Battle of big pool

Since my failed attempt at toilet training Sacha, I have turned to tough diplomacy. Specifically, I have begun to isolate him from the community of nations by denying him two coveted privileges. It has become apparent that I am dealing with a rogue nation who knows that the U.N. has no real power.

Put another way, I am attempting to kick him where it hurts, and I am not succeeding.

I drive a minivan (surprised?), and the seating arrangement has always been big kids in the back row, Sacha in the middle row, because it is easier for me to buckle him in this way.

Lately, Sacha has become fascinated with sitting in the back with his siblings, and since I won't move his car seat, Sarah and Gabriel have been alternating sitting in the second row with him.

I was touched that Sarah and Gabriel came up with this idea on their own, so that Sacha didn't have to feel like the odd man out in the car. But not so touched that I was unwilling to upset the status quo.

And so I issued my first fatwa: Big kids in the back, babies in the second row.

Ouch.

So now, we ride around town with Sacha pleading, "Back seat? Back seat? BACK SEAT!!!" This has really made me appreciate how long this town is, as I drive from one end to the other listening to this.

My second strike has hurt even more. Two weeks ago, Sacha discovered he could let go of me in the pool and swim by himself with his life vest on. He is intoxicated by his new found swimming abilities, and wants nothing more than to swim in the big pool ALL DAY LONG.

Which led to the second fatwa: The big pool is for big kids. Children who wear diapers must confine themselves to the baby pool.

It has been a week since I issued this decree. SACHA HAS NOT GONE IN THE WATER ONCE. He does, however, repeat, ad infinitum, "Big pool? Big pool? Big pool?!" I generally ignore this, and watch him have a fit as Sarah and Gabriel go for another swim.

Since it is unseasonably cool this summer, no big pool has been win-win for me. I do not have to make constant trips to the bathroom with my newly toilet trained son, and, I no longer have to brave the cold water. So when Sacha finishes tantruming, I can actually relax and watch him on the playground. And, I don't have to be quite as fearful about him drowning, since he never goes in the water!

I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be buying a case of diapers on my next trip to Costco, and may very well be doing this for quite some time.

As with most parenting endeavors, patience is what is most required. And so, we wait.

But if we get sick of waiting, David has a radical idea that may work. He suspects that if we tell Sacha that he cannot poop on the potty, he will make a beeline for the toilet.