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I Thought You Said, ...

I Thought You Said, “Pee Pee?”

Before I walk you through the following exchange, let’s remind you of three things ...

1) Mr. Blonde is a neat freak. Things have their place. And, things need to be clean.

2) LA is in the midst of potty training. And, doing very well if we do say so!

3) Mrs. Blonde thinks anything to do with poop is the funniest thing on the planet. (See: blog name)

“Why are they taking so long. I wonder if he has to poop,” thinks Mrs. after Mr. and LA has been in the bathroom at a local grinder shop for five entire minutes.

Out they come and Mr. has an expression that indicates something just happened. Not a bad something. There was no frown or look of disdain. But, something just happened.

LA is happy (so, it had to be something good that happened, right?) and steps a few feet away to play basketball on a sweet little 4.5 foot goal beside our table.

Because there are other guests in the restaurant, Mr. isn’t incredibly willing to share great detail of the experience. But, Mrs. must know. It can’t wait. It’s her design. She must know. Now.

Mr.: (LA had just told us he had to “Pee pee.”) “We got in there, he was standing on the seat just like normal and he seemed like he was pushing an awful lot. (Remembering I had smelled a couple toots a few minutes prior, but didn’t think much of it because he had already poo’ed in the potty chair at home earlier in the afternoon. He’s a one-a-day sort of lad.) So, I checked his bottom and there was a giant 50-cent-in-diameter, five-incher giving way to gravity. Oh, you’re going poo poo! Without any options, I turned him around bent his legs up a bit (picture baby cradle sort of hold) when the beast plummeted into the tank. Like a dart to a bulls-eye. Then, a little trailer missed the mark a bit when it smacked the lid and flopped to the tile.”

LA: “Big Poo Poo! … Poo down there too!” (Pointing toward the floor.)

Mr.: “Yeah. Don’t worry about that. You did a good job going poo poo. Dadda will clean that up.”

Mrs. is laughing. No really. Laughing! Hard! Her face is red. The family sitting sort of behind us knows something happened. LA is riding the little train ride a few feet away oblivious as to why his Momma is laughing as hard as she is. But, she is.

“Wait, that’s not all,” interjects Mr.

Mrs: “What?!”

“It was big. Big enough to clog the toilet! After we flushed. (It almost overflowed.) We washed and dried our hands. Then, I stood LA over in the corner and told him to watch Dadda. This is a plunger. You get to watch Dadda plunge the toilet. Luckily the bowl was relieved with a couple yank/pushes.”

Mr.: Rewashed hands and leaves bathroom laughing silently and congratulating LA.

Mrs.: Dying laughing!

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