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?”
My daughter hooked her arm securely around mine as I held her at my hip–a cripplingly cute mannerism of hers that melts me to my core every single time.
Vocalizing airplane sound effects, I made an extravagant production of swooping my giggling passenger down to the floor to pick up each member of the Hundred Acre Wood institutionalized as her Bedtime Crew, currently featuring Piglet (her go-to daytime stuffty) as well as Winnie the Pooh and Tigger (the night-shift support staff who allow for optimal snugglization).
Her teeth brushed and hands washed, she knew we were coming up on bedtime and began her nightly wind-down ritual: gripping Piglet and Company, sticking her beloved right thumb in her mouth, and embracing day’s end with open arms and heavy eyelids.
Our son, however–currently in his mother’s arms–was performing his own nightly routine: maniacal arm-flails punctuated by Oscar-worthy whines. Never ready to pack it in, he’ll dash for the playroom or point at the turned-off tv in a last-ditch effort to stay up just a little longer, to milk as much out of the day as possible. There are still so many blocks to stack, so many books to read, so many Sing-Along Songs to groove to.
And while his unrelenting desire to be awake can be burdensome, I don’t ever fault him for it.
He gets it from me.
In the far reaches of the Great White North, some say there lives a creature–a gigantic, apelike humanoid whose chance blurred appearances in photography have both intrigued and terrified people across the globe for decades. Alleged to have first been sighted in Saskatchewan, the cryptid has been uncreatively dubbed Sasquatch.
As an admittedly ill-conceived publicity stunt for this fine publication, I recently set out to scare this supposedly abominable beast out of hiding, capture him, teach him to play guitar, and record him singing a Twinfamy Theme Song of his own composition. Obviously, the video would go viral and assuredly secure me a movie franchise deal for The Twinfamy Trilogy.
Hopes high, I sent a robotic bird probe that communicates 140 characters at a time up to the region for further investigation, but sadly, Sasquatch seemed to be Sasquatting somewhere out of robotic-bird-earshot.
However, in the process, I wound up getting to know someone else originally from Saskatchewan who has become one of my favorite 21st century dads, James Hudyma. James is a dedicated teacher, a talented musician, a caring father to his son and daughter, and writes an excellent blog about all of the above. If this sounds strikingly familiar to you, O Loyal Reader, you can already imagine that James and I instantly hit it off.
In addition to my groundbreaking research on closet zombies and whatever sustainability is, my Ph. D. program has also provided the opportunity to learn computer programming–something I’ve wanted to do for years but never had the time or resources.
This has had to happen fairly quickly, as on the first day of the semester, one of my professors had my classmates and me each introduce ourselves along with our programming experience, since it would be a foundational element of the class. Having been awake since 3:15 am with my sick son, I’d just chugged two Venti coffees in order to be a functional human being, so as you can probably imagine I was already feeling incredibly chipper and eager to learn.
I grimaced as I listened to my colleagues’ alien technobabble:
“Most of my experience is in Java Frappuccino Monty Python Venom Script with Pirate Eyepatch Death Star Optimization Support.”
“I’ve dabbled in C-Minus-Plus-Ampersand Continuum Transfunctioners, but I’m most comfortable with Skynet Flux Capacitors.”
“I created the Allspark.”