Growing up, I dreamed of giving birth to a sweet, precious, pink, baby girl. I would dress in her in all things frilly and cute. Put obnoxiously large, flowered, headbands on her head and I would let her hair grow long so that I could play with it for hours. We would be best of friends and would shop for patten, black, leather, Mary Jane's, together. I imagined what she would look like. Long, light brown hair, petite, polite, clean, and a daddy's girl. Because daddy's girls, make my heart melt.
Obviously, Heavenly Father, had another set of plans for me. I gave birth to two boys. And then, there is also the fact that I married a boy. And as you know it... boys have cooties.
Oh don't get me wrong, I love my boys. They are dang, flippin' cute and instead of shopping for black Mary Jane shoes together, we shop for Legos.
The things that my boys (oldest son and husband), and their friends, have done, have shocked and awed me over the years. Conner, I'm sure will be shocking me in due time. Urinating on the neighbor's property, farting, picking their nose and wiping it on the wall next to his bed only to let it to petrify and scratch my arm as I brushed against the wall, while making his bed. Those suckers can draw blood! And then there is the time when one of those boys trimmed his toe nails with one of my new steak knifes. Like I said...boys have cooties. (I threw the knife away)
But the one thing that sends me over the edge, are their toilet practices. Oh. My. Gosh. One only has to look at the bottom of a toilet, to find evidence of the above mentioned practices.
Last week me and my son obtained that dreaded stomach bug, going around. The bug that seems to have never left our neighborhood. The bug that causes horrific things to explode from both ends of our bodies. Nasty. And the after math wasn't too pretty. Once I was feeling better, I began the de-contamination process...washing every known towel, bedding, wash cloth, mat, and sleeping attire that was in the presence of our bouts with sickness. Our home soon smelled of a cleaning product bouquet of 409, Clorox Wipes, and Lysol. The toilet my son used caused me to gag, convulse, and scream in terror. It's true. I have witnesses.
Splattered toilet remnants. Unsightly streaks. And a stench that could make a skunk pick up her tail and high tail it out of there. Yup, it was that bad.
Then there was another time, when I went downstairs to clean the bathroom. I never know what to expect when I enter this bathroom. It's the bathroom that my son and his various friends use, the majority of the time. It's the bathroom closest to the video games. As I approached the toilet, I slowly lifted the toilet seat. Lifting the seat cover too quickly can cause me thrash about and foam at the mouth. Never had I seen a toxic waste, such as this. There should have been a bio hazard waste sign posted on the door.
Apparently, one of Cody's friends ran out of toilet paper and yelled for Cody to retrieve some paper goods for him to use. Cody offered a roll of paper towels. Which resulted in clogging the toilet...for several days. For some odd reason, Cody chose not to tell anyone about the toilet mishap. Brilliant!
I can't tell you how many times I've had to drip dry or gently walk to the closet that contains the toilet paper, all because boys are in-capable of replacing the empty toilet paper holders.
Only a guy would think this is a genius idea. Why not sit next to your friend while doing your business. Heck, you could share a newspaper.
(ancient Greek toilets)
I wonder if these urinals smell as good as they look?
So there you have it, my friends. A little glimpse of what the toilet wars consist of with in my household of boys. May all of the ladies out there with husbands, and sons endure to the end...with Clorox Wipes near by.