Yesterday my mom asked if she should bring her carpet shampooer when she next comes for a visit here in a few weeks. She has not yet learned that the answer to this question is always, always "Yes." Not that I mind finding those surprise crunchy parts of the carpet upstairs- it's like a super fun game that no one wins.
This week's carpet deposits include the puke-fest that inspired a middle of the night half-coherent Christmas song rip-off and our other son's contribution, which we discovered when he came into our room the other night and proudly announced, "I just peed on my dirty clothes basket!" I investigated this claim, and sure enough: dirty clothes- soaked. Hamper- soaked. Carpet all around the hamper- soaked. Wall behind the hamper- dripping. That kid must have been banking his milk all day, looking forward to this little gift. Three-year-olds are such givers.
He seemed genuinely astonished and not a little disgruntled when he got a spanking for his efforts. It would seem that his imagination supplied visions of a pat on the back, or perhaps exclamations of wonderment at this new-found masculine ability to pee wherever the heck he wants, all while standing up.
It was my sad duty to disabuse him of this notion.
Yes, Mom. Please bring the carpet shampooer.