Mommy's and Pottytraining & Some Random Story about Elijah

I have been trying to write am email about something Elijah did, when I received this forward recently. The whole story reminded me of Elijah. I have actually had this happen, so frequently, I don't even bat an eye when it happens anymore. Fortunately Elijah now goes the bathroom on his own now, so I don't have a broadcast of my bathroom habits, but I still have no privacy.

First I will tell you Elijah's story. This has nothing to do with the forward, but I thought it humorous. But not precisely funny:

Elijah has made friends on the other side of the park from our house. There is a family with five kids, four being boys. One is Elijah's age, and the other three go down in age from there. The family isn't in our ward, but I grew up with their mother, and really trust them. It is a relief to have the boys go back and forth between the two houses and stop at the park in between. I keep an eye on them, but it feels safer because they don't cross any roads. So a couple days ago I get a call from their mom, Jerusha. "Elijah broke a window." I am frantic, thinking WHAT!?!?! He broke a WINDOW??? I am inwardly freaking out, but I tell her I will be right over. The whole way over, my thoughts are running all over the place, from "Please don't be a big window, please PLEASE don't be a big window." to "Aren't kids supposed to do this when they are nine and use a baseball? Isn't that what happens in the movies?" and "Why can't it be he an age where he can mow the lawn to pay this off? Instead of five?" I get there and survey the damage. He had broken a double pane window to the daughters bedroom, with a rock. Apparently to scare her. In the last couple months, girls seemed to have developed the dreaded cooties and he loves to torture them every chance he gets. Well, he scared her all right, and caused quite a problem in the process. Fortunately the window was a relatively small one, because it was a basement window. We had a "NEVER, EVER THROW A ROCK" talk, and he is earning back the money we are paying for the window. He is none too happy, but then, neither are we. And hopefully, we don't repeat the experience. And while he can't mow the lawn, he can certainly weed, lucky boy.

Here is the forward. I HATE POTTY TRAINING.

Kari

FOR ALL THE MOMMIES OR MOMMIES TO BE, SOME WILL REMEMBER BACK TO YOUR
LITTLE ONES AND FOR OTHERS WHAT YOU HAVE TO LOOK FORWARD TOO!

A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's rest-room stall.

My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and
does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in the
library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window.

People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a
just-turned-3-year-old.
And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It's always fully
cranked. There've been several embarrassing times that I've wished the
meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice,
but never have I wished this more than last week at Costco.

Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with
me into the rest-room. If you'd been one of the ladies in the
rest-room that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second to
the last stall:

"Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on
the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on DA toiwet paper now? Mommy,
what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in
the bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we
could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of
this stall and reveal my identity.
Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a
good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on
the potty?

Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying to see in
dere.
Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna get some
candy!
I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of
me.
Where is a screaming newborn when you need one? Good grief. This was
really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time
before exiting.
Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in Mommy's purse and
see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!"
"No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He started to
gag
at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up.
Mommy, doze stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!" As the
gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I quickly flushed
the toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began to reason with myself:
OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be
reasonably assured that those who overheard this embarrassing monologue will be
long gone.
Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going
stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I
could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside
my door.
"Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under DA door? What
were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?" More
laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.
"Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now,
Mommy."
He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to wash your
hands?
I want to go out!!"
I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. As I sheepishly
opened the door, and found an open sink, I thought, Where's the fine print on
the motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of my privacy?
But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly
soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away
again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.

(Written by Shannon Popkin, who is a freelance writer, and mother of
three.  She lives with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she
no longer uses public restrooms.)