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A hearty feast of free readings, lectures, presentations, workshops and showcases celebrating our culture, community and the wild blue yonder.
 Where inquiring minds gather.
Okanagan Institute
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Arts Council of the Central Okanagan is a resource centre and advocate for the arts in Kelowna and Central Okanagan. Find us at:
8-1304 Ellis Street
Kelowna BC V1Y 1Z8
Phone: 250.861.4123
Fax: 250.861.4155
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Literary Arts
Potty School Faye Cyr
A month ago, our son and his wife (living in Medicine Hat), asked if we would watch their two and a half year old twins for a week while they escaped to an all-inclusive resort in Mexico before the third baby arrived in September. With the naive blessing of both sets of grandparents, an elaborate plan was set in motion. Jay and Joyce, our beloved in-laws, met them in Banff, swapped vehicles, and brought Ava and Tristan to Salmon Arm. The next day, Sunday, we rendezvoused at Walmart in Vernon, to trade vehicles and bring the kids to Kelowna for the week because I had time off.
After a round of hugs and glowing report of the trip from Banff, Jay and Joyce slipped away in our car. We climbed into a minivan crammed with toddler car seats, booster seats, collapsible beds and double stroller, a potty chair and toilet seat insert, an automobile DVD, favourite movies, story books and blankets, diaper bag, miniature clothing, including underwear - but most importantly, disposable diapers.
Monday felt like 48 hours. Tristan, our blue-eyed golden haired cherub, was on his third day of potty training. Thankfully, he was successful 60 percent of the time. The carpet needs to be replaced anyway. Ava, our chatty reddish-blonde beauty, was a two-month veteran who rarely had a mishap.
They were such a delight - ate everything their parents said they should, rarely cried, napped, went to bed for the night at seven thirty, without protest, and slept until six thirty the next morning. When our daughter-in-law phoned Tues. night, I assured her they were doing well and thanked her for doing such a marvellous job of parenting.
By Wednesday, the twins discovered I hadn't been the mother of small children for a very long time and that my authority could be challenged. When she was finished with her milk, Ava poured the rest on the floor or into her half-eaten bowl of soup or porridge. Tristan's fascination with the stereo knobs could no longer be curbed by time-outs on the couch.
Thursday night, when our son called, everyone was exhausted. There were more accidents, laundry, time-outs and crying. I told him they were okay but starting to show signs of strain. Crack would've been closer to the truth.
Then he asked about the potty training. Were they still having accidents and wearing underwear all the time? "Please, for the sake of their mother," he pleaded, "Don't put disposables on them."
I couldn't admit that for sanity sake, I had resorted to disposables at bedtime and for outings to the park and store. I got off the phone panic-stricken. "Oh, my gosh, I think I've ruined the kids. Lord, helper of incompetent grandparents, I've got one day to fix them. You've got to help me!"
Friday arrived with new joys and pressures. At 5:30, Jay and Joyce would take over. With renewed resolve, potty school was back in session. Everything would revolve around the potty chair with better control of their fluids. And there were fewer accidents. They even awoke from the afternoon nap dry.
But I was a nervous wreck. As the day wore on, it was harder to control my temper and tears. Harder to remember the good times - watching them slide down the big yellow slide in the park, splashing in the hot tub, hearing them shriek, "It's ringing, it's ringing!" all the way home from the toy store the day I bought their toddler cell phones.
By the time the van was loaded, both children belted into their seats and the Backyardigans showing on the dual DVD screens, we were running a little behind. I'd accounted for a possible extra trouser change but I needed to do one more thing before we met Jay and Joyce. Make sure the gas tank was full - the way we received it.
Heavy Friday afternoon traffic caused more delays so I opted for a gas station closer to Vernon to save time. Before I knew it, we were at the Walmart intersection and it was 5:25. Looking for the right intersection, I'd breezed past all the gas stations along the highway.
Ava had been softly whining about a drink for several miles. Now she was crying. Tristan, too, but I didn't catch what his complaint was - until he hollered, "All done!" Suddenly, the "All done" light went on. "All done," was what he'd screeched the day before when he wet his pants in the car seat. "Perfect. Just perfect!"
I floored it through the intersection and headed out of the city, desperate for a gas station, not just to fill the gas tank but to change Tristan, give Ava some water and restore order before I met my in-laws. But there wasn't one. I called Joyce on my cell and told her we were heading north and would meet them somewhere in the middle.
Ava started howling and Tristan was yelling, "Pee in the potty, grandma!" so I pulled off the highway onto a wide shoulder. Frantically, I dug out the potty chair, cursed thing, and sat him on it. He was still dry and he wasn't letting me sit him anywhere.
Joyce and Jay pulled in behind us, just as I was contorted between the seats and wrestling up Tristan's pants. The stunned look on their faces only added to my dismay. Swapping crying children on the side of a busy highway, van half-full of gas was not how this was supposed to end. Had it not been for Joyce's hug and her understanding words, I would have broken down on the spot.
A quick peck on each flushed little forehead and suddenly they were gone. As I drove home in my much quieter world of reflection, the words, "Finish well," repeated in my mind. I had not finished well. I knew it. Joyce and Jay knew it. And the kids knew it. In the heat of battle, I had taken shortcuts.
For two days, every time I thought about how the week had ended, I cried. I remembered other times in my life when I'd been tired or inpatient, made poor choices and not finished well. And it made me contemplate the issues I'm currently struggling to finish well, like my nursing career. I promised myself to finish tiresome tasks better in the future. If potty school had taught me anything, it was this.
A few days later, after the twins were delivered to their refreshed parents in Banff, Joyce phoned. We laughed about how hard it was to look after small children at our age. She also confided that on Saturday, she and Jay had taken the twins to Junglemania in Salmon Arm and she'd put disposables on them. A considerable distance from the bathroom, Ava suddenly announced, "I have to go, Nana." Joyce replied, "It's okay, honey - you can go in your diaper this time." Ava was thrilled.
Faye Cyr is an RN at Kelowna General Hospital, the author of Where the Bears Play, available at Chapters, and soon t
We invite submissions from writers.
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