We had tried it all to get that boy potty trained. The books, the timers, the charts, the days spent chasing behind him while he roamed without a diaper on, the prize shelf, the super-extended bathroom sessions with the (then very expensive) portable DVD player and pillows in the bathtub for Mom or Dad. We had even slapped a coat of primer over my super-cute and diligently-planned fire-engine-themed red walls lest the bright color was too stressful for him, doncha know. But his 6th September came and went without a poop in that pot.
The holidays arrived and it was my turn to host the family for Christmas. Dinner was done and I was shuffling chairs and dishes. A sudden scream came from the hallway. My mother sounded like President Bush had shown up on our toilet. I ran to the bathroom door. My Dad ran with me. Hubby was close behind. There the boy stood, dazed, looking at the POOP IN THE POTTY. We must have looked like George W. had just told us we won the lottery. Screaming, bawling crying, jumping up and down.
A priceless holiday moment for sure. I turned around to the rest of the crowd, and what I saw at that moment will forever be hilariously sketched into my brain. My 70-year-old uncle and his 35-year partner, a childless pair, watching us mimic monkeys at a rave. I just might have to ask them exactly what they were thinking at that moment, but by the looks on their faces, I think I may already know
May your holiday be filled with poops in the potty and monkey rave moments!
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