Bathroom Breaks Are Not Spectator Sports

There’s this stereotype that women always have to go to the bathroom in groups.  And since I am a woman and go out with my friends, I can say that it is at least partly true.  But personally, I don’t get it.  I prefer to pee in private.  Thanks.  But then, I’m not your average woman (according to my husband), since I also only own two cheap purses and despise shoe shopping.  So maybe I don’t have the right perspective.

My daughters do, though.  Insist on peeing in packs, I mean.  They don’t like to go alone.  They usually have to go WITH someone.  Preferably me.  I don’t know why I need to observe them pee.  They can’t explain it.

I have told them many times that they do not need my permission.  This is not Shawshank prison.  Just GO PEE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.  Especially when Mommy is, oh, I don’t know, up to her elbows in dishwater?  In the middle of cooking dinner?  Etc?

But yesterday, my friends, brought a whole new perspective to this.

To totally get this story, you have to somewhat get the layout of my house.  Not enough to break in and take my shit, just enough to know what I’m talking about.  Because a lot of our rooms branch off this weird hallway/annex type thingy, I give to you this highly technical drawing:

Crappy paint wouldn’t let me put crappy text boxes in so I had to label it in crappy writing.

Yes, our children sleep downstairs and we sleep upstairs.  Yes, we have a security system so they do not get carried away in the night.  And yes, I read an article that said that burglars never look in kids’ rooms.  Since my children have taken over every room our house, and turned them into kids’ rooms, we’re safe. Also-yes we have a kitchen (not pictured.)

Anyways.  Sunday morning, Ashlynn comes to wake me up for the day and tells me she has to go potty.  I mutter something unintelligible and told her to go down and go, I was getting up.  Five seconds later I hear her crying.  She peed on the floor at the top of the steps.  Do you understand?!  She had to walk directly past the bathroom to get upstairs to tell me she had to pee. Helpful diagram #2:

Those black things are her footprints. Or something. Also I added the pee.

Seriously.  A detour of about five seconds could have solved this problem.  But.  But! But wait.  I am not even done yet.

Sunday evening rolls around and the children are in bed sleeping and the Food Network is trucking along on our TV when Corinne comes flying out of her room and yells “Can I go potty?!”  We chorus “YES!!”

And she peed on the floor.  In the annex/hall thingy.  Five steps from the bathroom.  I don’t even begin to understand.  Helpful Diagram #3:

Not pictured: clean carpet.


Pioneer Days

I have no luck with carpet.  Yes, yes, I knew when I had children that there would be messes made.  I’m cool with that.  It happens.  And my children have never done something totally ridiculous like dying the dog blue or something. (Thank God they can’t read, or I wouldn’t be writing that.)

On the first of January, (Happy New Year to me!) they dropped a brand new bingo marker on the carpet.  Where the dog chewed the end off of it.  And the 2 inch circular stain turned into this after I attacked it with the scrubber:

It's like our own red carpet! We use it for all the award shows.

And today, today, my five-year old felt the need to draw all over her carpet with crayons.  Despite knowing full well that she was not allowed.  Also despite having her crayons in her room a million times before this and never attempting such a thing.

Maybe there's something good buried under the x's?

There’s a huge difference between

doing something because they don’t know better


doing something despite knowing better.

That difference is related to the safety of Mommy’s blood pressure, apparently.

And…AND!  When I tried the whole, put paper over it and iron up the wax trick?  This happened:

That's paper. Melted to my carpet. Handy-Mom I am not. Sigh.

On the lighter side, when I typed ” how to get crayon out of carpet” into google, one of the search suggestions was “how to get crazy with the cheese whiz.”  That’s some awesomeness, there!

Anyways, I think Ma Ingalls had the right of it.  I’m getting dirt floors.  If they get the dirt too dirty, I’ll just haul in new dirt.  The end.