Potty Humor

Having been a teacher to the 9-11 year old crowd for the past 12+ years, I can't help but have made a few observations on the nature of that particular beast. Girls that age are hard at work mastering the intricacies of manipulation and inner workings of fickle friendships. Boys are busy inventing and repeating jokes...the more crass the better. What's cute about it is they genuinely think they are rip-roaringly funny, even as their female peers roll their eyes (as they will continue to do for the remainder of their years). Luckily pre-teen boys mostly could care less about the girls. It's a fun age group to teach!

While I feel I have a handle on the upper elementary aged child, I have no experience whatsoever with the pre-school crowd, so my learning curve is pretty steep these days. Fortunately I have found numerous parallels between my young daughters and my former male students to help me along. Key among them is potty humor. Guess who practically busts a gut intentionally calling hamburgers hamboogers? Answer: Julia and every 10 year old boy I've ever met.

In her own baby way, even Mimi is getting into the act. Last night Julia had the tantrum of all tantrums. She wanted to sleep in Mama and Daddy's big bed but was denied access. At 9:00 she started whimpering, whining, begging, and feigning hunger, illness, full bladder, and a stubbed toe. At one point she even forgot herself and started complaining she was tired. She quickly remembered she was actually in bed and expected to fall asleep so wasn't likely to garner Mama's attention with that excuse so she back-peddled and declared herself wide-awake. Her resourcefulness was kind of cute for the first hour. At 10:00 she started crying but would pause occasionally to call out my name in a sing-song voice or, presumably, to rest up for another round. At this point I became irritated. I hollered out things like STOP CRYING, YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE YOUR SISTER, and the classic GO TO SLEEP. When my advice was not heeded (big surprise), I endeavored to ignore her behavior. At which point it became more emphatic. Now, we've had plenty of experience with crying at bedtime. Julia had some attachment issues when she first came home and Mark and I are very sensitive to the nuances of her cry and her concerns in this area. Fortunately, she has mostly outgrown the need to be parented to sleep. At any rate, at this point I am fairly sure I can tell the difference with her need to bond and her need to pitch a fit. Trust me, this episode was clearly in the latter camp.

So on and on it went. By 11:00 Mimi had about all she could take and awoke. We brought her into our bed and tried to wait out Julia's screaming, the three of us huddled like hostages of the angry rant coming from the nursery. At 11:30 I felt the top of my head lift up ever so slightly and knew I was becoming unhinged. I had reached my breaking point. I was on the verge of screaming: SHUUUUTTTT UPPPP but remembered I was supposed to be a grown up. I considered leaving the house but instead sent poor exhausted Mark into the war zone to somehow make it stop.

At this point, Mimi decided she wanted to play. She tried peek-a-boo and then a few wrestling moves. I wasn't in the mood. Still struggling to hold on to a scrap of sanity, I found myself just about to snap something un-Mama like at Mimi when suddenly she let loose the loudest fart I had ever heard. It echoed through the room and even stopped Julia's wails for a moment. It took Mimi a second to register what had just happened then she yelled out in her loudest baby voice: "P U !! Bless you Mama!" Then, thinking she had just made the best joke of the century, she giggled as she pulled up the covers, declared herself to be "cozy," and settled in to sleep. I was still wiping tears of mirth as I snuggled up next to her. Shortly thereafter, Mark managed to comfort Julia into a peaceful sleep and come back to bed himself.

A little potty humor goes a long way.

BTW, don't think for a minute that was the end of it...Mimi may have settled in but she proceeded to kick my spleen black and blue till I had to remove her to her own crib around 1:30am. She went protesting all the way. Then, by some awful coincidence, both girls woke up at 7:00am, poorly rested but refusing to stay in bed. Where's a 10 year old boy when you need one?