Urine, urine, everywhere

When you've reached the point of remodeling your house for 163 days, something odd begins to happen to you. You find yourself driving to liquor stores more often, getting to know the the personnel at the local Taco Bell by name*, and, generally, developing a VERY lackadaisical attitude about everything that has to do with cleaning.

You learn, by about day 40, that living with one bathroom is the equivalent of kamikaze flying--just a little beyond a death wish.

Frankly, one of the virtues of the master bathroom is that it is rarely visited by anyone but the man and woman of the house.** As such, your private potty place remains relatively clean or, in my case, as clean as I decide to make it in any given week. That can be anywhere from "what is that green stuff growing in the commode?" to "WOW! I didn't know brushed nickel could gleam like that." Living with one, non-master bathroom completely interrupts this normal cleanliness flow and puts you at the mercy of walking a distance across your house at odd hours of the day and night.

Now, regardless of the number of bathrooms in a given house, there is nothing I dislike worse than getting up in the middle of the night to have to "go". This problem is only compounded when you are down to one toilet. When the restorative REM sleep I am missing is coupled with stumbling into things in the dark that later turn into bruise art on my upper thighs, it makes me grumpy. What comes next makes me MAD: my post-midnight trips often result in the need to change my pj's.

"WHY," you ask, "would a simple trip to the potty result in the need for a pj change?"

Easy: I live with three people of the penile set who don't understand lifting the seat.

SOME of them have NO AIM. SOME of them are flat LAZY. Some are lazy-aimers.

Regardless, they just often leave a wet seat. Which causes a dilemma after midnight for the only TRUE seat-dweller in the house***. I'm never quite awake enough to rationally reason that "I should probably check before I sit". And, since it is pitch dark, I can see nothing. This often results in such a wet situation down under that I am dripping whenst I pull off the toilet. Charming, huh?

I have a friend who is on the path to resolving this in her house. Every time she finds a seat that isn't as dry as a bone, both her under-thirteen set get to pay the piper. I LOVE this idea, but I'd forever be putting kids in time-out if I did that. And, at midnight, time-outs just wouldn't be quite as effective.

So, during the day I do the best I can to reeducate the boys on the virtues of a clean, dry seat. Upon either stumbling onto a moist seat and, hopefully, before bathing in the wetness, I create a dialogue that goes something like this:

(SHOUTING as I wipe the seat) "Who just used the bathroom."

(CHORUS of responders from other rooms) "Not me."

(STILL SHOUTING at whomever didn't shout back while simultaneously wiping****) "Did you ______ (non-responder)?"

(OBLIGATORY ANSWER, to save own butt) "NO."

So, I NEVER know the actual culprit UNLESS I am right there upon entry/exit. In which case, he of the pee-pee-seat is flat BUSTED.

This leads to the following:

(SHOUTING A LITTLE MORE LOUDLY) "Do you realize how unpleasant it is to sit down on a wet toilet seat? Guys, look at me. LOOK AT ME. This is just gross. Please remember to lift the seat. OK?"

(Beat down from my yelling but still not really paying much attention) "Yes ma'am."

On days when the seat has remained blissfully dry, I have to think back to the events leading up to discovering this anomaly:

1. Were the kids even home today?
2. Did I catch one/more of them using their second favorite toilet?*****
3. Have I really made progress?

We all know the answer to number three.

So, I journey on, convicted that, between nagging and maturing, my boys will get this concept before their wives enter the picture.

If not, my future daughters-in-law have my permission to call, at any hour of the day or night, to get pity from me.

Just know, before you make the call, I TRIED. Truly, I tried.




*Sadly, they know YOUR name, too.

**That is, if you train your kids right by using a perimeter guard that creates a mild shock if anyone under 4'3" tries to enter.

***Yes, I know boys/men use the seat on occasion, too. But not with the regularity we women-folk have to.

****It's called MULTI-TASKING. Gross multi-tasking.

*****And the one that keeps them out of trouble IF they aren't caught? The backyard. If your kids weren't educated by another person with a penis who is related to you then you are SUPER lucky. I tried to intervene, to no avail.....