A title like “To The Toilet Bowl” makes it sound like this is going to be a letter to my toilet bowl.
If that’s what you were expecting, I offer my sincere apology.
Unfortunately, I’m simply not prepared at this time to confront my toilets’ accusations of abuse, their photographic “evidence” of such (I swear they stained themselves), or their class-action lawsuit against my family. So I have no comment at this time. If you need further information, please see my lawyer.
Instead, the title “To The Toilet Bowl” is meant to read more like “Man your battle stations! Rally! Rally! To the toilet bowl, Men! There’s no time to waste!”
Waste. Ha! I’m so punny. (Sorry.)
OK, so are we all on the same page now? I can start writing? Excellent. Moving on.
To The Toilet Bowl
Because you may not read every, single blog comment like I do…
And because my brother is an Accusey Accuser Pants…
And because I must clear my name…
I’ll tell you this:
I wrote, in Miss Clavel Ran Fast and Faster, that I have run “to the toilet bowl when a child is stuck inside it.”
And my brother, Jeff, commented thusly:
You must now be called out. It is as regrettable as it is necessary.
For it was not you but I who ran fast and faster to the toilet bowl.
A fact which, by itself, would not be “call-out worthy” if not for the fact that you then berated me for extracting said child from said toilet bowl.
Not because the child didn’t need to be extracted. Not due to the manner of extraction.
No, it was because the child was extracted before photographic evidence was obtained.
Now, in my defense, this event took place prior to having children of my own. I can only claim inexperience to justify the blatant and obvious lapse in judgment that occurred when I prioritized the removal of a child from a toilet over taking pictures. I certainly would not make that mistake today.
And I knew I had to defend my honor as a mother. As a care-giver. As a sister.
As much as it pains me to give you a public lashing not unlike the great concrete head-smashing of 1988 (which you deserved), I will press on.
I think we can all agree that I was clearly (cuh-learly) right to oh-so-mildly reprimand you when you failed to photograph my child while she sat, hunkered down, splashing in the toilet bowl and, instead, instantly plucked her to safety, washed her off, and returned a clean, unphotographed toddler to me.
Screeching, “WHAT WHERE YOU THINKING?” was really the only reasonable response I could give you. Readers? Yes?
That’s a moment we never get back, pal.
But, really, that’s not where I take issue with your comment. Especially since you’ve seen the error of your ways and you would wisely run first for your camera should you find one of your children ensconced in the toilet.
Good job, Jeffy. I’m pleased to have been such a fine example of appropriate parenting.
Then what’s my problem? My problem is this:
You assumed that I’ve only ever had one — one!, ichi, een, uno, just the one, single, solitary — child stuck in a toilet. In all my time parenting five kids.
To which I reply, “Bahahahahahaha!”
And, “If only.”
And, “Your wife’s gonna give birth to your second boy-child, third overall child, any second now. I think we’d all agree that she’s a better mama than I could hope to be. Disciplined. Organized. Nice. But the thing about having three kids is… she’s not gonna be able to be everywhere at once. Which brings me back to Bahahahahahaha! And also, find that camera. You’re gonna need it.”
P.S. If you, poor reader, are left befuddled, wondering whether I just devoted an entire blog post to saying “nuh-uh” to my brother, I just wanted to take a second to say
Yes, I did.
And I’d do it again. Best use of blog space ever.