We are all around the table, finishing off an excellent meal of beef stir-fry, with the exception of Addie. Supper is near its end.
“You all just sit right there!” she says, from a far corner of the kitchen. She has an odd face on, a bit on the red side, wrinkled brow, drawn up cheek and lips as though she is straining.
“SHE’S POOPING!!” yells Chrissy, as though a grenade has been rolled in the room. She scoops Addie up and runs to their bedroom, the closest entry point to the bathroom. One problem though, the door to the bathroom is locked!
‘FOR GOD’S SAKE HELP ME JEREMY, WE NEED TO GET HER ON THE POTTY NOW!!!”
Jeremy, loving husband and father, scrambles to the other bathroom door so he can open the door into the bedroom for Chrissy. “TELL HER TO HOLD IT, I’M ALMOST THERE!!!’
Tick, tick, tick, tick – the timer on the “grenade” continues its count.
“TAKE OFF THE TU-TU!! ( the one over the jeans – Addie is nothing if not fashionable). I THINK WE CAN STILL MAKE IT! GET HER ON THE POT, GET HER ON THE POT!!” Chrissy screams in desperation!!
“GET THE DAMN DIAPER OFF!! GET IT OFF!!!!!!!!!” she begs!!
Tick - - - BOOM!!!!! The grenade had gone off!!
“EEWWWWWWW!! LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT LOAD!!! WE ALMOST MADE IT!!!!!” Chrissy is standing holding a diaper in her hand with a “grenade” the size of a grapefruit rising from its folds.
“Addie, why didn’t you just say you had to go potty?!?!?!?” Daddy shows an odd combination of frustration and belly laughs obviously reflecting on the just completed Keystone Cops routine.
“I don’ know” says the cutest little granddaughter on the entire planet?? “I’m done!”
Somehow I don’t think so