Tagged: poop

The Only Times My Son Needs to Poop: An Exhaustive List

1. Two minutes before his swimming lesson starts.

2. When we should already have left the house 15 minutes ago.

3. In the middle of an amusement park ride.

4. Every time we walk into Target.

5. Just as our doctor enters the room for a check-up after we’ve been waiting 45 minutes.

6. At the beach.

7. When a server is about to take our orders at a restaurant.

8. The moment our food arrives at a restaurant.

9. On our way out of a restaurant.

10. Anyone’s house but ours.

11. At the park.

12. While I am sitting on the only available toilet.

13. While his sister is sitting on the only available toilet.

14. Three minutes after insisting he did not have to go while we were all in the public family restroom at the mall and each of his sisters dutifully utilized the toilet and changing table, but now we’re almost to the Disney Store on the other side of the mall.

15. While waiting in the McDonald’s drive-through line.

16. When he is on his bike five blocks from the house and claims to need to go too badly to pedal himself home and starts flipping the f*ck out and I somehow have to get his f*cking bike, his twin sister who is just too tired to pedal and her f*cking bike, and his baby sister and her stroller back home. Also, it is hot out. Continue reading

Ways I Have Attempted to Con My Kids Into Putting Their F*cking Shoes On: A Non-Exhaustive List

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1. Telling them, “Okay, it’s time to go. Kids, please get your shoes on.”

2. Adding, “Kids. Get your shoes on.”

3. Acknowledging that, yes, I KNOW they’re drawing pictures, but like I said, it’s time to go. Like right now.

4. Yes. Right now. This very instant. This moment in time. NOW.

5. Telling them to stop claiming they don’t know how to put their shoes on.

6. Telling them Santa is watching.

7. Reminding them that our Elf on the Shelf is right over there. See?

8. Saying that I’m sure the Easter Bunny is taking notes, too.

9. Telling them, no, Easter is not for a few months, but the important part is getting their f*cking shoes on.

10. Reminding them that Jesus is watching, too. Surely Jesus would get HIS shoes on.

11. Telling them that Big Brother is also watching, and realizing that it is a reference they will not understand, and explaining that, no, they do not have another brother, but that they DO have…to put their f*cking shoes on.

12. Saying I’m leaving without them.

13. Telling them no, no, no, of course I would never leave without them…as long as they put their f*cking shoes on.

14. Asking them to stop crying, I’m seriously not leaving without you. But now that I have your attention, please put your f*cking shoes on.

15. Telling them their shoes are hungry for feet. Look! Their tongues are sticking out! Continue reading

Thrinfamy: A Birth Announcement

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Teenie Tiny Pseudonymous was born atop the Stratosphere, Las Vegas at 8:41 pm on Wednesday, December 17, 2014. She was delivered by an elite team of board certified Cirque du Soleil performers who–in collaboration with Mrs. Pseudonymous’s well-orchestrated pushing–perfectly timed the delivery with the opening Ringo Starr drum solo of The Beatles’ “LOVE” show. Then, just as Teenie’s head emerged from her mother’s hoo-hoo, an electromagnetic pulse was inexplicably unleashed, triggering all slot machines within a five-mile radius to display three consecutive bow-wearing stick figures and completely empty themselves of coins, much to the delight of cheap, low-stakes patrons (and to the disappointment of “the house,” who apparently does not always win after all). Via a system of pulleys and bicycles, the Soleil performers then counterbalanced the infant with an elephant, a grand piano, and a pint of Guinness, and after consulting Siri, declared the infant to weigh in at .0032885 metric tons (all, of course, to the tune of The Beatles’ “Carry That Weight”).

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The Potentially Perilous Piglet/Pluto Party Paint Predicament

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a particularly long morning, the Twins’ 3rd Birthday Party was finally in full swing. Food was served, Piglet and Pluto cupcake towers were constructed, and while kids of all ages darted across the house hopped up on sugar, our adult friends and family tossed back a mimosa or two, occasionally craning their necks to check on their offspring.

Yep, it looked like we just might pull this thing off after all.

Piglet and Pluto birthday cupcakes - Twinfamy

The Twins’ favorite stuffed animals are Piglet and Pluto, so that became our theme.

It figures that on a day meant to be all about them, my son and daughter decided to make the entire morning all about them with constant, unnecessarily melodramatic whining, thus hindering the actual preparation for their party. The plan had been for me to head to the grocery store for a few last-minute food items while my wife stayed home to get things ready, with help from her sister who had graciously volunteered her mad cupcaking skillz. My wife–an überplanner–had dutifully procured party game supplies to be assembled, festive popcorn boxes to be filled with Orville Redenbacher-y goodness, and goodie bags to be distributed to the under-ten crowd. However, as I witnessed the Twins’ heart-wrenching, Oscar-worthy disapproval of changing from their pajamas to their party clothes just before I left, I had a feeling my wife’s überplans had become an endangered species. Sure enough, the moment I re-entered the house with groceries in tow (30 minutes from Go Time), I was met with a frantic Honey-Do-all-of-this-before-I-Hulk-Smash-somebody’s-face List. Despite my deft popcorn-box filling and spirited backyard dog-poo extraction, our guests began to arrive way before we were able to accomplish Operation: Meet The Wife’s Unrealistic Pinterest-Fueled Expectations.

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House Potty

PottyPotty 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.

The Family Circus - Billy's Dotted Line

My daughter–who stood there frozen–had still not answered me, so I asked again. “Baby, did you go pee pee?”

“…No…”

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