In keeping with the breezy, content-lite nature of this week’s late summer fare, I offer a handful of beach pics and the reminder that poo still dominates the imagination of the eldest child.
The beloved took the picture above, studiously not looking through the camera viewfinder. I had to stay back and work that day, and begged for photographic documentation of their time at the beach. She brought back dozens of pictures and the lil’ monkey brought me a shell, which almost took the sting off my not being able to be there.
I did, however, receive a text message from the beach during the day, which went something like, “[name of girl child] wants to tell you about her poo when we get back.” Seems there was a mix-up. She didn’t have the opportunity to flush it down, as she fully intended to, before the beloved’s friend — who had changed her diaper — sent it (the poo, of course; not the diaper) on its speedy way into the greater Carmel metropolitan sewage system.
Not like you needed to know this. But these are the issues of the day weighing upon the shoulders of an almost-three-year-old. She saw hermit crabs, ran a country mile with her two chums along the ocean, made sand castles and splashed in the water. And this is what she wants to tell me about immediately upon coming home.
Stay tuned for a sampling of her humor. Which, not suprisingly, features poo.
Lesbian Dad is written by a parent who answers to the name "Baba" and works toward a world in which amor does indeed vincit omnia. 
Yesterday morning, my daughter pooped on the potty and then just wanted to hang out on the potty. Her older brother came into the bathroom and wanted to use the potty. He asked her to get off so that he could go and she refused. He then committed the ultimate offense – he flushed her poop, sending her into complete hysteria. You can probably imagine how the rest of the morning went.
Julia has solved that little problem by flushing the toilet herself, many many times, while she’s still sitting on the toilet going. By golly! She’s not going to let someone else steal her thunder!
Poop’s the first thing I tell my wife about when she comes home, too. Whoo, yeah.
Who knew, about the flushing?! Though it does confirm my suspicion that we are wise to treat toddlers as if the are afflicted with Howaed Hughesian Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. When in doubt. And we should pretty much remain in doubt for years.
Whoo, yeah and by golly!