Calls of nature

With boys, potty training is ongoing. "WHO's missing his mark?  Aim, guys, aim, is that too much to ask???  The floor on the far side of the toilet looks like an "Adventures in Microbiology" segment from Bill Nye the Science guy's show!!  Give me a break, or go get the Lysol, I mean come ON, the toilet's a mile wide, and no one can hit it?" followed by muttering and hissing, then tracking down Mr W and bitching at him about not doing his job and teaching them to "point, aim, then shoot"....he is not messy, why can't he teach them to not be messy???  They've all been guilty of this at some point or another, but right now, I think the culprit is Ryan.  He is still a little guy, and barely can maneuver his pants around to get there in time, so I'm trying to cut him a little slack.  And yet...I still have to take a deep breath as I reach for the Lysol.

I especially dread the call for cleanup, aisle 7: "MOOOM!  I've POO-OOPED!" that comes after they've mastered going alone but not ahem, cleaning up afterwards.  Again, all have been guilty of calling for assistance, and it's fine, while they're learning, and certainly better than dealing with the racing stripes they'd leave in their underpants (don't get me started)...that out of embarassment they'd throw in the hamper (plus) but not tell anyone about (minus, esp. when you are sorting said laundry out of the hamper, and well, there's just no delicate way to put this, it suddenly hits you why your child has run out of underwear in two days.  I once got so frustrated with this I grabbed the culprit and let him get a whiff of the hamper, mean, but necessary!)  Yes, that call for assistance would have me and Mr W playing 'rock, paper, scissors' to see who's turn it was to go in this time.  I almost want to don a hazmat suit, just in case, because you never know what awaits you in there and it doesn't hurt to be prepared.  For anything.

While the older two now rarely call for me, Ryan still does.  And Mr W in his infinite wisdom (and I use that term loosely) decided to tell him that he's big enough to take care of it himself, and stop calling for Mom.  He's right, in a way, afterall, he can't call for me in kindergarten, right? (hegoes half-days)  Funny enough, my kids all make a dash for the bathroom right after school, fighting for the right to be the first to defile the atmosphere.  "COURTESY spray!"  I holler as they run down the hall, reminding them that the Glade spray is indeed there for a reason.  But back to Ryan...the little guy is quite proud that he can take care of himself.  But there are new problems arising from this..."um, Mommy...I wip-ped myself, but I had to use too many wipes, and I think I clogged the toilet."  Sigh.  There I go, plunger in hand.  "MO-OM!  Ryan did it again, and I went, and now the toilet won't flush!"  There I go, plunger in hand.  "MO-OM!"  "Oh, quit it," I say, already waiting in the hall, plunger in hand.  I've finally just left it in their bathroom. 

Last night, Ryan was in there for quite some time.  I'll head him off at the pass, I think, and go check on him..."Sugar, are you ok?" "Yes, I'm just finishing up now.  But I'll need a little help.." I roll my eyes at Mr W, who can see me in the hall from his vantage point in our room. "because my wiping hand is tired."  Man, I doubled over in laughter.  I didn't mean too, but it was so damn funny.  And I tried to be quiet about it, because I know Ryan's not gonna get the humor of it.  Mr W didn't hear it, so he just thinks I'm loony, and Ryan goes "Mommy, what's so funny?" and to which I (lie) reply "Oh, your Dad just did something silly." "What?"  "Nevermind, Ryan, are you ready for me?"  Mr W pantomimes Pinocchio's nose at me as I tell him the statement Ryan made, then he laughs too.  I get Ryan all squared away, there's no plunger needed tonight, thank goodness. 

I guess too many wipes is a far better reason for the plunger than what those other boys have put me through with needing it.  I won't even go into detail,  I'm sure you can figure that out on your own.  Just let me say, they're kids, how in the hell can they put out something that requires the use of a plunger?  Honestly?  I've raved on to Mr W on occasion: "Poop.  My whole day is filled with...poop!  When will it end?  Can't they just learn on their own?  No one told me, "oh, hey, here's your lovely baby, and here (they hand over a manual the size of a phone book) is the lovely poop book for consulting as you go along.  Ta-ta, good luck with that."

They say girls are easier to train.  I'm hoping...and I probably should have done it by now.  She's interested, she tries...and I'm filled with dread over yet another round of "MO-OM!" being shouted from the bathrooms by one more person.  One more little voice asking to go potty from the farthest-side-of- Target-to-the-bathroom while I have a full cart and am almost finished (having escaped the toy and electronics section up till now).  More extra clothes to carry along, "just in case."  I just don't know if I have the strength left.  Seeing as how she's enchanted with being naked lately, I guess I could let her go au naturel--haha, not really an option, more of an absurd thought--gleaned from too many issues of Parenting magazine.

At least I don't have Mr W calling me for assistance...yet.  I mean, he is older than I am, at some point, I know I'll hear "honey?..." coming from his bathroom...and I'll jump into action....and buzz for the nurse.