Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Chocolate Pee

I raced halfway across the country on my personal airplane that I shared with 500 of my closest friends. Once on the ground, I hopped in a cab. And $75 later, viola! I was in the puppy pile that is my loving family.

Elijah took time away from to acknowledge my existence. He pointed out a pile of chocolate chip cookies sent by our friend Kitty on the counter. I asked how many he had eaten that day.

“I don’t like chocolate,” he said.

“What are you, a communist?”

Thankfully, Luca came running across the kitchen, shouting, “Cookie! Cookie! Cookie!”

I lifted up the man after my own heart and gave him a cookie. He greedily took a huge bite, smearing chocolate all over his face. My stomach turned a little and I set him back on the ground.

I announced to everyone that I needed to pee pee and I headed to our facilities. Luca was close on my heels.

I left the door open because it’s my rental house and I can do whatever I want. Luca entered, curious as ever to the process of non-diaper urination.

“Pee pee.”

“Yep, you got that right.”


“Two for two. That is, in fact, my penis.”

Then Luca reached out with his still cookie clad hand.

“No! No! No! No touching my pee!”

I tried to bat his hand away with my one free hand, but he was quick. Within seconds, his once delicious cookie was saturated.

At which point his 19 month old brain wondered, “Does a pee covered chocolate chip cookie taste good? Or bad?”

I used my free hand to knock the cookie from his hand. He was furious.

“You should be thanking me!”

We then spent the next dozen or so minutes vigorously washing our hands and looking on the bathroom floor for a wet cookie.

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