Aaron and I are sitting contentedly on the couch watching
educational programming on PBS some reality show on Bravo, probably of the Real Housewives variety. We hear a noise in the kitchen.
“Jack? What are you doing?” I ask, turning to see what our 4-year-old is up to.
“I’m getting a wipe to wash my hands,” he answers.
“Because I held my handle.”
Yes, my son calls his little willie his handle. Yes, I just called it his little willie. Are you done laughing? May I continue?
“Um. OK. Uh, why were you holding your handle exactly?” The things you find yourself asking your kids.
“Because I peed,” he says, a bit exasperated.
Wait a minute. I don’t remember hearing a flush or hearing him singing to himself (as he generally does while he pees. He hums the alphabet and starts peeing once he reaches the letter…wait for it….”P.” Commence laughing once again. Done?)
“Jack, I didn’t hear you go into the bathroom.”
“I didn’t go into the bathroom.”
“But you just said you peed.”
Mommy Sense Red Alert!
“WHERE did you pee?” I ask, panic in my voice.
“In my playroom.”
Exasperated sigh from Jack.
“I peed in my playroom.”
“What do you mean you peed in your playroom??”
Yet another sigh. Clearly I’m keeping him from a pressing engagement.
“I pulled down my pants, held my handle, and peed on the floor.”
As I leap over the couch to inspect, I’m thinking, Surely my 4-year-old did not just drop trou and fire-hose his playroom! I was thinking it. But I was wrong. That, in fact, is exactly what he’d done.
“JACK! Why did you pee in your playroom? You know better than that!”
He stares at me like I have two heads and lets out another sigh. “I didn’t want to miss Wonder Pets.”
Oh. No. He. Didn’t!
Yes. Yes, he did.
What I was thinking: “Dude! Your TV has a DVR…pause the f*cker!”
What I said: “Sweetie, it is not OK to pee ANYWHERE but in the potty. Ever.”
Again, the things you find yourself telling your kids…
Calgon, take me away.