This week’s guest post contributor is Michelle. She is a stay at home mom, blogger, tea drinker and avid reader. When she’s not refereeing her three kids, she blogs at I’m Living the Good Life and Family Friendly Cincinnati.
They say summer time is the best time to potty train. Especially for boys. Let them run around bare butt and pee where they’d like. That is gross. But, since I’m a little lazy, I go with it.
Shhhh…it’s kind of a secret I’m keeping from my husband.
He’s afraid the neighbors will think we are a bunch of hillbillies if they see the boys taking a leak in the front yard. He obviously doesn’t know that I sit out front drinking my peach wine with an ice cube in it, relaxing on a lawn chair while videotaping the kids racing down our driveway on tricycles, big wheels and scooters. He works the second shift, and it turns into a circus at our house around 4:00pm.
That’s our little secret…except I’m sure the neighbors have it figured out.
So, about this potty training business. With our first son, who is now nine, it was horrible. He hated the potty and was terrified of it. It took months to potty train him.
Next up, Middle Child. He wasn’t so bad. But, he’s a fan of peeing outside and especially likes to pee off the deck that’s on the second floor.
His bladder is also so tiny that he insists he’s “gotta go now!” as soon as we get out of the van from the grocery. He cannot wait to walk up the twenty feet of sidewalk to the front door and then down the hall through our ginormous mansion to the toilet. So he whips it out right there on the front sidewalk.
Since he’s now five, and is no longer potty training, I like to discourage this. Now all the times my husband and I disagreed on potty training techniques are coming back to bite me in the butt.
Last summer I noticed on a few different occasions that our little white Westie came back in from her potty time with yellow streaks on her back. I know you see where I’m going with this, but hang in there. Naively, I thought maybe she had brushed under a bush or some flowers and it was pollen. Then I figured it out: Middle Child had been taking a whiz on her. He’d been doing his business in the backyard while she frolicked in his golden shower.
It was then that I heard myself scream:
Luckily, I’ve never had to say it again.
Your turn to fess up.
What’s the strangest/grossest place you’ve urinated?