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Or perhaps what would be better called “Mission Impossible.”

I tried. Really, I did. I read the books. I bought the potty training doll. I took away the diapers. I gave Sam so many sippy cups and juice boxes, I’m surprised he didn’t float right out of the house. I kept a bowl of potty treats (yes, potty treats) in the bathroom. I had Sam watch the Potty Power DVD. I talked up how exciting it was to use the potty, and how big boys didn’t have to wear diapers any more.

But Sam? Not interested. In fact, he’s so tired of my potty talk, that if I so much as mention the word ‘poop,’ he flings himself down dramatically onto his bean bag chair and refuses to get up until I’ve shut up.

I became so desperate, I even signed up for an online program that promised to have Sam trained in three days. I plunked down $24 for what was advertised to be unlimited Potty Training mentoring.

(I know. The word “sucker” should be tattooed on my forehead.)

Needless to say, the three-day system didn’t work on Sam (and my “mentor” didn’t respond to any of my emails requesting help, right up until the point where I got so fed up, I asked for my money back). I didn’t get a refund (surprise, surprise), although maybe I can make up some of the money I wasted by using the manual they sent me to mop up the puddles of pee all over my house.

So, as of today, Sam’s back in diapers. And me? I’m taking a break. Because if I have to listen to myself have one more conversation about how tinkle and poo belong in the potty, I think my mind might actually turn into Jell-O.

Posted 09 July 2006 at 08:48 PM