For those of you keeping score, please go read a book.
Ahem, sorry, not a great day. So tonight's monster was red, with pointy things, and red eyes, and to quote the bizarre creature I call Son, "It's craaaaaaaaazy."
Thank goodness for Lysol, I mean, Monster Spray.
Once this latest menace was taken care of, he asked for a story, which I read to him (previous attempts were thwarted by jerkishness) and when he asked if he could put the book away I said yes, but he had to go potty again when he was done.
Eventually he was rounded up in the bathroom and after I failed to believe that he had really "ga-looed" the toilet lid shut (I didn't ask) he decided to whiz standing up, or as he calls it "peeing like a fireman."
Now this was something to see, and I had no choice but to see it as I was standing in the doorway to prevent further escape, like some sort of Urine Goalie I suppose. He lifts the lid and seat, he gets in position kind of off to the side of the bowl, he tucks his shirt under his chin, he bounces on the balls of his feet, bends his knees a little, almost achieves en pointe, clenches his little buttocks into a pair of pink kidney beans and lets fly!
I don't think NASA ever prepared as much for a shuttle launch.
It got me thinking though. If all little boys are this good at en pointe and other ballet-like moves at the john, why aren't there more male danseurs? Seriously, is it the lack of toilets in ballet? I think it is. I say we all band together and this holiday season we demand a rewrite to accommodate the natural proclivities of today's culture-starved boys. I, for one, am not going to rest until The Dance Of The Ty-D-Bol Fairies is a reality!
Who's with me?!
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