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January 19, 2017 / Mettā Reiki Center

Potty Humor


I know it’s been a while (ok more like ages ago) since I posted a blog. And this should probably be a warm fuzzy about how the past few years have gone.  Perhaps this will be enough of a synopsis of how things are going right now to give you a good idea…

Several months ago, Ali went perusing through my bathroom while I had my back turned. As most moms know, it only takes a few seconds for this to not end well. She trotted out of the bathroom with one of my maxi pads.  “Mommy what’s this?”

Oh boy.

“Well, sweetheart, they’re…well…kind of special diapers.”

Five minutes later she came barreling in the living room with her stuffed “Shaun the Sheep”, the “special diaper” placed perfectly between its legs. I probably should have had a fit about wasting an expensive “special diaper” but all I could do was howl laughing. From that point forward, Ali called those special diapers “BaaaHaaa diapers” because of COURSE they were made for Shaun the Sheep.

Fast forward to present day.

We start the day at Target to pick up manuscript books to help with her printing letters.  “Do you have to go potty?”  “No, mommy, I’m good.” Okay. On to lunch.

Then we are at a little Greek place.  We have a nice lunch, and my plan was to take her potty after we paid our check when a lady walked in with…well, an interesting hairstyle.  Ali proclaimed in a very loud voice, “MOMMY!!! Her hair is made of funny strings!”

I forgot completely about the potty plans – we got the hell out of there.

Next stop: Publix.  She’s going to go to the potty, dammit. We find the restroom and thankfully out of two stalls, one was open.

Ali: “I don’t have to go potty.”

Me: “I don’t care. You’re going to try.”

Ali: “Well then you go first, Mommy.”

That was fine with me, because I had to pee like a racehorse.

I am about 2 seconds from finally getting to sit on the loo, when she proclaims, “I have to potty!!!”  Me:  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Ali: “No mommy, I have to go BAD.”

Zip up the jeans, put the kid on the can.  She does her business.  She says she’s done. FINALLY it’s my turn.

“Oh, wait, Mommy. I have to poop.”  GREAT. By this time I have my legs crossed.  Hurry up, kid.  I hear a quiet snickering from the stall next to us.  Yeah, really funny lady.  YOU come in here and deal with this if you think it’s so funny…

Ali literally squeezes her eyes shut and grunts. What. The. Hell. Where she learned that, I have no idea, but when I find out, they are in big trouble. More giggles from the next stall. When she finally stands up, there’s a little bit of nothing in the commode.  “Seriously, Ali?  All that drama for one little turd?”  (Clearly Ali wasn’t the only one that momentarily forgot we weren’t alone in the bathroom.) “But you said if I need to poop, even if it’s a little to go ahead and poop.”  Why do these kids have such good memories about THOSE things but can’t remember to include the number 15 when counting from 1 to 20, when you’ve told them about a thousand times?

FINALLY, I get to pee. 20 seconds without an inquisition?  Nope.

“Mommy, what’s those little trash cans for?”

How the hell am I going to artfully dodge this one?

“They’re just special trash cans, honey. Don’t worry about it.”

Ali’s face lights up with a sudden realization. “OOOOOOHH!  They’re for BaaaHaaa diapers!”

The woman in the next stall forgets all about stifling her giggles and starts laughing out loud.

We’re out of there.

“Mommy!  We need to wash our hands!”

“Forget it, we’re using the Purell in Mommy’s purse. Move it.”

The bathroom door shuts the sound of uncontrolled howling laughter in the bathroom.

This is why mothers drink.



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