THE P FACTOR…

I am in the midst of the P factor. This includes, but is not limited to: pee pee, #2, potty training and penises.

If I have not lost any readers as of yet, let’s move on.

I got rid of my Diaper Dekor a few weeks ago and whooped around the house in success. I had crossed over and I was feeling great. But there are still issues. My older one has constant accidents. He is the thinker in the family, and he becomes so engrossed in his activities, he ends up going in his pants rather than to take the necessary time to visit the bathroom.

My little one is the charmer. I had a terrible time getting him to wash his hands after using the potty, and stooped down to horrific tactics like lying. “If you don’t’ wash your hands after you hold your pee pee, and then touch your face, you will get terrible sores in your mouth,” I warned. “Then we have to go to the doctor and get the pinch!” This worked well for my older one, who cowered in fear and ALWAYS washes his hands.

But the little one is something else.

I caught him the other day going to the bathroom. While I watched him use the potty, I realized he wasn’t holding his penis. He was just swaying back and forth, spraying pee all over the bathroom in relaxed nonchalance. I went in there – guns blazing – asking him why he couldn’t target a very large opening. He literally shrugged and beamed a handsome smile up at me. “Mommy, I found a way not to touch my penis. I can go potty and I don’t have to wash my hands and I will never get sores in my mouth.”

I was busted.

I backtracked and explained how he needed to hold it to control the aim but am still working on it.

The penis is the biggest factor. Having three penises in the house is sometimes overwhelming. I hear women complain about the constant state of the toilet seat being up. I would NEVER complain – I long for that day. I can flip it down easy enough. But in my house, the lid stays down, and all I see is residual bad aim – pee on the floor, the walls, the seat. My hand is always cramped around a Clorox wipe.

Now the other p word – #2. Another residual effect of potty training is the backslide. They do well – perfectly well – but they have accidents or “phases” of backtracking. My little one has recently decided he likes going #2 in his underwear rather than the potty. This I discovered quite by accident.

A little while ago, I was getting ready for bed and my older one wanted to lay down and watch a tape. I began clearing out the mess of DVD’s and tapes and books and little animals with spiky pointy things that I always step on or roll over. And I found a little ball in the bed. My son spotted it, too.

“Mommy, what’s that?”

“I don’t’ know.” I thought it was playdough.

NOT.

I picked it up in my fingers and realized it was a small #2. I looked into my son’s eyes with terror. “It’s Poop!” I screamed. Our mouths dropped open in matched horror as we stared at the ball. My husband came running in. “What is it?”

“Poop!” we both cried out in unison.

Then we looked at Joshie.

He knew he was busted. God knows how long it was going on – going in his underwear and dumping it in the toilet. He didn’t even try to lie. “But mommy, I was going to pick it up with a tissue so I don’t have to wash my hands and get sores in my mouth.”

I went a bit hysterical then while I explained this was absolutely NEVER going to happen again. Do you know what my three year old said to me? With a twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes, he patted my arm and said, “Mommy, it’s OK!”

Needless to say, I have been a Nazi ever since, consistently checking his clothes, my bed, his bed, and anywhere else he lays.

And the penises.

Well, everyone knows in cyberspace that my boys live naked most of the time. They still come hurtling out every night, unclothed, yelling “The Naked Brothers have Arrived!” And the motto in my house, with two little naked boys doing dangerous stunts is the constant mantra:

“Protect the pee pee!”

I came in the living room the other night after working on my writing and found the three of them in the living room watching a Netflix movie: Night at the Museum. My husband, clad in his usual boxers, had his hand down his pants. I have questioned this intention many times – quite curious as to why this is such a comfortable position – but he grunts and waves me away, telling me to stop asking him outrageous questions. My gaze flicked to my little ones. Both boys were in their matching CARS chairs in front of the tv. Both had their hands resting on their penises, with a large bag of Goldfish in the center.

I just shook my head and walked out.

Words still escape me.

Boys. The p’s. And yet, their minds still fascinate me – their simplicity in life makes me envious. I already feel sorry for my future daughters in law when Joshie shrugs and states, “It’s ok!” to an important issue.

Still, I learn something about the opposite sex every day, especially in my role as mom and wife. I use all of it in my writing to try and create varied, interested and flawed characters with hearts of gold beyond the hard exterior.

Life is never boring in my house.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.