This one's for my brother, Rob...

The last couple of days, I decided that instead of changing Jon's diaper in his bedroom, or wherever I catch him and wrestle him to the ground, I would start taking him into the bathroom for changes so that he starts making the connection that this is where we take care of our bodily functions.  Given that he absolutely refuses to even try to sit on the potty, I thought this would be a little conditioning exercise to maybe perhaps get him more interested in the whole business of potty training.  Yes, I am a bit desperate.  I'm really trying to restrain myself here, but truth be told, toddler poop is just the worst and I am very anxious for him to be potty trained.  Not to the point where I'm ready to force the issue by any means, but I'm willing to try every trick out there just to get him even remotely INTERESTED in the potty. 

So this afternoon, he did #2, and so I take him up to the bathroom to clean him up.  As I am taking off his pullup by separating the sides, he decides to wiggle around like a fish, causing his pullup to fall and the contents thereof to hit the floor.  At the risk of being graphic (as if you expected any less from someone who wants to know if you are a wrapper or a wadder), this particular poo was reminiscent of Brach's Bridge Mix candy (hey, I warned you).  Think chocolate covered nuts and raisins of varying shapes and diameters all over the floor.  We lovingly refer to these types of BM's as "poopy nuggets."  So I'm all "DON'T MOVE!!!  STAND RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!!  YOU'RE GOING TO STEP IN THE POOPY!!!" And he, of course, is just so proud of himself and having spilled the contents of his pullup onto the floor.  So he's cracking up and shrieking at the same time.

Wondering what all the commotion was about, Katie comes wandering in and stops dead in her tracks and shrieks at the sight of all the little turdballs all over the bathroom rug.  She's standing in the doorway, totally grossed out, while I'm using wadded up TP to try to pick up the poopy nuggets.  At that moment, I remembered that I had a stack of clear plastic foodservice gloves that I keep in one of the vanity drawers for coloring hair, so I asked Katie to fetch me one.  She stooped down to find one in the drawer, then handed it over and I donned it and began picking up the poo balls. 

As I cleaned up the rug, Jon's standing there totally impressed with himself because not only was there POOP on the floor, but he managed to totally gross out Mom and Katie.  That's a shenanigans trifecta in his little mind, a cause de celebre, if you will.  So he's just giggling like mad.  Katie was all "Oh my gosh, Mom!  That's SO gross, Jon!  You really need to put your poop in the toilet, boy!" 

Jonathan, annoyed with his big sister's admonishment, turned around, bent over at the waist, and stuck his bare bottom mere inches from Katie's face.  Dare I mention that I had not yet been able to clean him up?

Katie reacted like every other 5-almost-6-year-old red-blooded American girl:  she screamed like she saw the devil himself.  "OH MY GAWD!!! MOMMMMM!!!  JON THAT'S SO GROSS!!!" Then, shrieking, she ran from the bathroom.  Jon did what every red-blooded American little brother would do given the same set of circumstances:  he chased his sister into the bedroom to see if he could catch her and do it again. 

Me?  I'm sitting on the toilet in a state of shock at all that had just transpired. Poop balls on the floor.  Butts in faces.  This really is my life. Then the comedy of it all hit me and I couldn't stop laughing.  I couldn't even catch my breath to tell Jon to stop chasing his sister and sticking his butt in her face.  I was laughing so hard, and the tears were just rolling down my cheeks.  The whole crazy scenario reminded me of something my brother Rob would do, and probably did, it's just the trauma of being his sister all those years has destroyed any memory of such event.

Does anyone remember when your mom would always say "I hope you have one just like you!"  Now I knew going into this parenting gig the odds were heavy that I was going to give birth to at least one offspring that was just like me.  And I did -- Katie is my clone in so many ways it is almost spooky.  But hell, what the frig did I ever do to deserve having one just like my little brother?  I'm still trying to figure that one out.  I'm certain my mother is up there in heaven pissing on her angel's wings watching me wrangle these two knuckleheads.

So, Rob, this one's for you.  I hope it gives you a chuckle out there in the great Midwest.  I also bet you're feeling a certain sense of pride knowing that the torch of torture was passed right on down the ol' genetic line to your nephew Jon Jon, and he knows how to apply it much to the chagrin of myself and his poor sister.  But, dear brother, your time awaits.  I cannot wait for the day when I get the phone call or e-mail saying "hey, guess what Bradyn (my nephew) did today."