Care Bears a big miss in potty training

We are in the midst of attempting to teach a 2-year-old human female the finer points of utilizing a toilet the proper way. She is a lackluster pupil at times; at others, she is completely ambivalent and seems to feel the entire process a joke and waste of time. After all, it is so much easier and quicker, in her little mind, to just continue doing things the way she has been doing things … and let mommy and daddy deal with the repercussions.

At least, this was her opinion until I discovered what I thought was a secret weapon that would allow her to become an excited and thrilled participant in the exhilarating world of potty training: Care Bear underwear.

I vaguely recall the Care Bear cartoon characters from my long-ago youth. I remember the sweet-faced and vaguely menacing stuffed bears with tattoos on their bellies who wanted to go around and share feelings with everyone. Growing up in an Alaska household with a hairy, bearded father who epitomized the stereotypical Alaska male: “He hunts! He fishes! He Has no feelings! He showers monthly whether he needs it or not!” (sorry, Dad), I knew from early childhood that bears were big, scary animals that would like nothing better than to bite my head off and gnaw on my entrails. Seeing them brought to life in my television as fuzzy beings that can infiltrate households at will didn’t do a lot for my childish peace of mind.

So, while I was never enthralled with the teddy-bears-on-steroid images perpetuated by the evil geniuses in Cartoon Land, my children adore them. I think that’s because their father is a city boy whose idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service. I have yet to reconcile the image of my citified, urban husband with the hardships of being a soldier, especially one in a dirty, sand-encrusted war zone. He absolutely detests getting dirty and considers “sand” the worst of all four-letter words. That made our tour of Hawaii a lot of fun. But, a soldier is what he was and what he did for 23 years, so his not having any desire to be out in the wilderness anymore than necessary is understandable.

So, our children, who have never known the image of a scary bear, love the Care Bears and, upon a recent visit to a department store, my daughter discovered a bag of Care Bear underwear. She begged and wept and pleaded and promised to keep them clean and dry if she could only have these undergarments adorning her body, and I agreed in hopes of stimulating the potty training.

You’ll note I forgot to mention anything to my daughter about actually using the potty. That was where I made my mistake.

My daughter adores her new panties. She wants to wear them every day, and she is truly worried about getting them, um, soiled. So, whenever she feels the need, she removes her underwear by herself, does her baby business on whatever piece of carpet is nearest, and promptly sits down and puts her underwear back on. I do not always catch these little incidents, and as a result, have had several surprises in store for me over the last few days.

My husband blamed several of the bowel movements he discovered on the cats … until he realized that, in almost 10 years, the cats have never had an incident on any piece of carpet we own. So, we know who the innocent-faced culprit is, and she proudly proclaims, “Care Bears clean” each hour when a parent starts to sniff around the house, suspicious of a new odor.

So, apparently, Care Bear underwear is great when it comes to teaching a toddler about getting ready to go potty, and how to remove underwear and put it back on. However, it’s not so great when it comes to showing a 2-year-old the finer points of using underwear versus diapers. She thinks, as long as the Care Bears are clean and dry, that she is good to go. My floor begs to differ.

And I still think the Care Bears are going to get me one night as I lay in sweet repose. I think that bright yellow Funshine Bear with the glowing merry sun fiercely etched onto his tattooed tummy is just a little too happy sometimes… and that scares me.

But, at least he’s dry.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, was deployed to Iraq and returned home in December. She writes every Sunday abut life at home as a wife and mother.