Mary Katherine Backstrom/Facebook
I’m about to share a story that will make you feel great about your parenting skills.
(Gird your loins, sanctimommies. This one is not for the faint of heart.)
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Today I decided to give my children a 1980s style Sunday. They’ve been playing outside for the entire day, and I’ve been working on the porch watching.
(I don’t think 80s moms actually did the watching part, but I like not being in jail, and these are different times, so I made due.)
Anyways, the kids painted their clubhouse. Then they painted their bodies. Then they went skinny dipping in the pool with popsicles.
It was glorious & I was really quite proud of myself.
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This is where I tell you that Holland, my sweet, angelic, perfect 3 year old, is potty training.
So, when the kids were painting the club house I asked if she needed to go potty.
“No, Mommy! I don’t need a potty!”
Then, when they were painting their bodies.
“No, Mommy! I don’t need a potty!”
Then, when they were swimming in the pool.
“No, Mommy! I don’t need a potty!”
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And this is when the kids erupted in giggles.
The truth is, I should’ve been suspicious LONG before the giggles. Toddlers have peanut-sized bladders, and Holland had been consuming juice boxes and popsicles for hours.
HOURS, y’all.
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So, I go full fledged panic mode. Something is amiss. I can smell it.
Me: “Holland. Get out of the pool. You need to go potty.”
Holland: “I DONT NEED A POTTY!”
Ben: “BAHAHAHAHAHHAA!”
Me: “WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING???”
Ben: “She doesn’t need a potty, Mom! Because our clubhouse ALREADY HAD a potty!”
Me: ....
Kids: .....
Me: ....
Kids: ....
Golden Retriever: *whimpering slightly*
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Me: “Okay. Kids. Show me the potty.”
We walk across the yard.
The kids are buck naked, except for Holland, who is wearing floaties.
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They march ahead of me like this is some kind of fantastic pride parade. The dog is behind us. Still looking sad.
I climb up the ladder, where my two children are laughing hysterically and pointing to...
A dog bowl.
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CHARLOTTE'S FOOD BOWL OMG... with a gigantic turd in it.
That’s right, friends.
While I was posting adorable pictures of my children in matching church clothes. While I was busy writing my novel on the back porch enjoying the shade while my children laughed in their swing set.
While I thought I was being an amazing 1980s style mom, bucking societal pressure to constantly hover over my children.
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MY CHILDREN WERE DEFECATING IN TIN DISHES IN THE SECOND STORY OF A FREAKING TREE HOUSE.
I have nothing to say for myself. Nothing.
2019 has resumed in the Backstrom household. The children are safe on the couch, all domestic-like, watching Disney Junior and using porcelain commodes.
The end.
P.S. It took me a second to realize and appreciate that she did, in fact, use toilet paper. I guess that’s something?
This post was written by Mary Katherine Backstrom of MomBabble and reprinted with permission.
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