Tuesday, June 1, 2010
In the last few months, I’ve been working a lot with Bob to recognize when I am on the phone and during that time to not interrupt me or make loud noises or follow me around playing a harmonica or activate the toy garbage truck that repeatedly yells, “Ew! What smells?” So far, it’s going okay about 30% of the time.
I was on the phone on Thursday afternoon. A friend was relaying some serious information and I was concentrating on the conversation. I was proud that Bob was playing quietly in his room and this time had not translated the ringing of the phone as an invitation to lay down a drum solo.
A few minutes into my call, Bob appeared at my side and whispered, “Pardon me, Mama.” He then picked up my hand and set something lightly inside my palm. I excused myself from my call and looked into my hand. I was holding what appeared to be one sugar cube sized turd.
“Bob? What is this?”
“Why do I have it now?”
“I didn’t have time to make it to the potty and I didn’t want to poop in my pants so I pooped into my hand. Now you have it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you off the phone now?”
“Yes, I am."
"Now can we play with the Star Wars Lego guys?"
"Well played, Bob Rosenberg. Well played.”
Labels: number two