My dad (known to the Twins as “Pop”) came over to our place for dinner on Friday while my mom was away for the weekend. As we were preparing to eat, Pop lifted my son up to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, and, feeling the weight of his growing grandson, overdramatically grunted, “Awww, Buddy, your Pop’s getting old.”
I say “overdramatically” because Pop exercises regularly and is in fantastic shape. In fact, I’m certain he’s in better shape than I am.
Moments later, while Pop dried his hands, my son looked up at him and parroted, “Pop, you gettin’ old.”
“That’s right, Buddy,” Pop chuckled. “How did you get to be such a big boy?”
Potty training is in full force at Fort Pseudonymous, opening up the entire dwelling to excretory crossfire. We’ve had good days and we’ve had bad days, but the bad days are way more eventful, and thus way more entertaining. Accordingly, I’ve curated the following very special moments from our experiences with The Great Transition, so that you may laugh at our expense. (Fair warning: This is called “House Potty” for a reason.)
. . .
The Organ Trail
“Hey baby, do you have to go potty?”
“No,” my daughter giggled as she sprinted laps around the house with her brother in crime.
I’d asked her at least three times in the past five minutes because she’d just downed an entire cup of water, and I knew it was coming.
I returned my attention to the mound of dishes in the sink, and after rinsing a few more glasses, looked up again to see her standing in the middle of the living room with a look of distress.
“What happened, baby?” I asked, dread welling up inside me. “Did you go pee pee?”
I then noticed the carpeted floor surrounding my daughter, where she had left a liquid trail behind her: first a circle around the perimeter of the room, then looping around the ottoman, a few sharp turns, and finally a puddle at her feet.
She had essentially created a real-life version of the Family Circus comics depicting Billy’s wayward path through various scenes but…well…with urine.
My daughter–who stood there frozen–had still not answered me, so I asked again. “Baby, did you go pee pee?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in, Buddy?” my wife called from inside the shower.
I’d love to say the offer was directed at me in a completely different context (Giggity!), but in this case she was addressing my son.
On that particular evening my wife and I had decided that we simply were NOT into the whole bathtime ordeal, so in an effort to mix up the normal nighttime routine (and to get the kid-cleaning over with quickly) we opted for a co-shower approach, with my wife being the Wet Cop and me the Dry Cop.
My daughter, who thoroughly enjoys the shower, had already been sanitized and was now playing with her cherished set of three tiny blue rubber duckies on the shower floor, quacking happily to herself. My son, however, stood a few feet back from the glass shower door, scowling at it while wearing nothing but a diaper.
He shook his head. “No. No like shower. Scared.”
For some reason, my son has a shower phobia. I couldn’t tell you why, because he loves all other aquatic activities–baths, hand-washing, swimming, sprinklers, and especially our new water table, which, within his first ten minutes of use, prompted him to loudly declare the following rave review: “I’M HAVING FUN!!! I’M HAVING FUN!!!”
Every once in a while, my wife daydreams about what it would be like if we lived during a different time in history. However, her “creative” interpretation of which historical events actually happened when often prompts her to fact-check with me before launching into said daydream. For example:
Wife: When was World War I?
Me: The 1910s.
Wife: Okay, then I think I could live in the 1920s.
Me: You sure you could handle Prohibition?
Wife: Oh, that was then? Never mind. That’d be stupid.
And so this weekend, while savoring a slice of cheese from a Costco platter, she mused…
Wife: I think I could live in the Old Days. They at least had cheese, right?
Me: I guess that depends which “old days” you’re talking about. Like, what time period?