Chance of Showers

This evening was our church’s first night of VBS, so we took The Big One to it for the first time. Afterwards, I walked him to the car and talked with him about all of the things he did tonight. We were going to pull around to the other side of the church to pick up his mom and his brother. While I was going across the parking lot, he informed me that he had to poop. Usually this is something he is only interested in doing at home, so I asked if he could hold it. His first answer was affirmative, but upon further consideration he declared it a pressing urge.

So I park the car and start heading back in. On the way we passed my wife and The Little One. I assumed The Big One would just need me to hold him so that he didn’t fall rear-over-ankles into the toilet bowl, but my wife helpfully reminded me that the nursery (which was still being cleaned up) had a child’s toilet seat that might work for our purposes.

We raced through the church so he could get to the bathroom in time, in spite of his fears that “there isn’t anyone there.” We go tearing into the nursery, throwing open the bathroom door. I offer to hold his book for him and wait in the room. He wiggled onto the seat, and immediately started to pee.

Now, for those ladies in the audience, it’s not totally straightforward for a guy to pee sitting down. The very thing that makes it easy for us to pee standing up makes it difficult to go when there’s a toilet seat to work around. You definitely don’t want to fire the gun if the cartridge isn’t properly loaded, if you know what I mean. My son learned this for the first time tonight.

Pee started blasting over the top of the seat. He sees this and begins to panic, knowing that in our household we only pee outside the potty if our pants are on fire. Perhaps sensing the mechanical problem, he tried to finangle everything and make it right. Sadly, his inexperience in this matter only widened the blast radius. It was not unlike those old Mickey Mouse cartoons where Mickey tries to use a firehose, but it only whips him around and gets everything wet. The floor, the wall, his pants, his Crocs, my khakis. If it was within two feet of the potty, it got wet.

Thankfully my wife has the presence of mind to pack another pair of Spidey briefs in case of situations like this. When I come back with a fresh pair of unders and a pair of shorts, I ask if he’s gone poopy yet.

Guess what! Turns out he didn’t actually have to poop. He just had to pee really bad. Which he could have done standing up in the first place.

So yeah, this is what I get for writing heartwarming things about my kids. They’re sweet, big-hearted, and funny, but they’re also really really gross.

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