How My Picture-Perfect Sunday Went Down the Toilet -- Literally


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.)

  • 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!”


  • 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.

  • 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*

  • Me: “Okay. Kids. Show me the potty.”

    We walk across the yard.

    The kids are buck naked, except for Holland, who is wearing floaties.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

parenthood potty training