Handy Daddy

Jan7Potty Training was a sitting duck for Dee. Conquered it no problem. I really had to do surprisingly little. The girl didn’t like stewing in her own juices, and she was ready and willing to tackle the alternative.

But getting her to wash her hands? Has been an ongoing process. A battle really. She just DOES NOT want to do it. And forget sanitizing. She’s a thumb sucker and she learned the hard way that Purell tastes like it sounds. She won’t touch the stuff with a ten foot pole. Thankfully she has some sense of social graces so washing in public is less of an issue, (and she allows wet wipes, which I singlehandedly credit with preventing us from contracting the plague for the early months of her potty training) but try to convince her to lean over a sink and wash and soap her hands at home? Get ready to rumble.

Sometimes she’ll call me in to the bathroom and ask “Mommy, can you wipe me so I don’t have to wash my hands?” (Oh my god, did I just put that on the internet? I’m sorry future Delilah. All kids do this stuff. I think…)

But the lady is a sucker for new things. Especially new things her daddy builds for her, because as our good friend Daniel Tiger taught us “making something is one way to say I love you”. So the other night when Scott decided that perhaps the problem was the height of her bathroom stool and spontaneously built her a new one from scraps in his work shop (he does stuff like that…disappears for ten minutes and comes back with furniture) she was so moved by the gesture it seems our problem has been {hopefully?} solved. Somehow climbing up the steps of the stool Daddy built just for her makes the hassle worth it.


Feed Me Seymour