In the last two days we've had the following two incidents.Yesterday, apparently bound up from too many sweet tarts and a cinnamon roll that would've killed King George, Trot had to go to the restroom THREE times during Rakes' soccer game, (in which he scored 3 goals. No, I'm not proud or anything.) the first two times he experienced "performance anxiety". The third time he yelled out he "gotta go POOPY, MOM!" Ang went all "Peter and the Boy Who Cried Wolf" and just ignored him.
15 seconds later she turned around, he's on the field behind the one Rakes is on, completely disrobed and squatting down, getting ready to leave a personal message that Trot was indeed there.
Somehow she managed to get him to the restroom while the rest of the so-called adults yucked it up and Trot grinned from ear to ear.
Fast forward to today. We'd been wondering why the hardwood floor in the half bath downstairs had three distinct black marks on it, even going so far as to call my Yankee loving buddy the Plumber over to check it out a few weeks ago. No leaks, seal looked fine, and we chalked it up to the rare incident of missing the toilet in the middle of the night sort of thing.
Today? It all became crystal clear. As I sat on the couch watching the Redskins cough it up to the Giants and listened to the sounds of Trot whizzing in the commode behind me, I turned around to make sure he was washing his hands.
You can imagine my reaction when I saw him swirling his hands around the toilet, BEFORE FLUSHING mind you, and all of a sudden the black spots on the floor made perfect sense.
I'm happy to report I didn't kill him, although that's due more to Ang running interference like a fullback for USC than anything resembling control on my part. Fact is, if she hadn't been there I'm fairly certain he'd be in military school as I type this.
Only the fact the Sox took both games of the double header to sweep the Rays is keeping me from a straight jacket right now.
See, tomorrow is my day off. And Trot doesn't go to pre-school until Tuesday. Which means while Ang is at work, Rakes is in kindergarten, and Ciera is at Middle School me and hewhoisfascinatedwithbodilyfunctions are gonna be together all day.
ALL DAY.
I wonder if locking your child in a bird cage for 6 hours results in a visit from the local branch of DSS?
8 comments:
AND there's no baseball.
Well for starters you could have a lesson in hygiene and the swine flu.
Rakes has been a piece of cake...and I'm sure he's told you this
Yes, he's told me.
REPEATEDLY.
I'm gonna end up in the psych ward.
But, Ted! A three-game sweep. Of the Rays. IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS!! I am giddy. (Especially going into a series with the Angels, for which our rotation goes like this: Dice Hurts My Stomach, Which Paul Byrd Will Pitch Tonight?, and well... I sure hope Beckett can show he's ready to be Commander again of a complete *nine* inning game, because I'm thinking the bullpen could be gasping for breath by Thursday...)
True, Dawn. And I'm giddy over the sweep of the Rays. And I'm with you on the rotation for the next 3 games; here's hoping the Real Daisuke is back.
No, you cannot put Trot in a bird cage, but I can understand the thought crossing your mind. :)
Why can't I?
Send him to Rich on the cape for a few days.
I can't do that to Rich, Amy.
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