Warning: This post is potty-humor based. If you do not have a strong stomach, ability to laugh through crappy circumstances and/or have never potty trained anything, just skip this post.
Caveat: I once promised someone that the basis of this blog’s humor would not be boy-function-based. She was trying to protect me from regret that I am sure I will feel later. She later asked me why I don’t write as frequently as I used to and I confesses that most of the humor in my day revolves around body functions. My sons are three and one. If you total their waking moments and combined efforts, potty trips and diaper changing comprises 1/3 of the time they are awake.
Then something happened that is so horrific and terrible that I HAD to tell the story to someone who would sympathize. I was ordered, through gasps and shorts, to let this tale of woe be told to the masses. There is camaraderie there…and everyone should know a new level of disaster assessment has been created.
This is your last chance to back out. There are pictures. You have been warned.
Potty training my son has been a challenging endeavor. As with most little boys, mastering the bowels is more of a challenge and takes more time. While visiting with family this month, I was hopeful that with other adults around we could really reinforce the idea of getting to the potty BEFORE the incident occurs.
Moreover, my mother has a powder room that is the ultimate girly bathroom. The Purple Powder Room has two shades of purple that tie in nicely with a large piece of floral art. It has a purple, gold and amber crystal chandelier. It has good towels. It smells nice. This is where a princess would potty! Except maybe Queen Elsa, due to the shortage of ice caused by it being August in Texas and the sudden popularity of ice-bucket-challenges.
The glory of this bathroom is important to the story, as I love this bathroom. I am surrounded by boys; I can’t think of one non-clothing item in this home that is purple. Wait…one puzzle piece from a color puzzle and one natural lavender-scented cleaner.
This bathroom is a great hiding place as well; it is small, centrally located in the home and allows one to hear everything while remaining hidden.
My son quickly realized the importance of this Fortress of Solitude, as there were 5-10 people in the home at any given moment in addition to a large dog at his eye level.
He quickly began sitting on the potty and telling me, “You go! Go away!” and then assuming his throne. At one point he sat there and read a book for 30 minutes! Soon he began to disappear with his VeggieTales Storybook Bible and flip through while seated until either someone made him move or his rump was numb.
Let there be no mistake; I birth the all-boy kind of male.
Things were all going beautifully until one fateful morning when the younger son required extra attention during a feeding/medication serving. Things were quiet…too quiet. My eyes darted around the room for the sight of blonde hair. He had scurried away to Pop-Pop’s office. A glance at his shorts quickly revealed a tiny damp spot.
I assumed the stance of a mother carrying a messy child to the bathroom. We move hurriedly, carrying our beloved pile of gross as far from our bodies as possible to avoid contact. Moving quickly, we usually run in a wide, squat stance to avoid anything dripping, much as a training athlete runs through tires.
We arrived at the Purple Powder Room a few moments later; the spot was still small. I shucked his pants and big-boy-undees down as quickly as possible with the intent to get him onto the potty.
This is when time slowed down into slow motion.
The boy’s drawers were filled with poop. It was not solid. They were down to about the calf when I started yelling in disgusted horror. Unfortunately, this scared the crap out of him. He started yelling and began to kick in an attempt to get his feet out of the soiled drawers.
The elastic caught on his heel and it sent a splatter pattern across the wall that would cause Jackson Pollock to shudder.
I grabbed the man-cub, who was trying to back up and sit on ME. I held him in the center of the bathroom to keep him from touching anything, using about 1,293 baby wipes. It was then that I looked down and noticed the aftermath.
The VeggieTales Bible had been tossed to the floor. The underwear had landed on it.
I carefully contained the mess and held that poor, fouled treasure in my hand. A childhood of memories from my beloved VeggieTales stared at me with a grin that somehow looked horrified.
My son got Larry the Cucumber crap-faced.
A Bible? Really?! Granted, it is a children’s paraphrased book and it was not done on purpose. I VERY carefully and thoroughly cleaned it. Something in me just says you can’t poop on and throw away a Bible. Then the horrible puns started popping into my head. It’s all so very blasphemous. Semi-liquid evil comes from the backsides of children, make no mistake.
The Purple Powder Room is now called the Poopy Purple Powder Room. Mom is seriously considering repainting.
Let it be known, potty training really is a spiritual event. Grace and bathroom cleaners really are amazing.