9.Set a “pee-pee timer” for every 30 minutes to help remind your little boy or girl to try to go.
10.There’s no shame in resorting to bribery. When your child sits on the potty on their own, start out with big rewards, like a little toy or ice cream, and gradually decrease to small awards, like M&Ms or jelly beans.
11.If you prefer not to use candy, hit up the dollar store: Try stickers, stamps, coins for their piggy bank, or a toy set with multiple pieces for the bath, and let them have one or two for every time they go one or two. Hugs and songs can work too.
12.Another incentive recommended is to let them pick out a poster they like, hang it in the bathroom, then cover up the good parts with a post-it note.
13.Sing “Wipe, seat down, flush, wash your hands” to any melody to help them remember all of the steps.
14.If they have an accident, have them help with clean up.
15.Save yourself some back strain by letting the little one wash their hands with the bathtub faucet (just make sure it’s not too hot).
16.Pantyliners can be a cheap alternative to Pull-Ups or potty training pants if they’re still having occasional accidents, or have been potty trained but are leaking once in a while.
17.For kids who are resisting wearing underwear, they’ll be extra excited to wear a pair custom-made for them with iron-on paper.
18.Stick a disposable changing pad on the car seat to avoid constant cleaning up while accidents are still happening.
19.Like everything else with parenting, don’t stress too much about it. Just remember: You’re not going to send your kid to college in diapers.
33. And finally… this solution will SAVE YOUR LIFE (and your beds) during the potty-training phase.
Heather Spohr from The Spohrs Are Multiplying placed wee wee pads underneath her child’s fitted sheet to protect the mattress from accidents. She actually double layers them — one layer of wee wee pads, one fitted sheet, one layer of wee wee pads, another fitted sheet — so that she could remove the top layer after bed-wetting without having to re-fit the bed. A serious time and sleep saver during a challenging time.
No sense trying to fool an Italian Mama, or any Mama for that matter! 😉
Mrs. Ravioli comes to visit her son Anthony for dinner. He lives with a female roommate, Maria.
During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how pretty Anthony’s roommate is.
Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than met the eye.
Reading his mom’s thoughts, Anthony volunteered, “I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Maria and I are just roommates.”
About a week later, Maria came to Anthony saying, “Ever since your mother came to dinner, I’ve been unable to find the silver sugar bowl.
You don’t suppose she took it, do you?”
“Well, I doubt it, but I’ll email her, just to be sure.”
So he sat down and wrote an email:
I’m not saying that you “did” take the sugar bowl from my house ; I’m not saying that you “did not” take it. But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Your Loving Son
Several days later, Anthony received a response email from his MaMa which read:
I’m not saying that you “do” sleep with Maria, and I’m not saying that you “do not” sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also.
But at least, I wasn’t alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less–not one hour and one minute. Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn’t sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, and learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teenagers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there? I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I’d had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn’t improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, “sick” like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends’ report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You’re right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into educated, honest adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.
If you are a parent that uses profanity, chances are your children will too. Here is a swearing rules guideline that would work well in my house! 😉
Image via Shutterstock
1. First and foremost, learn what the swear words actually mean. Look them up in the dictionary or ask me. Each one is an alternative word for something else. Knowing the definition of every curse word is the only way to …
2. Use profanity correctly and in the proper context. You need to learn when and how to use the right words so you don’t look like an ass. Did you stub your toe? A boisterous “FUCK!” is appropriate, while “Oh dick!” sounds wrong. By the way, it should go without saying …
3. Never swear at school. NEVER. EVER. Or in front of people you don’t know. Or in front of your grandparents. Except your great-grandmother — she’ll probably laugh and teach you some new expletives. Which leads me to my next point …
4. Know your audience. Don’t be an asshole and curse intentionally to piss somebody off or to get attention. It’s not nice. Understand that some people get their panties in a bunch if you swear in front of them. When in doubt, keep your damn trap shut. And to become a skilled practitioner …
5. Appreciate the nuances of the language. There are subtleties worth noting. For example, the meaning of “fuck” changes depending upon what word you use after it: “me,” “you,” “off,” or “it.” These are important distinctions, and you need to master that shit. But please …
6. Don’t overdo it. A sundae is not delicious if you put too many sprinkles on it. Treat obscenities like sprinkles. They should enhance, not detract from, the message you are sending. Use the words for emphasis. And only occasionally. That way, when you do use them, people know you’re not fucking around. Oh, and, by the way …
7. Don’t let anyone tell you profanity is for the uneducated. You don’t have to put up with that shit. James Joyce sure didn’t, and neither do I. Sure, I could say, “Please refrain from exhibiting selfish and aggressive behavior in my presence.” But this college-educated woman knows the power and efficiency of saying, “Don’t be a dick.” That being said …
8. There are some words that are so offensive that you ought not utter them. For instance, let’s try not to piss off any higher power, OK? And CUNext Tuesday? NOT OKAY IN MY HOUSE. That goes for derogatory terms for any race, religion, or sexual orientation as well. For those words, you will be digitally grounded. Like, no phone or Internet for an obscene amount of time. And, Sweetie, even without these words …
9. Don’t be surprised when people are offended by your choice of language. Hey, you decided to use the words, now you have to stand by that decision. Not everyone is going to like it, but you can shrug off that shit. Some people just don’t have a fucking sense of humor.
A man doing market research for the Vaseline Company knocked at the door and was greeted by a young woman with three small children running around at her feet. “I’m doing some research for Vaseline. Have you ever used the product?”
She said, “Yes. My husband and I use it all the time.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “what do you use it for?” “We use it for sex,” she said.
The researcher was a little taken aback. “Usually people lie to me and say they use it on a child’s bicycle chain or to help with a gate hinge. But, in fact, I know that most people do use it for sex. I admire you for your honesty. Since you’ve been so frank so far, can you tell me exactly HOW you use it for sex?”
The woman said, “I don’t mind telling you at all. My husband and I put it on the doorknob and it keeps the kids out.”
OMG!! Could you imagine getting a Dear Dad letter like this?
A father passing by his son’s bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up.
Then he saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to ‘Dad.’
With the worst premonition he opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.
It is with great regret and sorrow that I’m writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you. I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice.
But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercings, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am.
But it’s not only the passion…Dad she’s pregnant.
Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn’t really hurt anyone.. We’ll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy.
In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better.
She deserves it.
Don’t worry Dad. I’m 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I’m sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.
Love, Your Son Cody,
P.S.. Dad, none of the above is true. I’m over at Tommy’s house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the report card that’s in my center desk drawer.