Poop in the Driveway

Jedidiah is 3. In our family, 3 has always been the “magic” potty age. As soon as they turn 3, they “get it.”

Not so with this guy. While he totally understands the concept, he much prefers the Great Outdoors as his own personal bathroom.

Even though I fear that someday my son may hate that I shared this, a bigger part of me thinks that since he already has his dad’s sense of humor, chances are he’ll probably get a kick out of it.

Now that we are actually through this phase (I hope I hope), I feel like it may be safe for me to talk about it. Sharing lessons the horror… doesn’t it?

The door slams. I hear Jed’s older sister yell the words that no mom wants to hear: ““Mo-om! Jed pooped in the driveway!”

Excuse me? He did what now?

He had, in fact, dropped his pants and pooped RIGHT IN THE DRIVEWAY. Our poor neighbors.

I patiently explained to him that we do NOT go poop in the driveway. Then I told him he had to help me clean it up. His response? “Oh no I not! Dat is GWOSS!”

Another day, I hear the pitter patter of little feet and then “Mo-om! Jed peed in the trash can!”

He WHAT? “Jed, you did WHAT?”

“It felt wike pee was ‘bout ta come out. In da stwash ban,” he reported.

In order to make this happen, he had carried out an elaborate plan. He went down the hall to the BATHROOM and carried the large wooden stepstool from the BATHROOM all the way down the hall and across the kitchen. Once there, he strategically propped the leg of the stool up so that when he climbed on it, it would press down on the little step-lever and the lid would pop open. Then, the peeing could commence.

(My question is, if you’re going to go to the trouble of getting the heavy wooden stool, why not just pee while you’re already IN the bathroom? I don’t get it.)

He told me it was Gatorade (it wasn’t.) So I made him help clean it up – he informed me that this task was also “gwoss,” but he hasn’t done any trash can peeing since, so that little lesson must’ve worked.

But that’s not even the worst of it. At least we were at home. (I won’t mention the numerous other times similar incidents occurred when we had people over for dinner!)

And now, I would like to apologize to any parent (or child) that may have been a witness to what I’m about to report:

It was a nice day. We were at the park. So were lots of other people.

Then, I guess you could say the moment struck him. I turned my head for ONE SECOND to look at my little girl over on the swings. When I looked back to where Jed was next to the slides, there he was: pants down around his little ankles, little butt shining out to the world, squatting on the PLAYGROUND and getting all set to DO HIS BUSINESS.

Oh, the horror! I grabbed him under his arms and whisked him away (pants still down) with my arms held straight out – and I ran with him all the way to the conveniently located park restroom. But if I hadn’t been super quick on the draw, so to speak, something terrible would’ve happened right there next to the curvy slide.

Like I said, it hasn’t happened in the past couple of weeks, so I’m really hoping this little phase is over.

But when he says the magic words – “Hey! I’m ‘bout ta poop!” He means it.

And I had better get him to the bathroom…

Or just get out of the way.

Um... perhaps we should slow down a bit on the drinking.

Um… perhaps we should slow down a bit on the drinking.

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