In our downstairs bathroom after Thanksgiving was just awful. Awful, I tell you. Had no idea what was causing it, but it progressively got worse each day. Until the 3rd day of December, I just couldn't stand it anymore. I was down on my hands and knees, looking in the cabinets under the sink and it smelled even worse. But I didn't see ANYTHING. So I wondered if a small animal had crawled into our walls or under the cabinet and died. It was so heinous. But I had a conference call starting in a few minutes, so the search needed to end for the time, but not before I emptied the trash can.
The trash can is about a foot and a half tall and ten inches wide at the top. Ceramic. Kinda heavy duty. Lined with a trash bag, which appeared to be empty other than a coke can (which I knew was empty, because I drank it all before dropping it in there), an empty roll of toilet paper and a coupla tissues. But the bag felt heavy as I lifted it up out of the trash can. And then I see brownish/yellowish liquid pouring out the bottom of the bag into the trash can. The trash can was filled up HALF WAY with urine.
Oh. My. Gosh.
That's not a little experiment. That's a friggin project for a child's bladder. I'm sure it was around a GALLON of liquid. ewwwwwwww
So all day, Todd and I are debating which child was the contributer. Todd thought definitely Owen because that is a boy thing to do. And I felt certain it was Chloe because she's our little sneaky sneak who will head upstairs to cut herself a mullet unbeknownst to the parental units or sneak downstairs while the house is still sleeping so she can eat food under a table or behind curtains that she KNOWS she's not allowed to eat for breakfast, lunch or dinner, or even a snack unless she's been super good.
And we debate the punishment. Do we deliver red bottoms or draw a picture of a big X over a trashcan or a smiley face with an arrow pointing at the trashcan. We waffle.
Fast forward to the evening. I'm making dinner. Kids are in the midst of art projects at the kitchen table with my Mom. I bring the offensive trash can over to the table (which after multiple all-day soaks & scrubs has finally lost its odor) and ask "Kids. What's this?" And they both answer that it's a trash can in the "Duh" tone of voice.
"Kids. What do we put in trash cans?"
Chloe answers tissue paper. And Owen says trash.
"That's right! Kids. What do we NOT put in trash cans?"
And Chloe says "Stickers!" God love my bizarre little daughter, as stickers are far too valuable to trash. At this point, Owen is looking down in his lap. I ask him directly, "Owen? What do we not put in trash cans?"
He slowly looks up at me and then very quickly looks back in his lap for the answer. Very. Quietly. Owen says "pee pee."
"That's right. Owen, where do we put pee pee?"
"In the toilet," says my very embarrassed & busted six year old, still in a whisper. But I'm impressed by his honesty.
I left it at that.
