Ok, first things first. I have been tagged by Kate over at The Cracked Pot and I am not ignoring her. That will be my post for tomorrow or Tuesday (all depends on how tomorrow goes).
Today, however, I would like to share something else. Oh, and I know you’re probably all expecting some Blue Barb to pop up in here since it’s been a while, but, sorry, she doesn’t hang out at church, being demonic and all, and today’s story happened at church.
So, there we were, about half way through the service at church today, when Tank Boy says to me, “Mommy, I want to pee in the potty. Be a big boy.”
We’ve only been working on the potty training thing very minimally. Specifically, I sit him on the potty each night before bed and he goes. Every now and then I remember to sit him on the potty sometime during the day and he will go. However, he has never actually come to me to tell me he needs to go.
Now, for those of you who don’t yet have children and are thinking, “Good grief! Why do women insist on talking about their children and their bathroom habits and issues. How disgusting. How uncouth. I will never talk about such things!” I’m hear to tell you: Yes, you will. And I will stalk your blogs. And I will laugh hysterically when you do. Because you will.
Right, back on track. He tells me and, though I am outwardly maintaining my demeanor of reverent calmness, I am inwardly doing a happy dance. No, that doesn’t do it justice. It was a happy, happy, joy, joy dance. It was a happy disco. It was a happy Charleston. It was a happy . . . hmm, I need to watch more Dancing With the Stars, I guess. It was . . . the first time I’ve ever been in public with a son who needed to go potty.
So I tapped McH on the shoulder. Evil Grin. “Your son needs to go potty.”
I’m sure you all think I’m off my rocker, but give me a break. The kid is two, he’s never asked to go to the bathroom before. C’mon, he doesn’t really need to go, he just wants out of boring church. Fine. Whatever. After 9+ years of taking-the-kids-to-the-public-restroom duty, I finally didn’t have to!!!!!
*Sigh* Someday those of you who are not getting it, will.
As if that weren’t enough to make me throw confetti in my head, McH and Tank Boy returned with the clean diaper I sent along still in hand. Yes, it turns out he actually did need to go to the bathroom. Tank Boy, that is, not McH. At least, not that I know of. Really, do you think I asked?!?
It was a double victory for me: my son is figuring out the potty thing, and I don’t have to take him. Life is good.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.