Xavier was baptized a few weeks ago and my parents gave him the cutest towel with his name stitched on it and a sassy eye-patch-wearing octopus. It's hanging in the kids' bathroom across from the toilet, and I think it's just adorable. I noticed the other day as I was counting its legs that it is missing a leg. Maybe the leg is supposed to be behind the octopus. I'm sure if a person took a photo of an octopus it would be hard to capture all eight legs in the shot. But it frustrates me that what could have been a learning tool is ruined, just ruined, by the missing leg! Well, Celia asked today how many legs an octopus had and started counting them, and we had a nice discussion about where his missing leg could be. She seemed only slightly concerned that he had a missing leg. She was more interested in what song to regale me with next. Singing is like her totally favorite potty pass time. "Tomorrow" and "Fly to Who You Are" (or whatever that song is from the Tinkerbell movie) are her favorites.
She makes me laugh often while she's doing her business. Yes, this is too personal and she'll be upset with me someday for sharing her private stories with the world, but it's too hilarious not to share. I've made a concerted effort to use actual names for body parts with the kids. It just seems like a teachable moment to share what things are called when they ask me, so I tell them. Mike isn't so comfortable with that approach and prefers to refer to the boys' bits as a willy. That's fine. But when he went in to fill in on the post-potty assist with Celia the other day, he waited patiently for the final ridiculously over-the-top high and off-key note of "Tomorrow" to end and asked Celia, "Did you wipe your...umm...er...your..." Celia put poor papa out of his misery by filling in the missing word and sang in her most sing-songy Oprah-like voice, "VAGINAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Mike and I have developed the ability to snicker to ourselves, giving each other knowing looks in these moments so as not to call attention to why what the kids say is absolutely hysterical, but in that moment, we developed the new ability to burst out in silent laughter as only the parents of preschoolers can.
