Our fun thing today was mini-golfing.
We (that's the royal we) have been half-heartedly potty-training Studley. I potty-trained one child and I think that should be enough, no? But it seems Studley needs some sort of guidance and I am trying to step up and fulfill my duties (no pun intended). Lucy is helping me - which is sort of weird and gross but whatever.
So today he is running back and forth through the house - heading to the potty every five minutes or so. I figure it's like hockey - if he gets enough shots on goal, something's got to go in. I then remember bribing Lucy with blueberries and I say, "boys who poop in the potty get a popsicle!"
Have I lost you with all the poop talk yet? There's more.
Lucy says "I think he should have a popsicle anyway." We are all standing in the bathroom, which is small so we're shoulder to shoulder. This is somehow NORMAL. "Studley," Lucy continues, "if you poop in the potty you get to go play mini-golf." I am aghast. And then I am glad it wasn't a ski trip.
I am not sure if she realized it before she suggested it, or after she thought about how it's illegal to leave a 5 year old home alone while you take her little brother on a poop-reward golfing trip, but it did at some point dawn on Lucy that if Studley pooped then she could go golfing. She loves mini-golf.
If you drove past my house this evening, you must have noticed the parade: half-naked little boy wandering around the garden, followed by an attentive little girl carrying a potty.
Hello internet, this is my life.
I shall not go into details about how it all went down (again with the puns), but it did. And so we all got dressed to go golfing. Studley picked out his Thomas the Train underoos and looked Very Grown Up. "Oh Studley you look So Grown Up," gushes Lucy. "You are Such A Good Boy!" She rocks this stuff, man.
So we go mini-golfing and on the fourth hole, he wets his pants.