Confession: I Let My Mother Potty-Train My Son

I mentioned in a post several years ago that my mother had potty-trained my son while I took a business trip. It was in November or December 1984, but I always associate the event with Thanksgiving. As I recall, this is how it came to be:

We had moved into our new home in October 1984, when my son was four months short of three years old. He attended a preschool near our old home, and we intended to keep him there until the following spring when our second child would be born. Then after my maternity leave, we would put both children in a daycare nearer our new home. We would spend the winter selecting where the kids should go.

But for young son to move into the three-year-old class at his current daycare, he had to be potty trained. He was intellectually ready to move into the older class, but he wasn’t too interested in the potty training. We had the chair. And a step-stool if he preferred to stand. We had the Big Boy Underwear with superheroes. He kind of knew what he was supposed to do, but why bother? That was his attitude about many things.

My parents came to visit for Thanksgiving in our new home. That was good because my father could make the turkey—the first Thanksgiving meal for which I would be responsible, and I was happy to delegate. He made a superb meal for us and my in-laws.

Either shortly before Thanksgiving or shortly after, I had a business trip out of town. I think it was in early December, as I recall taking depositions in Texas in December 1984. (I can remember a lot of what I did that winter by how big my pregnant belly was. During those depositions, I was just moving into maternity clothes.)

In any event, my mother had either come early for the Thanksgiving holiday or stayed afterward. The plan was that she would stay with my husband and son while I went on my business trip. While she was there, my son could stay home from daycare to play with his grandmother. They would both be happy, and my husband would get better meals than if I was cooking.

My mother’s job was to potty train my son while he was home from school for a week and had her concentrated attention. I was even happier to delegate this responsibility than I had been the turkey preparation. I’m not sure why she agreed—she was generally amenable do doing anything for her grandson, but this was above and beyond the call of duty.

Nevertheless, she did it. I don’t know how. And the job wasn’t done perfectly. But our son mostly made the transition that week, and in early 1985 he moved into the three-year-old class.

I don’t have grandchildren yet, but many of my friends do. I visit their homes and see little potty chairs in their bathrooms. And I smile—wondering if perhaps they are training their grandchildren, as my mother did my son.

What favors did your parents do for you with your children?