“Honey, I’m home.” Henry’s voice echoed through the house.
“We’re in the bathroom.” I yelled, trying not to sound aggravated. Then I slopped the mop back across the bathroom floor.
“Yea PopE, we’re back here.” My grandson, Barrett, age 4, chirped like a happy little parrot from the tub.
Barrett was enjoying his third bubble bath of the day.
I growled when Henry rounded the corner.
He stopped, made a quick assessment and grinned. Then, knowing he’d just irritated me more, he leaned in and gave me a kiss.
“So… it happened again?”
“Yes.” I growled. “The kid is like a fire hose out of control. Never seen anything like it. Sprayed the walls, the floor… even got me…not a splash in the toilet bowl. No wonder people hate potty training boys.”
Henry’s grin grew.
“I’m glad I only had girls. They were bad enough.”
Henry chuckled.
“It’s not funny.” I snarled, swirled the mop around the floor, then popped it in the bucket. “Next time you can clean it up.”
“Want me to take over?” Henry asked. “I can have this problem solved in a day.”
“I’ve been working with Barrett all week,” I sputtered, “and you think you can get him potty trained in a day?”
Henry nodded.
“Well, Mr. Confidence, go for it.” I picked up the mop bucket and flounced out of the room. But not before adding, “But when Mr. Elephant Bladder goes airborne, you’re cleaning the mess.”
An hour later, Barrett grabbed the front of his pants and jumped out of his chair. “Gramma, the tinkle is coming.”
“You’re up PopE.” I smirked, envisioning the impending disaster.
“Come on Barrett,” PopE said, getting up. “We’re going to play a game.”
“What game?” Barrett’s forehead knotted, but he didn’t let go of his crotch as he did a half-skip to PopE’s side.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” PopE took Barrett’s free hand and they trotted off to the toilet.
Less than five minutes later, Barrett came squealing into the room.
“Gramma, that was so much fun. Can I do it again?”
“You want to pee in the toilet? Again?”
That never happened. I looked from Henry to Barrett, and back again.
“Yea. Uh-huh. Can I?” Barrett bounced up and down in front of me.
“How’s the bathroom?” I asked Henry.
“Clean as a whistle.”
Not believing a word of it, I got up and checked.
No pee anywhere.
A first!
I grabbed Henry. “Okay, how’d you do it?”
“It’s all about the Fruit Loops.” He grinned. “I tossed a handful into the toilet. Told him to stand on the step-stool, take himself in hand and shoot the pink ones.”
“Yea,” Barrett bounced faster. “And if I go a week without missing the pinks, I get a Sheriff’s badge. Isn’t that great Gramma?”
Dumbfounded, I nodded at Barrett, then blinked, disbelieving, at Henry. “So, the toilet training issue is over?”
“I think so.”
“No more m-o-p-p-i-n-g?” I spelled the word out.
“Nope.” Henry shook his head.
“And all I have to do is throw Fruit Loops into the toilet?” I narrowed my eyes, still in disbelief.
“Pretty much.”
“But Grandma,” Barrett shoved his face into mine. “I’m not eating Fruit Loops for breakfast any more.”
