Years ago I worked the late shift at our local liquor store with a good friend. He used to tell me that the quality of a shift, job, or even life itself, could be defined by the number of times one had to say the words "Oh, man...". Over the years I have come to recognize the wisdom behind his theory.
This weekend has been chock full of "Oh, mans..."
First, Ben re-broke his wrist sleeping over at his friend's house. Then we sat in the ER until 11:30 at night because they couldn't get a good enough xray of his wrist. Next my secret Monday off was lost because the sitter and her husband both got the stomach flu. I should know better than to plan an alone day. Those things are better done on the spur of the moment so the Universe doesn't get any ideas.
This evening, however, was the mother of all "Oh, mans..."
We've been having a rough time potty training Danny. For months now he would go on the toilet at the sitter's but never at home. I'd tried leaving him naked all day, in underwear only, taking him every half hour... you name it, I tried it. He would sit on the toilet for sometimes 30+ minutes, proclaim himself "all done" only to mess his pants less than 5 minutes later. Grrrr!
Finally, we met with success once we were able to identified the pee-pee dance. Basically, he doesn't do anything I've ever seen any other kid do when they have to go potty. Instead, he twists his whole body from side to side, which he sort of does a lot of anyway... But if he has to go it's far more exaggerated. Now are main issue is that he doesn't navigate to the bathroom on his own. Where ever he's at, he just yells that he has to go pee-pee and we're supposed to come running. Well, that's great if we're within hearing distance.
So, this evening I was watching football in the living room while Danny was in his room listening to his new Little Einsteins CD, when I faintly heard him yell that he had to go pee-pee. I immediately dropped everything because he's not the best with advanced notice. I opened his bedroom door and...
"Oh, man..." I instantly knew something was wrong by the smell. Then I got close enough to see what I'd been smelling. "Oh, man." Let's just say that little boy's underwear is not as good at keeping things in as diapers or pull-ups. And also, we can assume he's getting the same intestinal virus plaguing his sitter.
He looked like he had melted chocolate all over his legs and squished under his feet. Gah! I guessed right off it wasn't really chocolate. I'm very quick like that sometimes.
Two baths (one for damage control, one for cleansing), one tub sterilization, a load of laundry and bottle of carpet cleaner later and Danny's asking for a cookie. Ugh. Who feels like eating now???