Power Struggle #564

Kindergarten registration requires a urinalysis. That means asking your five-year-old to pee in a cup. My youngest child, Ellie, turned five in December. She went for her kindergarten physical in January. She took one look at that cup and her iron-clad bladder refused to produce. Despite the fact the doctor kept saying, “We only need a few drops.” I knew that this rather inflexible child was not going to turn out even one drop, even if it meant she couldn’t pee for a week. So I decided to wait, and collect the urine at home. (Are you grossed out yet? It gets better.)

For months I have tried to incentivize the urine collection. I have offered ice cream, candy, movies, and sleepovers with grandma but to no avail. Instead of peeing in the cup, Ellie would craftily say, “Mom, I have to do something. I’ll be right back.” Then, she would sneak into the bathroom, do her business, and come back with an innocent face thinking she had gotten away with the deception. I let it go.

But Friday I decided was the day. No more excuses. It was time to fight the you-will-pee-in-the-cup-today-no-matter-how-much-you-cry battle. I started off the morning by providing as many drinks as possible, but the girl must have some kind of sixth sense because she hardly drank a thing. We went to the park, played out in the heat, and worked up a thirst. Still she insisted she was not thirsty. When we came home for lunch I informed her that we were going to try the cup but she insisted she didn’t need to go. HA!

Ellie then informed me that what she really wanted was privacy. I told her I was pretty sure she needed my help. So, in order to save Ellie’s modesty I ended up with headphones in my ears, music blaring, and my eyes squeezed shut. In essence, I was to pretend I was not there. After standing awkwardly for several minutes, pretending to be invisible, Ellie loudly declared she did not need to go. We’ll see about that I thought, and upstairs we went.

I walked straight to my emergency-supplies drawer and pulled out a can of Sprite. I poured the Sprite into a glass with ice, and added a straw. Ellie looked at it and said, “I’m not thirsty.” Did my sugar addict just refuse Sprite . . . with a straw? I could see she saw right through my plan to make her drink until she couldn’t hold it. So, naturally I did what any other overly-tired-of-this-power-struggle parent would do; I picked a battle and insisted that she drink the Sprite right now!

“My tummy hurts,” Ellie declared.

“Sprite is just the thing for a hurt tummy.” I replied.

“I don’t feel good. I think I better take a nap.”

Take a nap? Are you kidding me? This child really is desperate. “I want you to take five swallows.”

“No, mommy! (Insert blubbering here.) I don’t like it.”

“One.”

“Okay, just don’t count.”

This discussion went back and forth like a tennis match, and for once I was more stubborn than Ellie. After being coerced into taking five sips, she finally declared she needed to go to the bathroom. So, I grabbed my ipod and a piece of Rubbermaid and walked into the bathroom with my eyes closed and attempted to catch the pee. And guess what???? It finally happened. I was so happy and so was Ellie who afterward declared, “That was so easy!”

I put a lid on the container and set it on the counter so I would remember it when we went to the doctor’s office that afternoon (to get a shot, but that’s another story). Unfortunately, (here comes the irony) my valiant struggle was in vain because by the time we made it to the doctor the sample was too old, so I just decided to forget it. There’s a time limit on these things? Hello! I guess we’ll just have to try again next year.