The Problem with Bathrooms These Daze

Once upon a time this blogger watched an episode of Oprah that mentioned that toilets spray their contents like in a six feet radius when you flush them.

I am not OCD about a ton of stuff, especially dirt/grime/bugs/snakes/germs type stuff.  I'm the mom who lets her babies eat all the dirt their little hearts desire, to the chagrin of their aunt.  Mud pies are good for the soul, I tells you!

But that sorta grossed me out.  The toilets, not the mud pies.

Unfortunately, I have a boy, a man child, a wee human who has been fascinated with the ol' loo since he could toddle on his chubby legs to it.  He used to flush all sorts of things down there.  Mostly deodorant caps...the occasional Superman action figure.  Lunch.  He doesn't do that anymore because he uses the toilet for what it's designed for, which you'd think would be great.

Except.

Except he has to hug the thing in order to flush it. We're talking straddle it, both arms akimbo, drawers down, face unbearably close to the very pot.  I can tell him till I'm blue in the face to pull up his big boy undies, stand aside, and then flush with one finger, but it ain't gonna happen.  He has to make out with the toilet.

And my toilet isn't gross.  I have myself plus my pre-teen army of two to clean it regularly.

But Walmart doesn't.  And 711 doesn't.  The park certainly doesn't.

And even when he's not in there with me (because he's standing under the hand blow dryer with a dreamy look on his face, letting his golden locks fly free) I still get grossed out because those stalls are built for fairy children and elves.  Seriously, I'm 5'3" and not hugely overweight and I have a heck of a time fitting in there.  Closing the door almost causes me to fall in the bowl.  Which would be grodie.

So you're supposed to flush with the lid down - according to the World According to Oprah - but they don't have lids!  So the next best alternative is to jump at least six feet away as you push down the flusher, right?  Well, no, you can't do that because the stupid toilets flush on their own now.  Who invented these things?  Cuz he obviously didn't watch Oprah.  There is no possible way to get out of the way when there is no lid to close and even if you could jump up fast enough and break through the door, you'd have your skivvies down to your ankles.  And no one wants to see that.  Also, you would trip on your purse that you had to set down on the four inches of floor space in the stall because the purse hook is busted.

In case you couldn't tell, my five minute run to Walmart was 40 minutes because Gianni had to do #2 twice.  And that is why I share my dissatisfaction with automatically flushing toilets and Oprah and her impossible to follow advice, with you.

You.
Are.
Welcome.

The end.

The repercussions of Vacation Bible School:

Cora, yelling furiously at Anna during an argument: I am trying to be like Jesus here!

Anna: You need to do to others what you want done to you!

Cora, as she purposely runs her bike into Anna's legs: I am!

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At our fostering parenting classes Mike and I are learning it's not good to beat your children. This is needed as you know if you read my entry about banging my kid's heads together.

That was a joke.

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So the exciting news this week (other than Cora teaching me that if I push the 30 second button on the microwave twice, it will perform for a minute! How much time will I save? It's nuts just thinking about it) is that Gianni decided he was potty trained. I don't remember having this conversation with him, other than the one I already told you about in the last post, but we figured we certainly weren't going to argue with him. Give up diapers? Heck, yeah. So the first day was amazing; the kid went on the potty like, seven times and cheered for himself each time. There was one incident where he pooped on the kitchen floor, but we choose not to dwell on that in the interest of keeping things upbeat. That was Saturday. Yesterday he had next to no interest and pretty much held it all day. When prompted by us, 'Need to go potty?' he would reply in annoyance, 'Uhuh!' Today is more of the same. He held it all morning and when he did go, it was on the floor. Now he walks by the spot (not the literal spot, of course I mopped it up, people!) and points and says, 'uh oh!' and shakes his head sadly. So I hope he got the point. Anyway, as I don't know if his sudden lack of interest is due to just that, a sudden lack of interest, or that he just basically gets the basic idea and doesn't need the constant prodding and reminding. A few days will tell. I am off this morning to check out a book that was recommended to me, 'Early Start Potty Training,' and also to buy some kind of tiny, dairy free, peanut free candies for bribery. Parenting by bribery, that's right. Just another example of things I said I would never do. In the meantime, you should get a load of his IronMan briefs. He prefers wearing them atop his head instead of on his bottom, but wherever you find them, they are freaking cute. Check back in a day or two for a photo, as he is napping now. Y'all know the first rule of Baby Club: never wake a sleeping baby. The second rule of Baby Club: never wake a sleeping baby.

My little Cora is going to be nine years old soon and that is strange. She will be as tall as me soon (yeah, yeah, not that big of an accomplishment, hardy har har) and one and a half more shoe sizes and we can borrow each others footwear. Her hair has been bleached by the chlorine and is quite blond these days. Her best friend, Sammy, moved to Texas this weekend so I am including a photo of them. Her other best friend, Hannah, is here two days a week as I am babysitting her through the summer months. Then we have Anna's best friend, Lilianne, who lives right across the street and she is the girl on the left in the photo of the three weirdos here. Moose isn't the only one who enjoys skivvies on his noggin.

By the way, I have to give props to my husband; Saturdays toilet training success was all him. I wasn't even home. I told him he should consider opening a potty training school. Seriously, a little week long intensive camp for toddlers? Don't you think that would go over well? I know. Genius. Both the idea and my sweet hubby. Unfortunately, he can't be here all the time and since I've taken over, it hasn't been as successful. Gianni looks at me like I just don't understand the intricacies and delights of peeing like a man. It's like a club I can never be a member of. When we come home next month Papa Dave is thrilled at being able to teach the first grandson in several years of only granddaughters, how to do things like pee off the deck and write his name in the snow. Men. They're such boys.