On a good day, potty training is a little bit like defusing a bomb. Things must progress in exactly the proper order or specialists have to be called in to clean up the situation.
When I was potty training the kids, back in the days when bribery was an acceptable childcare tool, I kept a bag of peanut butter cups in my purse to diffuse the situation. Usually it only took one or two handfuls before I felt better about explaining to the store manager why his toilet display was full of. . .display. The kids caught on right away—but I gained twenty three pounds. And I was always thirsty,
During these days of political correctness, I listen to mothers crouched in the women’s room at the mall, explaining the pros and cons of remaining neat and tidy to tiny little legs swinging just below the door.
This was funny until I got to the stage of my life when one hearty sneeze could necessitate a wardrobe change, and the onset of hay fever might not only require new slipcovers for the sofa, but call for the purchase of a new car. There are some places even Stanley Steemer fears to tread.
I’m looking forward to the days when the parent becomes the child again and the kids are responsible for my publicly accepted hygiene. Hopefully when they escort me out in public they’ll remember to bring along a change of clothes.
And some peanut butter cups.