Suspended

Note: This post is not for purveyors of purity. If you are a person who believes that bathroom talk belongs in, well, the bathroom, then this post is not for you. Tune in tomorrow instead. Or the day after, when we'll have another positive October birthday post. But for today, well, sometimes there's just no other way to say it...

Mothers of young children, keep reading, it is most likely that you talk about bodily functions quite freely without a second thought. Even at the dinner table.

It was a foregone conclusion that Victor was going to get suspended or expelled from pretty school sooner or later. That's just the kind of child he is. And you don't expect pretty schools to put up with spitting, yelling, disobedience, and head banging forever. However, I don't think we expected poop to be the cause of his suspension.

Note: Suspension is a strong word and it is my word of choice for the purposes of my sanity (laughter is the best medicine, right?). This post is in no way meant to disparage the teachers of Victor's wonderful pretty school. Quite the opposite; I do hope they all receive large bonuses at Christmas and wage raises next fall. They should be nominated for sainthood. All because of Mr. Victor and his optimistic parents.

But one person can only deal with so much poop from one person. In fact, they shouldn't have to deal with any poop from any persons. And Victor complied. For the first three weeks. Then it was 1 accident. No big deal. We all have accidents once or twice when we're three (I think). And then it was 3 times out of 4 days last week. So when he started out this week with another round of poop on Day 1, we got a phone call. It was the Good Doctor's day off so he was just hanging out close by between drop off and pick up. Pick up came early on Monday.

And the Good Doctor, in all of his wisdom, came up with a great plan (you will see the sarcasm dripping as you continue reading): We will keep Victor home each morning until he poops. Once poop is present, I am to pop him in the van and portage the pipsqueak to pretty school. Pronto.

As I see it, there is just one minor problem with this plan, so minor, I am fearful to even mention it. But I will. You can't force poop. Unless Victor's pooping is as predictable as the tides, how am I supposed to get him to poop by 8:30? Or even by 10:30 which is my unofficial cut-off time because why leave for pretty school when there is just an hour left to go? I did ask Victor if he could poop on demand and he told me quite plainly that he doesn't poop on the band. See? Like I said. You can't schedule poop.

So I just started the day yesterday without mascara. It wasn't worth it.

So yesterday morning came and went and - no poop. It didn't seem to matter that by the time the morning ended, he had been promised Elmo's World, a lollipop, an extra granola bar and some of my chai if he produced poop. No poop = no pretty school. In fact the whole of yesterday came and went and - no poop.

And here we sit. Pretty school has been in session for 15 minutes and instead of sitting in Circle Time with his friends, he's sitting in The Funny Farm Academy with HopeAnne and me.

Pray for poop, friends. Before 10:30.

And then again tomorrow. Please and thank you.