Staying at Home {or} In the Zone of Comfort

The thought of driving three hours, then hiking in the dark to our campsite flat piece of ground by the lake just wasn't working for me. Sleeping on the ground, hiking up to American Lake, filtering lake water, cooking over a fire -- might sound romantic at times {and certainly did when we were in college}, but not this time.

We opted to stay home. Without kids. Yep -- they still went to Grandma and Grandpa's house {glorious silence} and had a wonderful time.
The hours at home drifted by slowly. Blessedly. Quietly.

It was relaxing. But I did miss taking fabulous pictures of the mountain.
I haven't been taking many pictures lately. End of last week I was in a real slump, physically and emotionally. I napped an extra three hours this weekend -- that helped. Really, the main cause of the fatigue is the noise and constant chaos. And the stubborn sons.

Seriously. I'm am at my whits end with the oldest boy. Who still won't pee in automatic flushing toilets. Oh -- he will for daddy, when there is frozen yogurt on the line. {Bribary? Reward?}

Remember the beginning of the "pee story"? He has now {three months later} progressed to talking pants off and putting back on but requires help "getting on". Won't use a stool, won't hop up. Needs my hands under his pits to lift him up. Why?

So now we use a knee to push him on. In the hopes that he'll realize he can do it alone.

But why is he so stubborn? Why does he not want to grow up and do things by himself? Why will he not go to swimming lessons unless his favorite teacher is teaching {a whole nother story}?

Here's the question I'm asking myself:
When should a mother STOP being patient and gentle and PUSH the child {very hard} until he makes a better choice/habit?

Or will all the pushing prove ineffective, just like the "string theory" {you try to push a string and it doesn't move forward, just gets all snakey}.

I'd be so happy if this chapter of potty troubles came to a close. I'll be smiling proudly when my son can walk through the classroom door happily, saying good morning to his teacher. Not clinging. Not screaming.

I can't wait until his testosterone jitters settle down.

But it's hard to even imagine right now. In the middle.

Thoughts from moms {and other smart people} out there?