Peeing and Dumping

What a nice title for a post--yet you'll see that there is no other title that fits perfectly.

Yesterday evening I was talking to my parents on the phone when the neighbor kid ran around the corner, yelling like he was being chased by a kid armed with a Super Soaker (I guess he was maybe). I kind of ignored him at first, but on the second time around he yelled for me. Some warning bell went off inside me and I dropped the conversation like only a mom can, "Gotta go! Bye.--click."

I raced around the corner to find Popcorn standing by the fence with his shorts down around his ankles. At first I worried that the neighbor kid might be a pervert, but then the whole truth of the incident struck me. There was Popcorn, nervously laughing and panicking at the same time, trying to get his pants up with one hand and covering his bottom with the other (a sure sign of guilt). At the same time, the neighbor kid blurted out the whole truth: "He was peeing on the dog through the fence!"

I looked at the fence. Decorated.

"POPCORN SHY-GUY!" (He has officially earned the first middle name on this blog).

Now his nervousness had foundation and he really began yanking on those reluctant pants. His haste made no progress whatsoever. He abandoned his rear cover and went for pulling up the pants with both hands, hoping to get into a running posture before I closed in. No luck. I was moving fast.

As I reached the guilty one, he reverted to rear cover while I yanked up his pants. Then I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside for an experience that he will not soon forget.

It didn't take long to laugh about it. In fact, as I was dragging him to the house I had to keep from smiling. You see, I had my own outdoor potty experience when I was just a year younger than he is now. I don't have many early memories, but I will never forget the aftermath of the Great Backyard Dump.

Charla Pocock was my partner in crime. I think I was the ringleader that convinced her to abandon conventional rules--hey, it was the 70's. Anyway, we pooped in the back yard and either a parent discovered it or Charla ratted me out. I don't remember the spanking as much as standing in the corner afterward. Charla was standing in the other corner and I was embarrassed that my parents were punishing my friend (Of course, they did not spank her). It's kind of a funny that embarrassment, not shame anchors that memory. And you guys thought that I remembered because of the spanking. Ha! Not so.

Afternote: The older kids just told me that the neighbor kid told Popcorn to pee on the dog. Can you hear me growling?

Alos, the dog is fine. I think she ran the second the fountain started.


Okay, now for the dumping story. And you thought you had already heard that part.

Sinatra woke up and asked for his favorite food--ekk. For all of you who do not speak toddler--egg. I took the lazy mom way out and poured a bowl of cereal instead. He didn't like that idea. I put it on his tray. He ran away whining and crying and giving me the defiant, evil eye.

About the time he started kicking his feet I should have swatted him--probably even sooner. Jon, who was hearing this from the bathroom, was trying to finish up so he could waylay the child and restore peace to our home. I was on my way across the room to take care of business. The child (Whose? I have no idea.) decided to seal his fate. He DUMPED he entire bowl of cereal on the braided rug. Bad move, Buddy!

What followed felt really good to me and not so good to him. They say that you shouldn't spank in anger. I was really pushing the line.

As I was cleaning up the mess, I almost started crying, but then laughed because the phrase, "Don't cry over spilled milk," flashed through my head.

So, there you have it: Peeing and dumping. No pictures. I was too caught up at the time to think "Bloggable moment! bloggable moment!"