Failure

If I close my eyes, I can still perfectly picture the moment.

Freya (one of my best friends in year 7 and still now) was going around the corner at her usual blistering pace. She hugged the curve like spanx. Watching her intently, I counted down the moments until I needed to launch off. We had a good 5-10 metre lead on the next class, and I knew I could take my opponent easily on this last leg, as I had earlier on that day in the individual sprints.  

I set off, victory in my sights.

Maybe I was too early. Maybe too late. Maybe too fast. Who knows.

All I remember was scrabbling around the floor looking for the baton.

I made up part of the gap, finishing third, only to see that we were disqualified for lane interference. I remember getting a “pity point” for some hopefully self-esteem building reason by our teachers who could see my whole world had come unravelled in that event.

I wasn’t the prettiest.

I wasn’t the smartest.

I wasn’t the  best musician, or actor, or artist, or anything else.

But I was the best runner.

“Was” it seems being the operative word.

This was the first time I remember failing.

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I sobbed all the way home from the test centre after failing that first test. In hindsight, it was not the best idea to take it just two weeks before my due date. Unsurprisingly I had failed due to not being able to adequately check my blind spot as my burgeoning bump restricted my movement. I confessed to Steve that passing my test was my “present” to our unborn child, and now I felt I had nothing to give them, nothing to offer.

I was a bag of nerves throughout the second test. My legs physically shook as I attempted to negotiate my way around the city. Three minutes in I felt I had failed, and I remained silent, on the verge of tears, as I continued to confuse my right from my left and miss turnings on roundabouts and on the independent driving section. I wanted so badly to have a sense of worth. To not be the one that everyone had to give a lift to. To not be overwhelmed by the fact at the age of 29 I hadn’t achieved something 17-year-olds had. To not have to traipse around the city with Zella and another future baby on public transport on rainy winter days. My future family depended upon it, and I could no longer be a free loader to my husband, family & friends; I HAD to pass.

At the end of the test, the tears rolled like thunder, as I was faced with the reality that it wasn’t my inability to navigate that I had failed on, but a simple manoeuvre around a corner that I hadn’t controlled my nerves on.

Sometimes the fear of failure is the very thing that will cause you to fail.

Once again I found myself scrambling around on the floor looking for a baton, with victory racing off ahead of me.

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I’ve always liked to win.

Growing up in a city full of athletic cousins with a penchant for competitive games, our days were spent competing on Alex the Kid megadrive games, and then running outside for sprints down the streets. With our parents excelling in athletics and boxing amongst other sports, it was in our blood to aim to be the best.

I excelled in school with perfect attendance eleven out of thirteen years (only marred by a lengthy trip to Jamaica in Year 3 and a stomach bug upon my return from an all-expenses trip to Leon, Nicaragua as an official representative of Oxford, it’s twin city, in Year 10).

I accumulated awards for sports and drama and captained many teams.

Besides misadventures in Graphic Design and Biology, my exam results have always shown A’s & B’s; I set my sights on university early on, and was ecstatic to graduate, and graduate well.

Until returning to England in 2011, there was never a job or course I applied to and wasn’t successful in.

I remember being told by a dance teacher that I wasn’t the best dancer technique wise, but I more than made up for it in my performance.

If I couldn’t win the thing, then I would win you.

I get things done.

But sometimes

I come undone…

When I can’t control the pressure.

The pressure created and fashioned from the dangerous workings of a mind weaving words that hadn’t been verbalised by none other than a dark and unconfident part of my psyche.

The things that keep me awake at night are not the reflecting upon my highs,

But on musing upon the lows,

wondering where I went wrong,

desperate to not repeat history.

Harsh words, failed attempts from weeks, months, years ago even

Still lie heavy at the front of my mind.

99 good things happen,

but you go home thinking about

the one that got away.

And in the desperation for that that to not happen again,

The winding up of pressure begins.

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Around the same time as preparing for my second driving test,

Game of Throws was birthed.

I saw the advert for a recreational netball league in Birmingham

and realising that it would be cheaper price for me to be part of a team than register as an individual, I decided to create a team.

(The thought that I would have more control and not be subject to the whims of another leader on some random team was also a motivation.)

In my head, we were going to be amazing. Top of the league.

On the court, we were average. On a good day.

Rusty as it had been twelve years since some of us had played.

My stomach was in knots as we played, each game.

Nervous, desperate to win, and sick at the anticipation of failing.

But something happened

Amidst a season of 4 losses, 1 win on a technicality, and 1 genuine win (against the bottom team), I still loved every minute.

In the face of repeated weeks of failure, the team remained phenomenal, never giving up, playing respectfully, willing to try different positions, communicating well, encouraging each other, and even drawing the refs to make jokes with us at half times and after the games, such was our passion and fun.

I even said one night, “I am actually enjoying losing for once.”

Failure doesn’t have to be miserable.
Failure doesn’t have to be awful.

Failure doesn’t mean there’s no hope.

Do I want to win?

Of course.

(and always!)

But I refuse to let my world fall apart around me when failure comes.

Failure doesn’t mean it’s the end.

Slowly, slowly, my competitive side is getting my head around it.

And I’m finding freedom in the grace I give myself,

When I allow it to be ok,

If things don’t turn out perfectly.

It’s all part of the journey.

Pee & Poop

We were first inspired to start this journey early on by another parent we know who was doing “Elimination Communication” which is in essence leaving your child with no nappy on and watching their faces to learn cues for pee and poop! For us that sounded like to much work, especially in winter in a cold house, and especially with newborn poop, but it got something triggered in our head. Both my mum and Steve’s grandmother were grand advocates of the idea that babies aren’t really too young for the potty, and that there are specific times when they will almost always pee (and/or poop) and that you should put them on the potty at these times.

So here we are with a 19 month old who is basically dry through the day and night, and we aren’t really sure how it happened!! We are by no means experts in this field, but so far we have had a successful and unstressful adventure with potty training, and after some requests we thought it might be helpful to share some of our limited tips:

Positivity

We are an over-zealous and enthusiastic family at the best of times, and this has been encouragement overload!! Pees & poops get rewarded with praise and high fives, and when there have been accidents or she’s gone in her pants, we’ve explained “Try next time in the potty ok?” but not said “Bad Zella” or told her off. In part that’s because we recognised she was super young to be catching on to it, but also we wanted her to rejoice in her successes and never feel like a failure in this area as that could have put her a step back and created fear/anxiety.

Potty

Have a potty in your house from as early as you can. A lot of kids seem to be scared of potties, but it’s harder to be scared of something that is presented as friendly and presented early on in your development. We have had one in our house since 4 months old. We got a cheap one for a quid from Tesco, and when we moved house we got another one as we had an extra bathroom. Again, this was just a cheap one from Ikea. In addition we have a step stool to reach the toilet, and two of those seats that you add on to the toilet for little ones to do their business. So in each bathroom there was a comfortable toilet solution for Zella, and it was always at easy reach/could be moved into the living room if needed.

Pick & Put

We all as adults have those times we always go to the toilet – first thing in the morning, last thing before bed, just after drinking a massive bottle of water, right after a meal… Pick one time daily (we started with after dinner/just before bathtime when she was naked/getting changed anyways) and spend a week or more putting them on the toilet at that time. Chances are they will pee and it will get them more used to it. Then gradually add another time in (for us it was first thing in the morning). As she progressed and got it, we added more times in, and started to get to the point where she was giving us cues to go, or simply walking to the potty/bathroom herself.

Parade around

It has the potential to be messy, but embrace nappy off time as much as possible. If you are planning to be inside for a few hours, or it’s the evening before/after dinner, or at the weekend, and you are just chilling watching tv/playing with toys, then let them go free! It’s less disconcerting when you have wooden floor, but even with carpet, you could put down some plastic sheeting/a blanket if you are worried! Put the potty in a visible place and explain to them if they want a pee, then go there (pointing, being enthusiastic) and see what happens. We have had both pee and poop on our floor (have some antibacterial spray to hand), but it really wasn’t as bad as I thought.

Parental Peeing

Because its always important to model the behaviour you expect ;O)

Palm-Greasing

Zella is rewarded with chocolate buttons and we have no shame in that.

Public Praise

We all have a need in us to be loved and affirmed. As much as possible we have praised Zella in front of others. When in the house, if she has had a successful trip to the toilet, then we get her to tell the other parent who praises her. This works well in teaching the child to articulate to a grown up what they have just done. Zella doesn’t use words, but she points to the front if she peed and the back if she pooped, so she is developing the language of bathroom etiquette and communicating her needs. This obviously is useful when you go out in public, are at someone else’s house etc. She gets so excited telling other grown ups besides us when she has done something and getting a high five from them too, and means she won’t be scared to tell someone else when we aren’t around and she needs to go.

Finally, some interesting sociology/history for you:

In 1957 the average age for beginning potty training was 11 months old, with 90% of children being dry during the day by the age of two.

Fast forward to now, and the average age that parents say children show an interest is 24-25 months (2 years old), with 90% dry by age 3, and most dry all day by age 4.

How have things changed? Why such an increase in age?

In part, it is due to nappy types. Disposable nappies at their very nature are made to keep baby/toddler as dry as possible, drawing water away from their skin. Children therefore don’t feel wet, thus it makes it harder for them to discern needing the toilet and those various cues. We are great advocates for cloth nappies, gNappies being our only and preferred brand, and we think in part the use of cloth has meant Zella is more aware of it all, we change her a but more often, and she has learnt earlier on what it means to be wet and dry. The conspiracist side of me says, nappy companies want your money for as long as possible, and as the market has increased, and their absorbency has increased, so has the mantra of “waiting until the little one is ready” rather than leading as a parent. I’m a cynic, but I think there is some truth in that statement. The average child now wears 5000 nappies from 0-3. Imagine the hundreds of pounds you could save by cutting down that gap, even by a few months!!

I think in part, our culture has gotten a little lazy, and we don’t like too much hard work, and we are being trained to let our kids lead, when sometimes we need to be the grown up. Reports are showing that kids are increasingly starting nursery, reception, and even year one still wearing nappies. That isn’t because of medical issues, it is simply because time hasn’t been put in it at home. Life gets busy, and it has taken a decent chunk of time to train Zella, to take her to the toilet in the middle of playing at friends houses or at playgroup rather than just leaving her in her nappy, but I feel like it’s worth it.

(And I’m saving money and I like that feeling best of all!)

Steve wants me to reiterate that
(1) we aren’t experts

(2) we only have one child

so these aren’t hard and fast, tried and tested rules.

However, from conversations with older generations, and from research with a few early potty training parents and online, I think these tips could be used and really positive results could come from it!

Good luck with your potty training endeavours!!

Hairbands

She sat on the bathroom rug

With quiet methodology

Fingers grasped around the plastic tube

Holding black stretchy ring

She tested each for it’s elasticity

As they were pulled off and on to the floor

She looked up at me

With wide eyes bright

As I told her

“Put them back on”

Head back down

With determined obedience

Her little fingers once again clawed:

The ease with which they flew off

Was not to be repeated.

Each day we read.

With her wry grin

we turn pages,

sing songs,

speak high, speak low

and close our eyes into sleepy submission

But eyes were opened wide for these words:

And I feel my life

Is turning more into dots

A mass of gray

Gold desperate to twinkle through

More and more

My daily trawl of

Facebook

Online newspaper comments

Political discussion websites

TV debates

Seems like vomit

Thoughts of waste

Expelled from the mouths of drunkards

Down 3am dark alleys

Waking up with foul taste in mouth

Groggily justifying

“Hey, I’m entitled to my opinion,

I’m just saying what I think.”

I see your

#100DaysOfHappy

Your

#OnlyGoodThings

Your

#KindnessIsMagic

Desperate to speak against the barrage of hate of

#BigBenefitsRow

Controversy of

#CBB

Because nothing is sacred from public abuse

#HateTheQueen

Even when good is done

When NekNomination is turned upside on its head

With sandwiches instead of Smirnoff

Angry words still condemn

When did we get so critical

Deeming ourselves so high

So right?

When did we forget

That in each vein is blood

Pumping to heart

Desperate for life?

So me and my mini-me

immerse ourselves into the stories

Of the caterpillar that is hungry

Which lion is hers

Discussing the places she will go

And anything else

That allows me to do silly voices

And speak that truth

Reiterate It over and over

Until it becomes rote, ingrained, her being

Over and over:

The importance of words

The life and death they bring

And the difference they can make

They flick off so easily

So quickly

So flippantly

But can’t be put back the same

“Taste your words, before you spit them out”

The wise woman said.