Kevin is home from college for the weekend, all happy and glowy. He gets to see his girlfriend (still in high school), sleep late, bask in our parental pride of having our first child in college. Hmmmm. I’m lying on that last one. We’ve sort of been ignoring him. We had a bunch of plans, and so did Kevin, so yesterday I saw him for the first time at 2:00 am. He had a friend over, who wanted to talk to Adam, so Kevin trailed after me as I took off my high heels and headed for the bathroom.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” said Kev. “Did you have a nice time in Philly?”
“I’m going to poop, Kev. You might want to head for the hills,” I told him.
“I’m fine with it if you are,” he said, and parked himself on his his butt on the floor outside the bathroom door. (We have one of those bathrooms where the toilet is cordoned off in its own little room-within-the-room.)
“If I turn on the light, the fan goes on and it’ll be tough to hear you,” I warned.
“I’ll talk loud,” Kevin assured me. “It’s a good opportunity to talk.”
“Are you sure about this? It’s kind of gross,” I said.
“No it’s not,” said Kevin. “College kids talk while they poop all the time. What’s the big deal?”
So I heard all about Kevin’s classes and relationship with his girlfriend while pooping. I heard about chemistry as I washed my hands, and how his new laptop was working while I brushed my teeth. I have an electric toothbrush. Kevin has mastered the art of voice loudness manipulation so that he can make himself heard over bodily functions or electronic devices. It’s impressive.
It made me think back to the times when Kevin and Alex were toddlers, and would follow me everywhere – even into the bathroom. The “free standing toilet” bathroom. And I would think to myself, “Can’t I even have privacy while I poop?”
Guess not.
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That’s weird- but wonderful. When my little brother was about nine and obsessed with magic tricks, he’d follow me into the bathroom. “Pick a card!” i was sort of a captive audience.
That’s hilarious. I hope you told that story at his wedding.
Heartwarming.
Ruby likes to hold my hand while I poop.
Ah, the kids and their poopculture
Hahaha!
(I hope my story didn’t make you cry. It was very touching, I know.)
when my spawn were in gradeschool, there was no such thing as privacy in our household. despite the 2,800 square feet in my home (and three bathrooms, mind you), both children, both dogs and my husband would have something important to say or do in the 12 square feet of my bathroom the moment i went to take a dump.
i considered charging admission…
You should have! You could have made a fortune. Shoulda woulda coulda…
Yes, it is amazing how life comes full circle.
After living with the male species for the past 20+ years of your life, have you not learned one thing- the male species does not give a “poop” about poop. It just doesn’t seem to bother them. Unless they have to clean it up.
It’s so true! Except for Writerdood (see below). There are always exceptions to the rule, I suppose.
Odoriferous emanations. You can count me out. Someone notifies me of their intent to drop a log and you won’t find me in the area. That’s the last thing I need to smell. It’s bad enough breathing air biscuits in the living room. And talking on the throne? Come on! I do the cooking around here. I know what you’ve been eating. If you have something that important to say, then send me a text while you’re filling the bowl. And I don’t need a picture. Who wants that on screen? If you need to fire a torpedo and unpack some fudge, it should be a private matter. Does anyone really want a description of the stuff you didn’t digest or how you managed to build up enough pressure to launch with monumental backsplash? No. We don’t have a bidet. And that plunger is there for a reason. Don’t make me call you back in there.
*chortle*
You could write a book, “A Thousand Words for Poop”. That was pretty impressive, Sir.
I recommend the separate toilet room set up. You turn on the fan, close the door, and never have to even remember you’ve pooped in the past. I’ve blocked it out already. But then I reread this damn blog! Drat!
http://writerdood.wordpress.com/2011/03/31/odoriferous-emanations-of-unknown-origin/
You remember this one.
Yes, I do, Hamburger Man.
Did I raise my sons right? They disappear from the vicinity if I head towards the toilet. Or is that saying more about my odoriferous emanations than I realise?
Add more roughage to your diet. I like to top off a meal by munching on rose petals and potpourri, myself.
Nursie, I think your boys are the normal ones.
No one who’s met them has ever said that to me before
So you’re saying I will never ever get to poop alone? If there’s no hope by college, I might as well take the doors off the hinges and sell them for scrap lumber. Okay, I don’t think the doors are made from actual lumber, but I’m pretty sure they would float in the case of emergency flooding.
Wow, college! How exciting. I’m sure he had a lot to share if he was willing to do it through a door and a cloud of poop stink.
I hate to break it to you, but – you’re doomed. It’s sad, but true, and better you should come to the realization now so you have time to plan. Giant locks on every door, especially the bathroom, but the bedroom would be good, too.
LOL. Wow, what a poop-felt story.
Yes, it was very poop-felt. I feel it still.
I live alone and poop in the privacy of my bathroom with a cat on my lap and another watching from the sink, as God intended.
Do you at least blindfold them?
That’s funny. My kids always yell to me through the bathroom door and it drives me crazy, because I really can’t hear what they’re saying enough to understand them. It just ends up in a yelling match and nobody understands a word. Lately as I’ve headed for the bathroom, I say, “Don’t try and talk to me unless one of you are dying – like really dying.” Yes, I have to clarify dying in my house. Apparently my kids havea different definition of an emergency than I do. You’ve taken away all hope that I’ll ever have bathroom peace.
Sorry FringeGirl. It’s best to be prepared, though. Bathroom peace is a myth.