Focus, toilet, focus!

Now that Sage is 3, I have noticed that the speed with which she performs a task is directly related to her own personal gains with respect to that task. For example, if I ask Sage to clear off her dishes so we can watch a movie, there is little likelihood that I will have to repeat this request. On the other hand, if I ask Sage to use the bathroom because it’s bedtime, there is little likelihood she’ll be done (without “encouragement”) in under 10 minutes…assuming she goes on her own at all.

This rule of speed and personal gains is especially applicable to using the bathroom. How is it that the walls, shower curtain, vanity cabinets, toilet paper holder, and bathmats all become infinitely exciting to a 3-year-old? Sage often asks for books to read on the toilet. She loves to dawdle in the bathroom. As for myself, the less time I spend in the bathroom, the less likely I am to notice something that needs to be cleaned. Hence, I try to contain my visits to under 45 seconds whenever possible. This also leaves less time for Eliza to wander in and demand to tear off little pieces of toilet paper and deposit them in the toilet.

It can be very frustrating to ask Sage to use the bathroom, and find her sitting on the throne, 10 minutes later, singing away merrily, and twirling a towel with her foot that happened to be in reach. I have often admonished her to “focus,” and she usually speeds up, although I don’t ever remember defining exactly what that meant. My tone of voice was no doubt “encouraging” enough, even if the phrase was Greek to her.

The other day, after Sage used the bathroom at my mom’s house, the toilet continued running for a minute or so longer than ours at home. While she was washing her hands, I overheard Sage telling the toilet “Focus, toilet. Focus!”

Amused, I asked her what “focus” meant. She replied, without concern, “I don’t really know.” Then I asked her why she said it. Her matter-of-fact response: “Because the toilet was being too loud!” It seems that Sage identified the mandate “Focus” with unacceptable behavior in the bathroom, regardless of whether the perpetrator was a person or an inanimate object.

This led me to think about lurking variables. In what other areas does Sage receive inaccurate messages because of our different frames of reference? Last year, after going to an Easter party in our Community Center where someone in a big pink bunny suit shook the kids’ hands, Sage later asked me “Do big bunnies live in the community center?” Another time, Mark found a great sale and bought a few suits. Sage saw his purchase and asked “Is that suit so Daddy can be a missionary?” Apparently, her range of experience with people wearing suits was limited to basically just the missionaries in our ward that ate dinner at our house occasionally.

Poor kids. We, adults, must really give them a run for their money with our lack of clarity sometimes. It must take a lot for kids to figure out this crazy world we present them with. In the meantime, when Sage makes a comment that reveals a case of lurking variables, I’m going to write it down before I forget, and have a good laugh once she’s gone to bed.