Dad's Potty Training

My children’s bladders are magnetically triggered by the Subaru. It’s either a magnetic trigger or it’s just regular voodoo.

When we leave the house, one or both of them have to use the bathroom before the car makes it a mile. I’ve tried hugging them really hard before we leave to see if I can get them to go, but that rarely works and I’m not sure if it’s legal. I’ve considered putting one of those little port-a-potties in the hatchback, but I don’t much like the smell of that blue stuff, and it might slosh out on the sharp turns. Litter boxes are an obvious solution. They could just sit on them in the back seat. People looking in the window might not immediately see the wisdom in sitting on a litter box… now that I think about it, forget the litter box. They would just kick the litter out on the floor like cats do.

Both kids drink very little on the whole, so I don’t really know where it’s coming from. I have wondered if their esophagi have overflow valves that connect directly to their bladders, but I’m 82% sure that is physically impossible. I’ve also wondered if they absorb water through their pores… like reverse sweating.

Whatever the cause, I’ve learned to deal with it. I had to teach them both how to pee outdoors pretty early on. The day after the first outdoor-potty-training session, while we were letting them play on the school playground, my wife screamed. I looked up to see my son and daughter peeing right there in the schoolyard. My wife wanted to sell the house and move, but I convinced her that the majority of people who saw them probably thought they were just getting bark chips out of their pants.

My daughter now apparently belongs to an exclusive club that allows her to use anyone’s restroom at any time. When I was getting my hair cut, she walked right around the counter and into the back room. None of the employees even blinked. Since I was the only one who seemed distressed by it, I let it go.

My son is an expert at using the restroom in strange places (it’s like a hobby), which gives me a sense of solace if not a bit of pride. I’ve seen him spot toilets or port-a-potties from a half mile away.

I need to call Steven Hawking and NASA to check out the Port-A-Potty at the park next to the school. I’m convinced it somehow disrupts the time space continuum. My son has spent hours in there with no explanation. I’ve gone in there myself to see if there’s a hidden passage to a pizza place or a maybe a video game screwed into the wall, but it’s just a giant plastic box with toilet paper, a tank of excrement, and D-Dog’s name scratched into the door along with a misspelled message proclaiming him to be a cool guy.

I’ve noticed that while I grow gray hairs waiting for him to come out, he appears to have grown a bit younger and possibly a bit happier when he steps out. I’m beginning to think the Fountain of Youth might be a semi-nasty plastic box that smells like Scope poured over a dirty diaper. And I’m wondering if Mr. D-Dog really is cool, after all.