I went to the bathroom this morning. I know. Where do I ever find the time? I’d like it noted however, that I made bacon, eggs and toast for the men in the family before I indulged myself so outrageously by taking 15 seconds to go to the bathroom.
During that clearly-way-too-long 15 seconds, I heard my son pound past the door. I came around the corner and he was gone. I looked in the living room to see if he was with his babysitter, Diego, and the couch was empty. I had a weird feeling and turned around to look out the french doors that go out to the back porch.
There he was, peeing like a race horse.
And peeing, and peeing, and peeing.
I ran out screaming, “STOP! STOP!”
He stopped. I could hear the puddle pouring through the boards and splattering on the patio below.
K: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
The Boy: Peeing, Mama.
K: Well, stop. (feeling like maybe I had said this 900 KABILLION times) Where do we put our peeps?
The Boy: In the potty, Mama.
K: Is this the potty?
The Boy: (looking at me like I was an idiot) NO, MAMA. This the Porch.
K: Alrighty then. Do you think we can take this party inside to the potty?
The Boy: But I go already, Mama.
Yes, you did. Maybe this is better than cleaning up puddles of urine around the can everyday?