… If she’s already started teaching her 22 month old brother how to do it.

I was making dinner.  Tuna noodle casserole.  From scratch.  It is a time-sensitive recipe with much stirring or else there will be much scalding.

I heard Olivia taking on a rather maternal tone with her litle brother in the living room.  It moves a bit further away and I can no longer hear the conversation.  It’s really nothing out of the ordinary.  She is my Little Mommy, after all.

And then she comes running into the kitchen, excitement gleaming from her eyes.

“Mommy, Benjamin’s going potty!”

“Oh, that’s nice, honey.”  (They do love to pretend.  But I better make sure…)  “He’s still wearing his pants, right?”

“No.”

“But he’s still got a diaper on, right?”

“No.  I took them off so he could go potty.”

I think maybe I should risk some scalding milk here, just to make sure everything’s on the up-and-up.  A brisk walk to the bathroom confirms her story.  Benjamin is, indeed, pants-and-diaper-less and sitting on his little potty.

Now, you may be thinking that I’ve actually iniated some kind of actual potty-training with this boy, but I would like to clear that up right now:  I have not. About twice a week, he declares he has to go potty.  So we sit him down.  He lasts about 10 seconds before gleefully jumping up and streaking through the house.  Which, 60% of the time, ends in a pee puddle somewhere to be discoveredd later.

And I don’t intend to start the potty-training anytime soon, either.  My honest reaction when he first expressed interest went something like this:  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I mean, I had just finished with Olivia, and she still has some pretty regular accidents!  (She’s getting much better, though, as long as we stay in our routine.)

So, back to the story, having a naked little non-potty-trained boy loose in the house while I’m making a time-sensitive dinner is not the most relaxing thought.  But he was sitting on the potty very nicely, and I had to get back to stir the roux.  So I did the logical thing and left the 3 year old with these instructions: “Just don’t let him pee on the floor.”

*Smiles*

Back in the kitchen, I listened more intently and heard Olivia instructing Benjamin in the ways of “pushing out the pee-pee.”  But he wasn’t ready for the schooling, apparently, because the next thing I hear is pitter-patter, pitter-patter, “Hey, you, come back here!” giggle giggle pitter-patter.

*Sighs*

I let them run as I cube the cheese, and pretty soon, Olivia’s giggles turn to frustrated yells as she continues to try to get Benjamin’s diaper back on him.  With this maternal streak she’s immersed herself in, I wouldn’t be surprised if she took to spanking, so I gave in, stirred the roux one last time (and turned the heat down a smidge, just in case), and took action.

Surprisingly, I was able to capture and diaper the unruly nude all before any thickening or bubbling or scalding or burning occurred.

So, although I know this story would be more interesting if I burned dinner and had little puddles of pee all over my house, the story ended exceptionally well.

Anyone else have some funny dinner-prep-with-toddlers stories?  Humor me.