The Toilet of Terror

I think my horoscope may have had a point yesterday when it said, "Today, you have bitten off more than you can chew."

From the moment that I picked up the girls from the sitter's I knew I was in for a night. It was constant screaming, bickering, and "Mom, she's looking at me!".

We got home and I proceeded to make dinner-- and attempt to settle arguments in the interim, feed the girls, and then get them ready for bed. In between the feeding and the bedtime, the bickering and screaming got so bad that I decided to sit them at the table and let them paint for awhile. This, unfortunately, did not go as smoothly as planned. For one thing, I'd forgotten that a two-year-old likes to taste-test every new substance put in front of them.

Once I'd finished eating my dinner (thankfully the quiet lasted that long), I went back to see what they were doing trying not to look at the paint on the tables, walls, and sent them straight to the bedroom so that I could get in there and take a baby wipe to their painted faces, hands, and hair. While they were walking down the hall, I hurried and picked up the paint, water dishes and brushes and moved the wet paintings to newspaper to dry.

It was about this time that I noticed that things had gotten unusually quiet. Quiet and toddlers is NOT a good thing when that quiet is not a direct response to something you've had control over. But my wait for answers was not long in coming as the tiny one showed up in front of me covered in toilet paper and water.

"What the hell?" I murmured, looking across the room at my husband who was lying on the couch, but he was oblivious to everything but the UCLA game.

Following the trail of water droplets down the hall and toward the short person's bedroom, I found my daughter standing just outside the bathroom instead, dripping wet with wads of wet toilet paper in her hands.

"What... is going on here?" I asked, putting a lid on my short-fused temper. I peered into the bathroom and groaned. "Were you playing in the toilet?!"

"Uh-huh. We were trying to fix it." The short person replied.

I can, unfortunately, tell that she has recently used it and forgotten or refused to flush it and I feel the roots of my hair stand on end. My face turns red and I wait for that feeling of my head lifting and spinning around a few times to take place. Once it does and I can once again breathe normally, I look at her.

"What... exactly... needed to be fixed?"

"Well..."

"You know you are not supposed to play in the toilet, right?"

"Well... She did it first, Mom."

I look at her, trying to assess whether she is pulling my leg and trying to get out of what she must have know was a world of trouble.

It was one of those parenting moments where you are sure that other people have been through this before and yet there are no crib notes on how to proceed. I stood there, looking at her, trying to figure out how to simultaneously get through her skull all the things that could happen because of toilet germs and keep the "I'm really mad" facade going. Sighing, I make a decision.

"Even if she started it, it does not mean that you need to jump ship too. YOU knew it was wrong and you still chose to do this, so what do you think your punishment should be? A time-out or spanking?" I've now gotten the really mad point across because she's crying now.

"I need a hug, Mom."

I hug her and tell her to sit down in the bathroom floor. "What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I don't want a spanking." She's crying.

Since I'm not all that mad anymore, just resigned, I start in. "You cannot play in the toilet. There are germs in there that will make you really sick. You will need to go to the Doctor and stay in the hospital. I love you and I don't want that to happen to you." I look at her and she's looking at me.

"Okay, Mom."

"So, I still need to know how we should proceed. What's a good punishment."

She's looking at me miserably and I'm thinking. Since I don't have the energy for a 10 minute scream fest when I put her in time-out, and I don't believe in spanking without at the very least a warning that the action taken is a spanking offense, I make a decision.

"You said that tiny person started this first and was involved, right?"

The short person nods.

"Okay. Sit there, I'll be right back." I go into the living room and retrieve the other culprit in this disaster and bring her back into the bathroom. Since tiny person hasn't heard the lecture, I give her a brief run-down. "There will be no more playing in the toilet. It will make you very sick if you do. The next time, you will both be spanked. THIS is a spanking offense and that will be your consequence."

Both girls are now looking at me with the "Wow, she really means business" expression and I nod to make sure they know I'm the mean mommy right now. "Your punishment for this time will be to clean up the floor."

I pull out two of the Lysol wipes and hand one to each girl and they set off cleaning the floor while I do the toilet. The short person is complaining that I'm doing her job and I reiterate that the toilet can make her sick and only Mommies and Daddies can clean them.

After about five minutes of cleaning, and they did a really good job of it too, my daughter says the funniest thing to me.

"This is SO MUCH FUN, Mom!"

I looked at her, somewhat disgruntled, and reply, "This is punishment... it's not supposed to be fun!"