Poop Hiding

Yesterday, I got to celebrate my grandma’s life with a good chunk of the Hamann clan.  The event was purely Hamann.  Low key.  Filled with bone dry humor.  And everyone was there 15 minutes early.

While we were eating post funeral lunch at the Elks Club and I was wondering how I could navigate the politics of ordering a beer, I got the chance to chat with my uncle Dick.  After chastising me for not being man enough to live in Denver, he mentioned that he’s a regular blog reader. 

He said he loved my poopy kids and their poop stories.

I realized, more than a little disappointed, that the poop content of the blog has really fallen off since 50% of the main characters are now potty trained.  And with Luca rounding the corner to no diapers, I fear the poop story may become a thing of the past. 

So it is with a heavy heart I present the following:

Luca’s pees are for public consumption.  When he pees on the potty, he announces it with gusto and holds his little pee bucket in the air and we shout and scream and give him stickers.  It’s a big deal, meant to encourage more peeing on the potty and eventually spending less than a million dollars on diapers every month.

But Luca’s poops?  Those are private matters.  Best done in hiding.  Luca prefers to fill his diapers with #2 in closets and under tables and in TV cabinets.

I’ll be minding my own business, watching “Fireman Sam” or talking about “Fireman Sam” or pretending to be “Fireman Sam” when I’ll notice, hey, Luca’s missing.  After a quick scan of the surrounding area, I’ll call out, “Luca?  Luca!  Where aarrree you?”

Then from somewhere off stage, I’ll hear a tiny little voice say, “I’m pooping.”

A few minutes later, he’ll come strolling back with an awful, awful diaper and he’ll ask to be changed.

Neither Diana nor I make a big deal out of this because it’s not like he’s wiping it on the walls like a certain big brother of his used to.  And because if we make a big deal out of it we think he’ll get weird.

And there is something so adorable about hearing a tiny little “I’m pooping” from under Diana’s office desk.

I hope you enjoyed that, Uncle Dick. 

p.s.  My Dad would like to clarify something from my last post. It is Grandma Connie, and not he, who spoils my children with jelly beans.  That's true.  But I was taking a little poetic license in that last post.