The joys of parenting ... Colin (A pretty poopy tale)

Have I mentioned I want to write a book? I intend to title it "Vodka, Valium and Parenting with Duct Tape: My Stories from the Front..." The only thing that really qualifies me to write such a book is that I'm the mother of, well, as MY mother put it, two children I deserve.

I've heard God doesn't give you more than you can handle. It seems He has an immense amount of faith in my patience, then. At least when He gave me these children, He also bestowed upon me the wickedly morbid sense of humor necessary to go with them.

Last night, I walked into my house after work, looked around and was amazed at the amount of destruction one 14 year old boy can wreak in one normal day. A little frustrated and a little resigned, I decided it was time to clean. Not straighten, but clean. That kind of cleaning usually reserved for Saturdays - just prior to a visit from your in-laws.

I am in my boys' bathroom, scrubbing it from top to bottom. I have the music on, the fan going and the door shut. I'm on my hands and knees, taking a Magic Eraser to the floor, when Colin knocks. As not to get whacked in the booty with the door, I shout "Do NOT come in!" and he doesn't say a word.

I finish the floor, wash my hands and walk out to find my 9 year old on the couch, talking on the phone. He says "Mom - it's for you ... I think it's your work or something." I automatically look at the caller ID and see two things that cause my heart to sink a little. The first is that Colin has been on the phone for 5 minutes and 18 seconds. The second is the number is listed as the Little Rock Air Force Base Command Post.

A little Air Force 101 -- the command post provides command, control, communications and information support to a wing or base. They're our eyes and ears in a way. So when there is information to pass on, they're the ones who pass it. As I am the "on call PA" this week, they were passing said information to me.

A typical conversation with a command post controller lasts no more than two minutes. That two minutes is generous and accounts for such situations as: one party on the line has a poor grasp of the English language, there is a bad connection or there is just an inordinate amount of information to pass. To see that Colin had held them on the line for more than five minutes gave me palpitations.

I took the phone and heard what I thought was an emotional controller pass me information I barely understood. I feared the poor guy was crying (and it's possible he was) and we were off the line in less than 30 seconds. I wasn't even entirely sure what he was trying to articulate.

So I turned to Colin and said "Hmmmm ... what did you say on the phone?"

His answer may very well be the reason the controller was in tears. His earnest little face looked up at me and out of his mouth came:

"Well, I knocked and you said don't come in. I thought maybe it was a sales guy but then he said it was about work. I told him you were in the bathroom and I didn't know how long you'd be. I said I thought maybe you were pooping, because you didn't let me come in and you were in there a long time..."

Followed by:

"So I told him, sometimes it takes a long time to poop. Like when I have to go - and I let him know I sometimes call it 'dropping bombs' - sometimes it's fast and you're out like that, and sometimes you have to stay in there and really think about it. So I told him maybe you were thinking about it."

And:

"But I told him I heard you washing your hands - which is a good mom - and that I thought you were done but I didn't hear you flush. He was laughing a lot at me mom. I think he thought it was funny that maybe you didn't flush...."

I can't promise many things in life, but I can guarantee you two things at this very instant. One - all command post conversations are recorded. Therefore, the controller and Colin were not the only two people to have heard it. I am fairly certain it has been replayed many, many times since it occurred. And my other guarantee? From now on, any time someone doesn't answer a command post call on the first two rings, it will just be assumed that they, too, are pooping.

Does anyone want to start the wager on just how long it might be before I have a new nickname around my wing? I think the safe money is that my name has actually now become a euphemism for a bodily function.

Ahhhhh.... 58 days until I can legally change my name!

Mom - what did I ever do to deserve THIS?