her golden locks, Olivia turned, looked me straight in the eyes and said: “Pop quiz, hot shot. You’ve been practicing how to braid hair lately and I think I want one. If I don’t get that, things blow up. What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?!?!”

This is Part Two of the author’s adventure in teaching his child to go potty using Janet Jackson’s “Control” album as a guideline. Read Part One here.

Track 5: The Pleasure Principle

Day 2 began with us trying to get Olivia to go potty, figuring she had a full bladder from the previous night, but she refused.

As the morning progressed we noticed that every so often she’d hold herself, shift her shoulders from side to side while simultaneously bringing her knees together, then throw her head back and whip her hair, which looks something like this):

We’d ask whether she just had to go potty, or if she was figuring out the dance moves to her next music video, and she’d always say the latter. After about 2 hours of this she finally acknowledged that she had to go, placed her aspirations of winning the video music award for best choreography on hold, and ran into the bathroom.

Upon completing her first transaction of the day, Olivia obtained enough stickers for another prize. As she picked out her loot we high-fived her and reminded her about the big girl she was well on her way to becoming. We also noticed that her motivation for telling us when she had to go was heavily dependent on how close she was to getting something from the mystery box. If a prize wasn’t involved she couldn’t be bothered, much like my own ideas on what going to the gym should be like. I’d be so much more motivated to work out if I received a new book, action figure or a cupcake afterwards. Wouldn’t getting a cupcake defeat the purpose, you ask? I’d just have to go back in and work out again … to get another cupcake as a reward for burning off the last one. I’d better trademark this before someone else steals the idea.

Track 6: When I Think Of You

As Day 2 continued, Olivia gradually went from paying attention every 20 minutes when we checked in with her to flat out ignoring us. We needed her to notice when she felt like she had to go potty, but all she wanted to pay attention to were the toys she was playing with. In fact, after her first accident of the day I asked why she didn’t tell us she had to go, and she said that she wanted to play. Basically, she didn’t want to interrupt her playtime with something as frivolous as evacuating her bladder. So when the feeling came up she’d do a little dance, will it back into submission, and then carried on with what she was doing. With that kind of dedication, and some practice going pee in a bottle, I’m fairly certain that our child will make a fantastic NYC cab driver some day.

Track 7: (S)He Doesn’t Know I’m Alive

We hadn’t left the house since beginning the potty-training regimen, so we decided to go on a brief walk to get some air and a change of scenery. While out we ran into our neighbor and her daughter, who goes to the same daycare as Olivia. They joined us for the stroll, and upon returning to our building we invited them in for some play time and conversation. The minute we got inside we prompted Olivia to try and go, but she was too busy worrying about which of her toys her friend wanted to play with.

I tried getting her to focus on the task at hand, even waved my hand in front of her face, but she was completely distracted. It’s funny how a toy that’s been neglected for months by your child can suddenly turn into the most important toy ever, ever when another child comes over and picks it up. Olivia rushed over and did her best to try wheel and deal her friend into relinquishing the item, offering her things like every single one of her other toys, all of the savings in her piggy bank ($1.82) and a month long use of Jodi and I to cook, clean or do laundry whenever it was needed. Our child was willing to loan us out so she could get a purple plastic tea cup with a smiley face on it back into her greedy little hands. I don’t blame her though because that thing is both functional and completely adorable.

Track 8: Let’s Wait Awhile

As the impromptu play date continued, we noticed the tell-tale signs that Olivia still needed to go potty pretty badly. Every time we asked if she had to go she’d stop for a second, then say, “I don’t have to go,” or “in 10 minutes,” as if we were supposed to believe her and set a timer. The focus of Day 2 for us was to try and reinforce Olivia recognizing when she had to go and telling us, but her focus was doing everything in her power to silence both us and the beck and call of her bladder.

Unfortunately, our child’s willpower didn’t last much longer, and the play area got hit with a flash flood of urine. Maybe next time she’ll answer her bladder’s call instead of sending it to voicemail.

Track 9: Funny How Time Flies (When You’re Having Fun)

Day 3, and those following it, showed signs of improvement from our child. In fact, we’ve now been at it for about a month and while some things have improved, others have remained the same.

She’s gotten much better about recognizing when she has to go, and only has minor accidents here and there. Unfortunately, she still seems to be holding off until the last possible minute to tell us. We’re also struggling with getting her to go potty when we’re out in public. We practically have to drag her into a restaurant or store bathroom and plead with her to try. Although to be fair, some of the public restrooms in NYC are horror filled nightmares to begin with, so I can’t blame her much there.

We’ve got less than two months left until Olivia starts pre-K, and I’m confident we’ll have her ready to go potty on her own by then. She’s still struggling with certain things, like cleaning up after herself, pulling her pants up and down and lighting a match after she does a number two, so we’ve made those our main focus with each visit to the bathroom. My worry is that she won’t be completely able to do everything and her new school won’t let her attend. It would be devastating to both her and us if they won’t let her in, and I’m not sure what we would do if that would happen.

As a parent, I’m willing to do just about anything to make sure Olivia is happy so I’m already thinking about backup plans. Mainly, convincing my boss to let me work remotely from the school so I can help Olivia in the bathroom until she’s capable. If that’s not an option, maybe I can become the school janitor. I’ve always wanted a cool key-chain with a retractable cord that I could attach to my belt loop. It’s a small price to pay, but I’ll do it for my child.

A version of this first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

Gif: via GIPHY

This is about control: our toddler’s control. Control of what she says, control of what she does, control of when she goes pee-pee on the potty.

A while ago we tried toilet training with mixed results. We knew for Olivia to attend pre-K this September she needed to be fully toilet trained, so we had to get serious and find something that worked. I did some internet searching and found a good program by Jam and Lewis, which called for patience, drum machines, synthesizers and lots of underpants. Unfortunately this was vetoed by my wife and we ended up trying a three-day method that we found online. Ready or not, it was time to give Olivia control. Lots of it. But was she ready?

Track 1: Control

Positive attitudes? Check. Sticker chart and rewards? Check. Alcohol for the end of the day when our child is asleep and our patience has been exhausted? Check.

We started by getting Olivia out of bed and making a huge deal that toilet training today was “Big Girl Day.” There were balloons, cheers, a key to the city presented to her by the mayor and lots of underpants for Olivia to choose from. We explained what the day meant, reminded her to tell us when she felt like she needed to go potty, and pointed out the big girl toilet where all business transactions would need to go down from here on out. She was excited, and frankly so were we, because no more diapers or pull-ups sounded like a dream come true.

After picking out the inaugural pair of underpants we all sat down on our living room couch to eat breakfast. Olivia had requested a bagel with cream cheese and we threw in chocolate milk as a treat;  something to help set the positive tone and entice her into compliance. Big girls who go pee-pee on the potty get the better things in life: chocolate milk, underpants with cartoon characters on them, timeshares in Aruba, etc. We were all smiles, enthusiasm … and then she peed on the couch.

We put on our best faces. We cleaned Olivia up, remained positive, reminded her to tell us when she felt like she had to go and resumed our breakfast.

Minutes later she peed on the couch again.

And then on the floor right after we cleaned her up.

Every time this happened we gave her encouragement and guidance, and every time she’d say, “OK,” and nod yes like she understood. Much of the morning went this way, and it seemed like relying on her to tell us when she had to go wasn’t quite working. Accidents continued to happen, and our child seemed to enjoy watching Daddy clean up her messes. I swear I heard her sarcastically say, “You missed a spot!” one more than one occasion. This was not going to be easy.

Track 2: Nasty

Of all the things you need to bring into toilet training, cleaning supplies are definitely up near the top of the list.

You will be cleaning up after your child a lot, and in our case that happened very frequently. Since we were having some difficulties early on we decided to keep Olivia off the couch and only let her sit on a small wooden chair. Luckily we have hardwood floors in our apartment, which made spotting the messes and cleaning them up fairly easy. This was a good thing because for a while there it seemed like I was cleaning up after her every 10 minutes. She’d get lost in an activity like coloring or calculating the odds in an upcoming horse race she had a bet on, and then suddenly we’d hear the yelp signifying that another accident had happened.

The guide we were following says to pick your child up immediately when you see a sign that they have to go (or in our case, after the fact) and hurry them into the bathroom to sit on the potty. Instead of pointing out what needs to happen when she has to go, all this did for Olivia was instill anger and resentment.

So I decided to try what I like to call the ‘CSI scared straight approach’ to toilet training. While she sat on the potty protesting, I followed the trail of urine from the bathroom to the scene of the crime, marking each puddle with a numbered evidence flag. Then I made a chalk outline of the initial accident, police taped off the area, positioned all of her stuffed animals as shocked onlookers, and then brought her out to see what she had done. I pulled out my sunglasses, put them on as I made a one-liner about all the messes being made, and then cued The Who’s ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again.’ Needless to say my reference was lost on her, so it was time to move on to Plan B.

Track 3: What Have You Done For Me Lately

The potty chart/sticker system we set up for our child seemed pretty straightforward: one sticker for a successful pee on the potty, two stickers for poop. Olivia asked about how many she’d get for a toot, and though we applaud her efforts those, unfortunately, do not count (but are quite hilarious).

Every time a row on the toilet training chart was filled with stickers, she would get a prize from a mystery box we set up. It was filled with an assortment of things we figured she’d love to get as a reward, like small toys, books, games and office supplies (what toddler doesn’t want a staple remover?). Olivia was excited at the prospect of getting a prize, but it seemed like she was never going to get there.

We finally decided to throw in a “gimme row” of stickers for her when she halfheartedly finished going pee on the toilet after another accident. We cheered and applauded, hoping that maybe this would boost her confidence. She excitedly grabbed her prize, took it into our living room to open it up … and peed all over the floor again.

Track 4: You Can Be Mine

The rest of Day 1 went mostly the same, but there were a few bright spots. There were no accidents during her nap, and we even had a few instances where she actually told us she had to go. My wife put Olivia down for the night while I mopped the floor to get the ‘my toddler just marked her territory’ smell out. Then we knocked a few back, discussed what did and didn’t work, and hoped that Day 2 would bring about some positive change (and drier floors).

We knew Olivia got what we wanted her to do during toilet training, the problem was getting her to want to do it. If there’s anything we’ve learned from our child, it’s that she won’t do anything we ask her to if she’s not into it. She needs the proverbial carrot on a stick to get her motivated, so we decided to put a little more emphasis on the prize box, stickers and any other incentives we had.

We also determined that Day 2 would need us to check in with Olivia every 20 minutes or so to make sure she’s mindful of whether she feels like she needs to go. Basically, we were going to bug the crap out of our child all day, but make it worth her while.

— Part Two of this toilet training saga appears tomorrow.

A version of this first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

During the months leading up to Olivia’s birth I, like most other parents, would daydream about all the wonderful things I would teach my child to do as she got older. Things like how to ride a bike, how to skip stones on water and how to effectively parry an incoming Chun Li super move in Street Fighter.

Then the reality of having a child happens and you realize those things are luxury goals that can only come after you’ve taught them how to successfully function in our society. It’s up to you to get them to eat with utensils, to say “please” and “thank you,” to bathe regularly (using soap!) and, our current initiative, how to use the toilet.

Our daycare had notified us that they had begun potty training Olivia, which meant we needed to follow suit at home. After reminding ourselves about how lucky and privileged we are to have the people at her daycare taking the brunt of this responsibility, we set forth and bought supplies.

Disney themed pull-ups? Check.

Potty training chart with a cute bunny that is also learning how to go like a big girl? Check.

Warm and inviting toilet decoration to entice her to do the deed? Check.

We would ask every 20 minutes if she needed to go and reward her (stickers, cookies, scratch-off tickets, etc.) when a transaction was completed. The game was afoot.

But she won’t let it go

Olivia showed potty training promise early on, but then things started to fall apart. We’d get reports from daycare about how she’d just want to sit on the potty and not do anything, or that she’d just flat-out refuse to try. Things at home weren’t going much better, especially after she tried prying one of the reward stickers off the potty training chart, ripped it and then just shredded the chart altogether in frustration.

After a few weeks of this, we spoke to daycare and decided to put training on hold and revisit it later. When that time rolled around and daycare notified us that Olivia was showing interest again (e.g., sniffing around the bowl, marking it as her territory, lifting the lid and shouting “Is anybody home?”), so we picked right back up where we left off and hoped it would work this time.

The second time around began with a bit of a fizzle. She’d only go here and there, then we traveled for the holidays and just gave up during the break to make things easier for everyone. When we got back from our trips, we vowed to keep on top of things and try to reward her even more for going. We brought back the chart and told her that for every three successful potties we’d give her a treat. It could be ice cream, candy, a new (small) toy or she could trade those things in for what was behind door number 2. Sure it’s a gamble, but she could walk away with a sweet Chevy Vega…or a llama.

Some success but not much

Stickers and prizes only worked so well. Olivia was doing her best to remain stubborn and only go when she deemed it was time. I decided that enough was enough and did what any modern-day parent would do in this situation: I Googled the problem. Of the many potty training tactics I found, these seemed to resonate the most with me:

• Dying the toilet water with food coloring, which will react and change as they go and make fun colors. Make sure you don’t use darker colors though, because then they’ll question whether they are children of a demon or if they need immediate medical attention.
• Incentivizing the act of flushing the toilet, which is normally off-limits for them. Keep in mind you will also have to instruct them on how long to hold the handle and, depending on your toilet, the ancient art of jiggling the handle.
• Making them feel proud when they actually go. We normally give her a high-five and tell her what a big girl she is, but I think we could step it up a bit. From now on, every time she goes there’s going to be confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling while a marching band rolls through our apartment playing Queen’s “We Are The Champions.”
• Bringing technology into the mix and getting her a potty seat with an iPad dock so she has something to do while she waits. Adults get to play on their phones or read while they go, so why can’t our kids? They’ll be out of your hair for a while and it’ll only take one or two times before they’ve accessed your social media accounts or bought thousands of dollars worth of microtransactions in their favorite game. But hey, easy-mode parenting!

Here comes the princess

Things are still hit or miss, however, our saving grace could be coming from one of the last places we would have expected: the magical land of Arendelle.

Our daycare hosts movie nights on Fridays for kids ages 4 to 7. The catch: the kids have to be potty trained. Parents get to go out and have some fun for a few hours while their little one(s) have some fun of their own. Wouldn’t you know it, the next film to be shown is Frozen. If I remember correctly, Olivia’s reaction to this news went something like this.

Who cares if we already own a copy and she could watch it at any time? Or that she had sung “Let It Go” until my ears bled? This is a chance for her to have a night out with her friends. However, can we get her potty trained in time for this massive event which is circled in purple glitter on her calendar and she asks about every single day?

I have to admit, things have improved quite a bit since this event came up. At first, Olivia would go potty once and ask, “I go to the movie night now?” It’s adorable, but we had to let her down gently and remind her that she needed to keep doing this every day. It’s taking some time, but I think it’s starting to sink in. Sure, we have days where she’s defiant and doesn’t want to go for us. We keep reminding her about the movie night, which works some of the time. Daycare is reporting that she’s been able to ‘let it go’ fairly consistently for them, which is great news.

In the end, all we can do is try to get her to go and keep her motivated. The potty training sticker chart is filling up fast, treats have been doled out and our little girl is well on her way to becoming a big girl who can potty like the big kids do. I’m confident she’ll make the movie night and I’m hopeful that she’ll keep that momentum going after her 77th viewing of Frozen has come and gone. If not, we may have to bribe daycare to throw it back into the rotation sooner rather than later.

A version of Let It Go first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.