Size does matter...

Dash runs to the bathroom, his butt cheeks clenched in a hopefully-successful effort to keep his bowels from exploding in his pants.

Because he has just recently potty-trained. And going number two on the potty is something that he is having a hard time accepting as the normal thing to do. So he holds it for as long as he can, sometimes three days, and then finds the call of the bowl like that of a siren and finally hoists himself up, desperate to relieve himself.

After such an epic wait, the process of evacuation is, of course, one that is almost painful to watch. The effort faces alone are enough to induce a measure of compassion, even though, let's face, he's brought this on himself, the sphincter-holding beast.

Apparently, because of all the effort, and, umm, blood traveling to his nether region, his peepee has, umm, responded, shall we say.

Dash: "Mamae, my peepee is so big!"

I'm trying not to make a big deal of the fact that my son has a giant boner while taking a dump; and at the same time making a very concerted effort to refrain from laughing because that would likely induce its own trauma, one I'd be likely to have to pay some shrink to make go away.

So what is the proper response?

I smile and nod, at a complete loss for anything more helpful or interesting.

Dash: "Mamae, it's so big! Well, actually, now it isn't. It's just little again."

Smile and nod, smile and nod, wipe his tush, smile and nod while my son engages in a near soliloquoy about the size of his penis.

Visiting Whine Country

We tried desperately to take the exit ramp to Napper Valley. Unfortunately, much to the chagrin of all those strapped into the car and unable to escape the madness, we had Passed Go and were rapidly approaching Whine Country.

He took my toy! He's touching me! I'm hungry! He kicked me! I don't want to stay in my seatbelt! You said we would be there soon!

Once there, it's hard to leave calmly.

I'm going to pull over and give both of you a what-for!

Or rationally.

If I hear one more complaint from you, I'm leaving both of you on the side of the road.



Or gracefully.


Or at all.


There ought to be a law, or a Pavlovian command, or a restraint system...


But there isn't.

So I push the needle just a bit, and crank the music, and throw Cheddar Bunnies in their general direction, and threaten to throw whatever toys are being bickered over out the window. And then, when that doesn't work, because it doesn't ever really work, I grab the actual toy and open the window, from which I dangle the poor, unsuspecting Bakugan, whose short life is about to be pitiably and ignominiously snuffed on I-87.

AND THEN, when an imminent and hideous death is in the offing for whatever molded plastic piece of crap is the latest obsession, THEN the spawn decide that they will set aside their differences. For the sake of the Bakugan/Pokemon/Transformer, they will accept my terms for a peace treaty and stop fighting for as long as it takes to get to the next impasse, at which point there will hopefully be a McDonald's.