Sasquatch ...

For all of you who think I am a bad blogger, let me be one for you ...

My kid said something funny yesterday. I laughed. Hope you enjoyed that.

Now if I really were a bad blogger, that would be where my entry ended. But so as not to really make anyone angry, I will confess that I am not the best at keeping this thing up to date. But when I have something to say, I say it. So, let me tell you the whole story ...

We've been in the potty-training mode with our two-year-old for quite a while. It seems like the girls are exceedingly (you like that Alyssa?) better than the boys. She got interested in using the big-girl potty right after she turned two (last December), and she pretty-much has the peeing part down pat. It is the pooping that we've been having the issue with.

Most of the time, she will tell us that she needs to go right after she already went. More times than not, she’s on the potty going number-one, and without any prompting says in the most pathetic tone imaginable, “I don’ need go poo-poo!” We ask if she does, she says no, and about 10 minutes later she has messy panties.

Well, yesterday, I don’t really know what clicked, but she ended up actually pooping in the potty. It was rather large and a well fought fight, and when she was examining it afterward she said, “It’s a big snake! And it didn’t even bite me!” I don’t know where she got this idea of snake poop biting you when you go, but if that was what she was scared of, can you blame her? Talk about scary!

When I was in scouts, one of the scariest campfire stories ever told had absolutely nothing to do with Sasquatch. I was living in Florence, OR and our Stake had a 50-mile trek down the OR coast and dunes. It took 5 days and on one of the nights, a leader informed us that a prisoner had escaped from jail in a nearby town. This particular criminal had been on the run and could be in the woods nearby. The point of all this is that this criminal was rumored to have hidden away in the bowels of the campground outhouses, taken a sharpened spear down with him, and skewered his victims as they were relieving themselves. We all realized this was a pile of made-up hogwash, but no one used the campground outhouses for the rest of the trip.

The other story this brings to mind is what my middle son told me on one family trek across the state. We had relaxed and played at a city park in Sisters, OR, and as families do before setting out to continue their five-hour car ride, we all went to the potty. My son was around four at the time and still needed some accompaniment in the rest room ... 'cause they're public and kids have a driving need to touch everything. He was sitting on the pot and was done going number one. Someone else had entered the restroom and was using the urinal on the other side of our stall. I asked if he was all done, and he didn’t answer right away, but then said, “Yeah, I think so.”

At this point, I need to inform you of some anatomy. Boys have a PEEPER. I realize this isn’t the proper name for that extremity, but that’s what we call it in our house.

So, I ask my son if he was really done, or if he needed to go poo-poo. He responds, “No. I’m finking ‘bout saving up my poo-poos so my peeper gets longer so I can hit you wif it.” I have no idea where this idea came from. If guys could really make their peepers longer by just not pooping for a while, trust me, there would be a ton of permanently constapated guys out there. What I do know is that the guy peeing in the urinal on the other side of the wall heard my son’s response. I knew this because I heard him trying to not do two things: 1 – not laugh too loud so as not to embarrass my son, and 2 – not pee all over himself as he tried to regain his compose and finish the job.