the potty years


A cashier tried to convince this little girl to get a white doll. She said no.

  • As a prize for a month of successful potty-training, two-year-old Sophia Benner picked out a doll she loved at a local Target — but when she and her mother got to the checkout, a cashier tried to talk her out of her purchase because Sophia is white, and the doll she picked out was black. Sophia’s mother, Brandi Benner, described the incident in an Instagram post on Saturday.
  • Benner wrote that she was about to respond to the cashier when her daughter jumped in with a succinct, and perfect, explanation. “I immediately became angry, but before I could say anything, Sophia responded with, ‘Yes, she does. She’s a doctor like I’m a doctor. And I’m a pretty girl and she’s a pretty girl. See her pretty hair? And see her stethoscope?” Read more. (4/4/2017 1:15 PM)


At school, they have tiny toilets and Logan will go to the bathroom completely unassisted. Pull his pants down, go potty, wipe and flush, then pull pants up and wash his hands. At home, he won’t even try so we figured we’d try this potty that looks like a tiny toilet. He seems to love it. We also started a sticker chart, we will see how he does. Even if he just knows how to pee in the potty by the time the baby gets here, that’d be awesome.

You know when I started to potty train my 2 year old I thought I skipped over that whole running naked thing I was told boys do… I was sadly mistaken. I came in last night from a meeting to find my two year old running around naked screaming “NO!” over and over and my poor mom and dad chasing him with cloths and a pull up… needless to say this morning was just as entertaining. Woke up to find him naked in his bed… fun times. How is everyone else doing today!

So has anyone else noticed the urge to announce that you gotta pee when you need to? Where did this come from? I’m an eighteen year old girl. I should not have this urge. Is this left over from the potty training years? Have we all been trained to announce the need to pee? Have our parents brainwashed us? Someone tell me! It’s not just me right? Other people get this urge too right??

Potty Training

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6)

As you hear your alarm go off yet again, you yell across the house as you mentally prepare yourself.

“Jacob!  Potty time!”

And just like clockwork, the wailing had started.

Jacob was not enjoying the potty training.  You had sold off his cloth diapers so that you weren’t tempted to backtrack, and you had purchased him two packets of his own superhero underwear, complete with having his name sewn into the elastic so he felt like he truly owned something.

But Jacob didn’t enjoy the feeling of them up against his butt.

“Itch,” he had said, scratching his butt as you watched his urine trickle down his leg.

“Oh buddy…” you had sighed, taking him in the bathroom and cleaning him up.

You were at your wits end.

So, once again…just like everything else…you had taken to the internet, reading articles and personal testimonies of potty-training four year old boys.

And you stumbled across one that you figured you would try.

Essentially, you let them run around with no underwear, and every 30 minutes you would make them sit on the potty, and if they went to the bathroom, you gave them a treat.

Like trying to teach a dog to sit.

You were desperate for anything at this point.

So all week you and Spencer had done it: sitting him on the potty every half hour while he screams and cries, grasping onto the material of your shirts as you tried to coax him down and tell him that it was alright…that the potty wasn’t scary and that he was a big boy, and that big boys don’t use diapers.

“Maybe he’s just not ready,” Spencer mentions.

“Oh, so you were worried about his speech, but screw the fact that I’m changing a four year old’s poop!” you yell, causing Jacob to scream louder as Spencer clenches his jaw.

“Y/N, now’s not the time…” he draws out lowly.

Jacob’s tantrum mounted and mounted, ringing your ears as you press your face into the palms of your hands.

“Jacob…it’s alright buddy…you just gotta calm down,” you hear Spencer trying to soothe.

And just when you thought he tantrum couldn’t get any louder…

…it did.

“Holy fuck,” you curse breathlessly as you feel your patience waning.

“Y/N,” Spencer bites, “he’s not ready.”

“I’m not changing anymore diapers!” you shriek as you throw your hands in the air.

“Jacob!!” you roar, causing the little boy to clamp his jaw shut as his eyes grow wide.

“HUSH!” you shriek, your eyes wild as your son stares at you, his sounds now muted as Spencer pets his head.

“Stop yelling at him,” Spencer murmurs under his breath.

“Well obviously it worked!” you yell, losing your patience as you thrust out your arm towards your no-longer-shrieking son, his tears drying up on his cheeks as Spencer presses kisses on top of his head.

“Jacob!?” you ask loudly as your son locks eyes with you.

“Do you want a popsicle!?” you enunciate as you watch your son slowly nod his head up and down.

“Then pee in the potty!” you breathlessly exclaim.

And then, as Spencer glares at you with eyes of daggers, his face slowly softens as the sweetest sound you had ever taken in graces your ears.

The sound of urine hitting the inside of a plastic children’s potty.

“Oh my god…” Spencer whispers as his eyes widen, turning towards his son as he grips tightly onto the toilet and empties his bladder.

As your jaw unhinges towards the floor, the last few days of fighting and stepping in your son’s waste quickly fading away, you dip down onto your knees and shove Spencer over to the side, placing your hands on your son’s legs.

“Do you need to poo poo?” you ask, only for Jacob to shake his head no.

“I am so proud of you,” you whisper, smiling as tears rim your eyes…tears of stress and fury flooding your face as you raise your hand and cup your son’s cheek.

“Pee pee!” he says as he points to the inside of the toilet.

“Yes!  You went pee pee like a big boy!” you squeal, clapping your hands as you watch Jacob release his death-trip on the side of the toilet, clapping his hands along with you as he giggles.

“Good boy,” you breathe, smiling broadly as you take his hands, helping him up from his sitting position.

“Do you want a popsicle?” Spencer asks.

“’Sicle, daddy!  ‘Sicle!” Jacob exclaims.

“What flavor?” Spencer giggles as he gets up and heads for the freezer as you groan, slowly rising to your feet as your knees crack upon standing.

“Banana!” Jacob yelps as he runs behind Spencer.

“Banana!  Hmmmm…let’s seeeee…” Spencer draws out, opening the freezer as you look down into the toilet, crying tears of joy as your body begins to tremble.

He did it.

He finally peed in his toilet.

Hearing Spencer unwrap the popscile for Jacob, you slowly turn around as you take in a long breath through your nose as your eyes fall to the floor, your hands throwing themselves out, almost in slow-motion, as you attempt to stop Spencer from stepping backwards.

“Spencer!  Nooooooo!” you yell as Jacob takes the popsicle from his daddy’s hand just as Spencer whips his gaze up, coming down with his foot as a squishing sound ricochets like wildfire throughout the corners of the house.

You watched as Spencer’s face contorts, the smell hitting his nostrils as you bring your hand up to your mouth, trying desperately to stifle your laughter as Spencer picks his foot up.

Poop!” Jacob exclaims before he runs off with his popsicle, leaving you stifling your laughter as Spencer stares at the floor, seemingly wondering how in the world his life ended up here…with his foot covered in his own son’s poop.

“I thought you said you didn’t have to poop!” you calls out into the house as he hops over to the counter, throwing his foot over into the sink as he turns on the hot water and reaches for the soap.

And all you could do was double over and laugh.

Still writing small moment stories. Making progress.
  • Me: So if our "pumpkin story" is going on a roller coaster at Great America, what might be a smaller seed inside that story?
  • Smart girl: One time, I was on a roller coaster and I was screaming so hard, I had to go to the bathroom.
  • Me: Um, OK... I'm going to write that on the [anchor chart] seed as "screaming." Anyone else?
  • Smart boy: One time I went on a roller coaster and I laughed so hard I had to go to the bathroom!
  • Me: OK... (Writing) Laughing. What do you do before you get on the roller coaster?
  • Clueless Boy: You go to the bathroom in case you have to go on the roller coaster!
  • Me: Uh, yeah... I guess that would be a good idea considering what roller coasters do to this class. So what do you do after you go to the bathroom, but before you get on the roller coaster?
  • Multiple blurters: Wash your hands!
Today, I fucked up by Potty training my 2 year old.

I(male) asked my boy “Wanna go potty?” Boy “yeah.” We go to the bathroom and he wants to try standing up, so I put him on the stool. I move to the side and proceed to pee into the toilet to show him how. It was such a blur, I think he leaned forward which made the stool move. He fell face first into the toilet while I was mid stream! I pissed all over the back of his head b4 I could pinch it off and pull him out.

Through my laughter I call my wife to grab him so he does not put his hands(the only part to actually go in the toilet piss water )in his mouth or on everything, so I could finish. Straight to the bathtub he went. He proceeds to stand up and pee. I ask him if he wants to go potty, his reply NOO! FML I now have a 2 year old that is terrified of the toilet!

Too Long; Didnt Read > I asserted my dominance by pissing on my 2 year old’s head!

Follow TIFU: Your daily dose of the BEST fucked up stories. | (cr)

jason-jaglo  asked:

While potty training my 3 year old, he would often ask if Spider-Man or Iron Man goes to the potty. Just wondering if a Marvel "every one poops" book is a possibility?

 that was the original last line of house of m

anonymous asked:

tell us a story?


So this happened to me a long time ago. I was like… 6? 7? I was in first grade.


So, one day, I’m sitting in class, learning the alphabet. Or how to write in cursive. Something like that. But as I’m sitting there at my little desk, I realize that my feet are really uncomfortable. It was my socks, man. Everything about them seemed specifically designed to make me suffer. They were tight. They were scratchy, like wool and stiff cotton had a lovechild and slipped it on my tiny fucking feet. And they were crew cut, so it was a pretty wide, high-impact zone of child suffering.

So I’m trying to pay attention, trying to remember that triangles have three sides and all that, but I just can’t… concentrate. My socks. My socks, man. They’re killing me.

So I decide to take action. Without taking my eyes off of the teacher even once, I bring my feet up one at a time, take off my shoes, and yank those cotton torture tubes off. Liberation came with a rush of relief. I quickly stuffed my feet back in my Hush Puppies and shoved my balled-up socks in my desk.

I might have told my mom that I hated the socks and asked her to buy new ones. But she must not have, because my socks just keep on bothering me in class. But that’s okay. Because now I know the solution to my problem. I came up with it all on my own. Fucking child prodigy, right here. It’s easy. Pretend to pay attention to the lecture about addition and subtraction, take off my shoes, rip off my socks, jam the socks in the desk.

So, one day, my teacher announces to the class that she’s going to do a desk inspection. And immediately I know my time has come. I have been sneaking my socks off of my feet and into my desk for literally WEEKS. And I’m like 6 years old, so I could never be bothered to try and smuggle the socks into my backpack to bring home. Writing this now, I don’t think my mom ever noticed that socks were going missing at an alarmingly steady rate. I must have had a lot of fucking socks.

Anyway, my teacher must have been a sadist who enjoyed watching kids squirm in their humiliation, because if she checked a desk and it was messy, she would dump its contents right out on the floor. The child would have to clean up their desk as their classmates laughed at their misfortune.

So I’m shitting my pants (figurately speaking… I was a potty-trained six-year-old) with fear here. The teacher’s on to me. Stick a fork in me, because my goose is fucking cooked. I’m shuffling things around in my desk, trying to clean things up. Messy papers and broken pencils and socks. Socks, man. Too many goddamned socks. My teacher is going to see them. She’s going to see them and she’s going to tip over my desk and I will have to move to fucking Florida to escape my shame.

The teacher gets over to my desk and peeks inside. “Oh! Looks like Miranda’s desk is going over!” she says.

There have only been a few moments in my life where I was so stressed and terrified that time seemed to slow… D\down. This was one of those moments.

The teacher tips my desk over. My mess starts to slide out. The papers. The pencils. The socks.

I stuff my arms into the desk to try and stop the outpouring of filth, and I swear to god, Anon, I screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

My puny child arms are not strong enough to keep the shit in my desk from spilling out. It lands in a pile at my feet.

The room is silent. A piece of chalk rolls out of my desk and plinks against the floor.

“Is that a sock?”

(No. It’s a metric fuck-ton of socks.)

My classmates start giggling and whispering to each other about what a fucking weirdo I am. My teacher looks horrified. Like I had a bunch of dead frogs in my desk instead of socks.

And she loses it.

She really tears into me about how unacceptable this is and how she’s going to call my parents. At this point, I’m bawling my eyes out, the way I bawled my eyes out when I read the ending of Flowers for Algernon for the first time. Everyone is laughing at me. I was always a strange kid. I didn’t have that many friends. But this incident definitely wasn’t doing me any favors for making new ones.

I don’t really remember what happens after that, to be honest. I know the teacher uses the phone in our classroom to call someone while I’m sobbing on my hands and knees on the floor, surrounded by notebook paper and socks. Another teacher sticks her head in and seems equally scandalized.

I don’t get in trouble with my parents when I go home. I think they were just… confused? Like… Miranda??? Why did you do that????

I don’t get what was so hard for everyone to understand. My socks were just really fucking uncomfortable.

It always annoys me when people send hate to Tyler (or anyone) for things he said 5 years ago and since then has apologized and shown that he has learned from his mistakes and grown

Like who are you to talk, you probably weren’t even potty trained 5 years ago

The only thing about this festival that I’m not looking forward to, are the people who think it’s a good idea to eat three funnel cakes and down about two liters of beer.. and of course the asswipes who tipped over the porter potty a few years back… I don’t know why people thought I was the mastermind behind that. Weird. And offensive.