…and now for more from the house of poop….

So it’s Wednesday (not today, but when this all happened!) and Paul is in Los Angeles (shopping in Beverly Hills w/o me no less…bastard).I’m making dinner (ok, I’m reheating dinner) and Neve and Emily are watching Spongebob.  Suddenly Neve jumps off the couch, fist planted firmly between her legs and announces “I need have go potty!”

She runs up the stairs (won’t go in the downstairs one, for some reason) and I hear her footsteps head ino the bathroom that is in my bedroom.  After a minute or two I hear her flush, and I hear the predictable sound of the toilet lid crashing down with a resounding bang.  Then…I hear it again.  And again.  And a fourth time.  Then Ihear her footsteps pounding down the hall upstairs into her bedroom, and I hear the door slam shut and the click of the lock engaging.

Uh-oh, I think.  I head up the stairs, and from within her bedroom I hear her yelling “Don’t go in your potty mommy!!!”.  So now I run.  And I get into the bathroom and lift the lid just as the water (filled with several large floaters and wads of paper) is about the breach the rim.  I turn off the water and close the lid.

Later that evening (after I’ve plunged and thoroughly cleaned the potty) I am brushing my teeth in preparation for bed.  Neve comes running in again, in full “I need have go potty” mode.  SO she does, and I make sure she only uses a little bit of paper this time.  So I tell her “Ok, get off the potty and pull up your pants and close the lid and flush, and then you can come wash your hands.”   “Ok mommy” she says in her “I am so sweet” voice.  I then witness her get off the potty, bend over to pull up her pants, and let her hair dangle into the pee-pee filled potty.  After which (instead of following any of my instructions) she runs out and jumps into my bed, putting her head down on papa’s pillow.  As I stated, he is in LA.

I won’t tell if you don’t.

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