06 September 2006


It's interesting having a mix of boys and girls and most importantly when it's come to potty-training. Mr. Coffee, being the shrewd negotiator he is, concocted a plan from the beginning that would unequivocally spare him the duties of potty-training 'the girls'. He would in turn, take care of 'the boys'. This was an easy arrangement for him due to the fact that our first born happened to be a baby girl.

As it went, I accomplished the lion's share of potty-training her. I taught her bathroom etiquette and procedure, cleaned the messes, and explained to her the anatomically correct names for her body. Later, for good measure, I followed our daughter's birth with two sons.

Who's the potty-trainer now? OH, yeah. Who's your MOMMY!!!!??

To his credit, Mr. Coffee never did complain about the arrangement and of course, would quickly correct me when using inaccurate anatomical names such as "pee pee" or "bits". I being the prude I am, when rare occasion called for it, speaking outloud any anatomical names proved difficult. It wasn't until I was in my 20's that I discovered that Missionary Style did not mean I was going to marry someone in the ministry. But I digress...

My son, armed with this Grey's Anatomy schooling made this story priceless.

Once upon a time many moons ago, my 4 year old son was injured. Slowly, he made his way down the hallway in obvious distress. It was the distinct sound of pain that caught my attention, sounding like someone had lost a toe or possibly an eye during a brotherly wrestling match.

"Son, are you okay?"

He was bent over and cradling himself appropriately.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH, " his moan continued, "ooohh, Aiden hurt me!!"

"What happened?" I asked, fully prepared to hear a new story of how to injure yourself in a 10 x 10 room. Jumping off the top bunk? Swinging from the closet hanger rod? Sticking your head in a dresser drawer?

"Aiden hit me in the peanuts with his knee."

I quickly retorted under my breath while snickering, "Look on the bright side, at least he didn't get you in the galls."

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"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."

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