Russell Crowe was the Gladiator, Arnold Schwartzeneger was the Terminator, Dale Earnhardt was the Intimidator...meet The Boy....the Urinator. Having a four year old boy in the house is like owning a urine-filled fire hose that is ready to burst at any moment. For some reason he thinks that any hole or vessel that can hold fluid is a toilet.
He was three when we moved into the new house. Out of nowhere he started taking the covers off the floor vents and peeing into them (imagine my glee, lying on the floor with my hand down the vent up to my shoulder sopping up urine with paper towels in MY BRAND NEW HOUSE). Within days, our beautiful new home smelled like a high school locker room (I spritzed the vents with Febreeze every time the heat came on - but it never lasted. Eventually I just started opening the damn bottle and POURING it down the holes.). He peed into a set of bongo drums (carefully switching from side to side for equal distribution - you really had to admire his effort). He's annointed nearly every shrub in yard, walking past the bathroom to go outside to do it (one time it was raining and he couldn't go outside - so a houseplant got annointed instead...and we had company over that day). And then, bless her heart, he christened The Princess' brand new Tinkerbell teapot the day after she got it for Christmas. Why? I mean, really. Who looks at a pink, glittery teapot and thinks 'toilet'? Seriously! What is the deal with the peeing, fellas? Just another mystery of the 'dumb stick' that I shall never understand.
I finally got him to go ONLY in the toilet, which has been a big ordeal. Suddenly, I'm finding it on the floor, around the sides of the commode, on the back of the seat, on TOP of the seat (he thinks he found a loophole in that whole put-the-seat-back-down thing, now he just leaves the seat down to begin with). I couldn't figure out how he was making such a mess until I walked by the bathroom yesterday and caught him doing a figure eight in the commode. I guess being a straight shooter isn't enough anymore. Now he's going for style points.
He was three when we moved into the new house. Out of nowhere he started taking the covers off the floor vents and peeing into them (imagine my glee, lying on the floor with my hand down the vent up to my shoulder sopping up urine with paper towels in MY BRAND NEW HOUSE). Within days, our beautiful new home smelled like a high school locker room (I spritzed the vents with Febreeze every time the heat came on - but it never lasted. Eventually I just started opening the damn bottle and POURING it down the holes.). He peed into a set of bongo drums (carefully switching from side to side for equal distribution - you really had to admire his effort). He's annointed nearly every shrub in yard, walking past the bathroom to go outside to do it (one time it was raining and he couldn't go outside - so a houseplant got annointed instead...and we had company over that day). And then, bless her heart, he christened The Princess' brand new Tinkerbell teapot the day after she got it for Christmas. Why? I mean, really. Who looks at a pink, glittery teapot and thinks 'toilet'? Seriously! What is the deal with the peeing, fellas? Just another mystery of the 'dumb stick' that I shall never understand.
I finally got him to go ONLY in the toilet, which has been a big ordeal. Suddenly, I'm finding it on the floor, around the sides of the commode, on the back of the seat, on TOP of the seat (he thinks he found a loophole in that whole put-the-seat-back-down thing, now he just leaves the seat down to begin with). I couldn't figure out how he was making such a mess until I walked by the bathroom yesterday and caught him doing a figure eight in the commode. I guess being a straight shooter isn't enough anymore. Now he's going for style points.
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Ahahahaha... I started reading snippets of this post out loud to Steve, and then I had to back it up and just read the whole thing! Maybe I don't want a boy now...
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