Like Henry Dad!

If you’ll pardon a bad analogy, Henry and his trusty companion Teddy serve as our sherpas on the trek up the Mount Everest that is potty training.

Henry is the protagonist in our go to propaganda tome on potty training, aptly titled The Potty Training Book (for Boys). I find the for Boys distinction funny, even though I dig the fact that it is required, since girl do it differently. Number 1 at least.

The Elder Boy is very close to being potty trained, whether he likes it or not. Regular readers of this here BLOG are well aware of my feelings on the infernal diaper . I for one can’t wait for Ethan to be potty trained. My Lovely Bride being a stay-at-home Mom changes far more diapers than me. I'd go so far as to classify it as a shitload of diapers on a daily basis, thus she is certainly ready to jettison #5 diapers in Casa Tinsley. For those playing along at home, #5 is the Elder Boy’s diaper size. The Little Warrior recently graduated to #4.

My Lovely Bride is so ready in fact, that she has declared that the current stash of #5’s is the last we’ll purchase at Sam’s for the Elder Boy. When they are done, we're done. I love my wife for many reasons, one of which is her ability to draw a line in the sand in regard to making a big decision. She last employed this strategy with Dog-Dog, another major change we kept procrastinating. Same deal with Ethan and potty training. We haven't been adamant enough about it even though he is ready. He can actually urinate quite well on his own. Poop is the hard one. But, he's done it (in the toilet) before. At any rate, Ready, Steady, GO!

Unlike Henry, I’m not the best role model for potty protocol. You see, like Dog-Dog, I urinate in the backyard. Truth be told as much as I urinate indoors. It is a curious habit of mine. Could I be a closet tree hugger on a quest to save water? Perhaps I’m just cheap and I want to save on my water bill? Or could it be that I’m lazy and would rather walk the few steps from the den out our back door (we have a privacy fence by the way) versus walking all the way to the back of the house? Whatever the reason, I pee outside all the time, all over the yard.

I tell you all that, for this.

A few weeks in the rearview, the Elder Boy is running amok in the den sans pants. This is part of our potty training strategy. We strip him from the waist down so he is aware of his pee pee and poo poo areas. That way if he has to pee and does, well it gets all over him and the floor. Then next time, he’ll think, Hey, I got to pee, I better stop what I’m doing and take care of business.

My Lovely Bride, being uptight in regard to the condition of our floors and not wanting to create more work, always tells the Boy to remember that he’s not wearing a diaper. If he needs to pee or poop, let her know, or take care of business. Although not uptight about the floors, I’m all for not causing myself more work, so I do the same thing with one exception. I tell him he can also go out back to take care of business, like me.

So, on a fine Saturday at Casa Tinsley, me on my Throne of impotence while Ethan and Wyatt played and watched Hi-5. The Elder Boy (who was sans pants) got an urgent look on his face, and quickly hopped off the coffee table (both Boy(s) can often be found on top of our coffee table) and opened the back door. He then took two steps, just enough to position him at the edge of our one and only back step, and proceeded to urinate. Right smack dab in the middle of the patio. Right in a spot that you’d have to walk through if you were going to enter our house from the back, which is the way we gain access to Casa Tinsley 99% of the time.

When he was done (sans a shake I might add for those playing along at home with a penis,) he came hopping back into the house quite pleased with himself and climbed back onto the coffee table to watch Hi-5.

Counting to 5, as they suggest, I gathered my wits and asked, “Ethan, did you just pee on the patio?”

He gave me a sheepish grin that suggested, of course, didn’t I do good.

Counting to 5 again, I fought the impulse to react negatively. He did take care of his business. He could have urinated all over the coffee table, which would have been far worse than the patio. The more I thought about it, How could I be mad? If anyone was to blame, it was me. I figured he knew what I meant by go out back. That whole Ass/u/me thing. He was doing what he thought I did. To be clear, I don’t urinate on the patio. I always make it to the yard. But still, Ethan did what I told him to do, and was quite pleased with himself in doing it. Good job Ethan.

On further thought, I better explain to the Boy that Daddy only does Number 1 in the backyard. Last thing I need is him taking a shit on the back step.

Until I BLOG again…