As I mentioned before, at my house, we're obsessed with the urination habits of our 3-year-old son.
By weekday, he's a well-trained, cotton-undies wearin' kind of guy. I picture him at pre-school, standing next to the other boys at a row of pint-sized urinals, giving and getting high fives for solid bulls eyes.
But at home, he becomes like a spoiled cat. Urine is weapon used to show displeasure, and he's not afraid to use it.
This morning, I told him that he needed to get dressed before he came downstairs. He stripped off his jammies and pull-up happily as I went downstairs to answer the phone.
Over the next several minutes, I frequently called up the stairs, "Are you getting dressed?"
Answers varied from "not yet," to "in just a second." (Hmm, wonder where he learned that one?)
Eventually, I went to check on him, and found him happily playing with a toy shark and one of his favorite CDs submerged in a sink full of water. Still nothing on down below.
I took him to his room and saw the puddle on the floor.
"Is that water?" I asked.
"Nooo."
"Did you pee on your floor?"
A sly grin.
"Why did you DO that?" (loudly)
"Well...I didn't want to get dressed."
Guess he showed me.
I shared this story with friends this evening, and one jokingly suggested a clothespin to stem the tide. Can't say I didn't think about it. But instead I admitted defeat for the moment and wrote a haiku in honor of my worthy opponent:
Water on the floor
A boy's discovered power
The fountain of youth.
Want more haiku? Check out Haiku and Food to Suit Your Mood. It's simple recipes for the body and witty haiku for the soul.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A new take on potty training
Amid the chaos of work and family life lately, I've noticed a little sub-theme emerging. And sadly, it's all about pee. Not mine, but my three-year-old son's. He's so close to being potty trained that my husband and I each have one thumb on the champagne cork, so to speak.
It's amazing what becomes cause for celebration once you have kids. It's also amazing how pervasive bodily functions become in everyday conversation. This was reinforced earlier this week when I called a friend - a mother of three - and overheard her saying in exasperation "there's no pee in the bathtub!" to her daughter before she could get the receiver to her mouth to say "hello" to me.
Potty training is the Holy Grail of early parenthood. But perhaps my husband and I have pushed the whole "potty training" obsession too far. We must have discussed the phrase one time too many within earshot of the boy. Here's why I say that:
The other evening, as we're wrapping up a family dinner with Grandma ("Ganna") at our house, I notice the tell-tale sign of something amiss — the boy is quiet. I spy him around the corner, leaning a little to the left and shuffling a foot.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Don't look at me," he says.
I know what that means. He's peed in his pants...again.
Daddy cleans him up and the evening continues, until I happen to notice Thomas the Train playing cards on the living room floor. In a puddle. Soaked. And it ain't water.
I grab the rag and cleaner and re-soak everything. My mother looks on in amusement.
Only later does it occur to me: He needed to go to the potty. He saw trains.
Maybe he was "potty training!"
Pop the cork, honey! That's good enough for me!
It's amazing what becomes cause for celebration once you have kids. It's also amazing how pervasive bodily functions become in everyday conversation. This was reinforced earlier this week when I called a friend - a mother of three - and overheard her saying in exasperation "there's no pee in the bathtub!" to her daughter before she could get the receiver to her mouth to say "hello" to me.
Potty training is the Holy Grail of early parenthood. But perhaps my husband and I have pushed the whole "potty training" obsession too far. We must have discussed the phrase one time too many within earshot of the boy. Here's why I say that:
The other evening, as we're wrapping up a family dinner with Grandma ("Ganna") at our house, I notice the tell-tale sign of something amiss — the boy is quiet. I spy him around the corner, leaning a little to the left and shuffling a foot.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Don't look at me," he says.
I know what that means. He's peed in his pants...again.
Daddy cleans him up and the evening continues, until I happen to notice Thomas the Train playing cards on the living room floor. In a puddle. Soaked. And it ain't water.
I grab the rag and cleaner and re-soak everything. My mother looks on in amusement.
Only later does it occur to me: He needed to go to the potty. He saw trains.
Maybe he was "potty training!"
Pop the cork, honey! That's good enough for me!
Friday, October 9, 2009
Naming the Next Wonder Drug
My husband and I frequently laugh about the names of prescription drugs we see ads for on television. Names like "Abilify" or "Boniva" or "Advair."
I picture a conference room full of over-confident, adrenaline-pumped young ad execs throwing darts adorned with parts of nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs to see which ones strike the bullseye. Or maybe they randomly draw letters out of someone's shoe until someone can make a word out of them. Or perhaps they just get really drunk, and then try to speak about the medication's properties and have one sober person write down all the slurred words.
But seriously, I'm sure there's a science to it - so to speak.
Why don't I have that job?
I could do it. Really.
In fact, I've already developed sophisticated names for drugs that I'm sure will one day be on the market:
Nopia - instantly potty trains your kids
Zombiza - transforms active, noisy children into quiet television watchers
Noitol - automatically provides correct and impressive answers the thousands of questions your kids, husband and colleagues ask each day
Pasdua - eliminates the pain and stigma of library fines
Pheedol - cooks dinner for everyone
Flaccinex - gets rid of that sagging skin below your jawline as you age
Noresta - a sleep aid, especially for "the weary"
And, my favorite:
Damitol - locks you in the bathroom with a tub of bubbles and a bottle of bubbly while the rest of the world fends for itself
Are you paying attention, high-priced ad execs? Anyone want to fly me up to New York for a well-paid brainstorming session?
- Betsey
I picture a conference room full of over-confident, adrenaline-pumped young ad execs throwing darts adorned with parts of nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs to see which ones strike the bullseye. Or maybe they randomly draw letters out of someone's shoe until someone can make a word out of them. Or perhaps they just get really drunk, and then try to speak about the medication's properties and have one sober person write down all the slurred words.
But seriously, I'm sure there's a science to it - so to speak.
Why don't I have that job?
I could do it. Really.
In fact, I've already developed sophisticated names for drugs that I'm sure will one day be on the market:
Nopia - instantly potty trains your kids
Zombiza - transforms active, noisy children into quiet television watchers
Noitol - automatically provides correct and impressive answers the thousands of questions your kids, husband and colleagues ask each day
Pasdua - eliminates the pain and stigma of library fines
Pheedol - cooks dinner for everyone
Flaccinex - gets rid of that sagging skin below your jawline as you age
Noresta - a sleep aid, especially for "the weary"
And, my favorite:
Damitol - locks you in the bathroom with a tub of bubbles and a bottle of bubbly while the rest of the world fends for itself
Are you paying attention, high-priced ad execs? Anyone want to fly me up to New York for a well-paid brainstorming session?
- Betsey
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