Our routine went to shit. Literally

The "my brain will not go to mush" challenge finished last Friday and Arran arrived home Saturday. I felt like I could relax.

I didn't need to be thinking waaayy ahead of every activity, such as making meringues, whipping cream and making some berries "drunk", while writing a blog before visiting some friends on Australia Day. Oh and feeding small boys etc. It's a given I did that.

I didn't need to be thinking about organising the bath-bed routine waaay ahead of what is normally necessary when there are two parents in the house.

Charlie after his bath.....

I didn't need to be thinking every moment...does Aiden need to go to the big boy toilet. I had a pretty good routine going with Aiden which has meant very few accidents. With Arran back I didn't need to be asking "Aiden, do you need to go to the big boy toilet with Mummy?" and then not worrying when he says "Noo" with as much indignation as a nearly 3 year old can muster, that he might wet his pants while I was feeding Charlie.

We started the toilet training a week and a half before Christmas because between Aiden and Charlie the dirty nappies were starting to take over the place. And because we are stupid. Who decides to toilet-train so close to Christmas? Anyway, the bins were overflowing and we were having to sneak garbage into the neighbours bins during the cover of night, the day before bin collection. Enough.

I haven't told you about toilet training because basically I don't think anyone wants to hear about puddles of small boy wee on the floor or being stuck at home for days because once the nappy is off, its off. I didn't think anyone needed to hear that I didn't think he would ever do a wee on the toilet and that I had no idea how to get him to do a poo on the throne. I even had a humorous tale of Aiden pooing on Arran's specially ordered customised iPad case, just as Arran walked in the door from a bike ride....but I didn't want to write about that I guess because I don't want to read about it. And yet here we are.

So after a week and a half of pain, buckets, disinfectant, endless washing of small undies, talking, encouraging, begging, pleading, tears (mine not his)...and then bribery with small cars, he was basically doing everything on the "big boy toilet". We were an accident free zone.

So when we picked up Arran from the airport on Saturday morning and I suggested to Aiden that he should go to the "big boy toilet" before we left the airport, and he responded with "Daddy take me to the big boy toilet!" Aiden and Daddy were both excited, and something inside me relaxed. A switch in my brain moved. The Dad is back and he can help with this stuff.

Off we went to have some breakfast. And then home. Arran promised Aiden a trip on the Light Rail to the pool after his sleep. Much excitement. Aiden happily went to bed. When I went to get him up from his sleep he had done a poo in his pants. Hmmm.. he hasn't had an accident during his afternoon sleep for a few weeks.

Off to the pool. Aiden and Arran went off to the warmest indoor pool while I attempted to read an article in the weekend paper, while Charlie did his best to prevent me. Aiden and Arran arrived back a bit sooner then expected. Aiden pretty pleased with himself. Arran less than pleased. Aiden had done a poo in the pool. Arran had to scoup it out of his swimmers with his hand. It had gone all soft. I thought it was funny. Of course I remained concerned and empathic. Well not really.

Arran didn't seem that keen to get back into the pool after that. We packed up and set off home. Back home we forget to ask Aiden if he needed to go to the big boy toilet. It's pretty important to do that after a swim because he tends to drink a lot of the pool water.  He did a wee in his pants and on his sandals and on his Thomas Trains. Hasn't done this for at least 4 weeks. An hour or so later a poo, in his pants. It was at this point I realised that Arran was not quite back in the swing of being home and I had let go too much. Shit.

Aiden in his "Australia Day" shirt