Potty Wars
May 19, 2003
Most of the country's attention these past few months have been focused on the war in Iraq. God Bless our troops and all their heroic efforts for the country. But back home a far more prolonged and bitter struggle is taking place in the homes of all parents with children ages 2 -4. And frankly, it's a battle that just isn't getting any press. I'm talking about the potty wars.
The fighting is hot and intense at our home and more specifically at our house. That is where one small boy, has successfully been waging an all out campaign of terror, spreading more poop and urine than a geriatric mosh pit at a Lawrence Welk rave. It only took the U.S. 30 days to conquer Iraq. We're on month six of potty training. Once the Pentagon gets things wrapped up I'd like them to send some logistical people over to my house to get a three year old to focus on keeping his shorts dry.
Here is a conversation the boy and I have had one million times since we started trying to get him on the john; ME, "Do you have to go potty?" Boy, "No." Five minutes later, ME "Do you have to go potty?" Boy, "NO." Five seconds later, Boy, "I went potty in my pants." ME, "Are you #$*^ing kidding me???"
The enemy is tenacious. He is dug in and his position is good. He holds the bedroom, the basement, the family room couch (a frequent battleground) and the kitchen. We hold the bathrooms and have a tenuous grip on the hallway leading into our bedroom.
The other day the enemy tricked us into an ambush. We had him standing at the toilet. A major victory in of itself. But just as we thought we had victory in sight he unleashed a barrage of pee, spraying it indiscriminately all over the bathroom. Shrapnel was flying everywhere. I tried to dive backward out of the way but got hit in the left calf. The horror. The horror.
We've tried chocolate, toys, praise, peer pressure, a mariachi band, the Wiggles. Nothing works. I'm walking around the house shell shocked, with a nervous twitch. Every time the boy pauses and looks like he's squeezing one out, I leap into action. But he's too fast. And more often than not I end up with a pair of rubber gloves on, kneeled over a toilet washing out a soiled Blues Clues underpants. Too bad society doesn't value the ability to stand a kid up and remove a pair of pooped in underpants without getting the poop all over the kid or dropping it on the floor because I'm getting so good at it I could paten the procedure.
So tie a brown ribbon around the tree in your front yard for all those fighting for a cleaner, poop free America. And send some extra underpants. Preferably Blues Clues.
Most of the country's attention these past few months have been focused on the war in Iraq. God Bless our troops and all their heroic efforts for the country. But back home a far more prolonged and bitter struggle is taking place in the homes of all parents with children ages 2 -4. And frankly, it's a battle that just isn't getting any press. I'm talking about the potty wars.
The fighting is hot and intense at our home and more specifically at our house. That is where one small boy, has successfully been waging an all out campaign of terror, spreading more poop and urine than a geriatric mosh pit at a Lawrence Welk rave. It only took the U.S. 30 days to conquer Iraq. We're on month six of potty training. Once the Pentagon gets things wrapped up I'd like them to send some logistical people over to my house to get a three year old to focus on keeping his shorts dry.
Here is a conversation the boy and I have had one million times since we started trying to get him on the john; ME, "Do you have to go potty?" Boy, "No." Five minutes later, ME "Do you have to go potty?" Boy, "NO." Five seconds later, Boy, "I went potty in my pants." ME, "Are you #$*^ing kidding me???"
The enemy is tenacious. He is dug in and his position is good. He holds the bedroom, the basement, the family room couch (a frequent battleground) and the kitchen. We hold the bathrooms and have a tenuous grip on the hallway leading into our bedroom.
The other day the enemy tricked us into an ambush. We had him standing at the toilet. A major victory in of itself. But just as we thought we had victory in sight he unleashed a barrage of pee, spraying it indiscriminately all over the bathroom. Shrapnel was flying everywhere. I tried to dive backward out of the way but got hit in the left calf. The horror. The horror.
We've tried chocolate, toys, praise, peer pressure, a mariachi band, the Wiggles. Nothing works. I'm walking around the house shell shocked, with a nervous twitch. Every time the boy pauses and looks like he's squeezing one out, I leap into action. But he's too fast. And more often than not I end up with a pair of rubber gloves on, kneeled over a toilet washing out a soiled Blues Clues underpants. Too bad society doesn't value the ability to stand a kid up and remove a pair of pooped in underpants without getting the poop all over the kid or dropping it on the floor because I'm getting so good at it I could paten the procedure.
So tie a brown ribbon around the tree in your front yard for all those fighting for a cleaner, poop free America. And send some extra underpants. Preferably Blues Clues.
posted by Hank Louis Tierney at 7:45 PM
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