P*ss-In-Boots – Like Puss-In-Boots but smellier
This is a bit of an old chestnut of a blog, and I’m afraid I’m on a very familiar theme. Toilet training hell.
Before I begin, I’d just like you to know I have a new computer chair. It is an ancient, hard, wooden chair with a straight back. I have a cushion on it, but it is still pretty darn uncomfortable. Do you know why I have abandoned my lovely squishy, with arms, adjustable, spinny, comfortable ‘puter chair? (pls add a rising tone here)
………….because my son p*ssed on it. Twice.
The first time I soaked it, cleaned it, sprayed it with smelly stuff and put a cushion on it and hoped for the best. There was a very slightly acrid smell if I put my nose very near the seat, but it was ok. As I don’t ever sit for much time with my nose actually on the seat of my chair, it didn’t matter so much. It’s difficult to type like that you see, I can’t reach my keyboard.
That’s not to say I wasn’t annoyed. I sat in it initially and had to go change my jeans due to the swampy nature of the seat. Yesterday the exact same scenario was repeated, except the wee had been there for longer and had well and truly soaked in. I tried to sort it, I really did, but in a fit of rage I wheeled the soaking, stinky thing out to the front of the house and left it in the rain. Where, if I was less of a parent I swear I’d have left my son too. I was not a happy bunny, oh no!
Maybe you think this is an over-reaction. You may be right, but earlier on this week Sausage also p*ssed in his dad’s shoe. Horace was not amused, I was quite amused, but I didn’t dare let either of them know I was. Horace was furious, Sausage was crying and Horace’s shoe was one shoe sized, stinky puddle. To sit there stifling giggles would have been suicide.
Later in the week, Sausage weed in his own trainer. He said he ‘couldn’t find the potty and that there was something on the TV’. If we go by that precedence, I suppose we should all simply wee in buckets in the front room when we’re watching something we don’t want to miss. I explained to him, that grown ups and big boys don’t behave like that and that his behaviour was unacceptable, he lost a bedtime story, and the riot act was well and truly read.
As an aside, I just want to point out I have found damp patches in his room that smell suspicious and I found him weeing up the stairs the other day too. Once I admit I was having a lazy day and wasn’t paying him enough attention – he retaliated by taking his icky pants off and wiping them on the furniture for me to clean off. The other times, he’s just been plain bl**dy minded as far as I can see.
But yes, his grand finale was p*ssing on my chair. I am going to re-instate a massive big sticker chart, I might start feeding him chocolate every time he uses the loo, and he is NOT EVER sitting on my chair ever again. Not ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER! *takes deep breath and climbs back down from the ceiling*
So, rant over. I shan’t write for much longer as this wooden chair hurts my bum. *swears*