Pee pee.

Today, Thing 1 decided to take a nap with her little sister, Thing 2. I liked this because as of about four weeks ago, #1 decided she had officially outgrown naps, leaving me to entertain a raucous four-year-old for seven hours straight, without the advantage of swats from a meter stick, slotted wooden spoon, or any of the other objects my mother or father would have chosen (love you guys!)

After story time, I excused myself to go "do big girl stuff" such as crush up a Xanax tab into my water and try to forget the previous four days of work. After a while, the peeps and whispers melt into silence and I figure I'm home free...

I'm one hundred pages into The Diving Bell and the Butterfly -enjoying the slow drain on my emotional taps as I follow the burden of Bauby- when I hear feet scampering across the bedroom floor. The girls are awake and #2 is naked, her wet diaper on the nightstand.

I take #2 to put on a dry diaper while #1 supervises the proceedings and also divulges to me that #2 peed twice. NO! Three times!

"She peed three times in her diaper?" I ask.

"No. Only once in her diaper."

I am just this side of fearful as I begin to dread the possible answers to my next logical question, but I inquire anyhow:

"OK. Where else did she pee then?"

"One time in the twashcan and another time on the fwoor next to the twashcan!" My, my, my what a kind informant.

The beauty of children at this tender age (let's face it: maybe the only one) is that they pretty much don't lie ever. It's like the honest truth just tumbles out of their mouth; a tight-rope walker falling to a swift, messy death. While I admire this fact, the adult in me is still thinking, Really? Why the hell would anyone ever pee into a trashcan? Sure, I peed in a dark parking lot once but I was a too-drunk adult and I really, really had to go but there was nowhere in sight, plus I was wearing a dress so at least I didn't have to mess with the trickery of pants. But I digress...but seriously, in what universe does it make sense to piss into a trash can? A two-year-old universe apparently. Furthermore, #2 is not fully potty-trained, which begs the question: why -in the name of all that is good and holy- can she not get her crap to land in the toilet (she prefers her pants on occasion- fun for me!) but she can make her urine trickle perfectly into a wicker garbage receptacle. WHY?

"But don't worry," #1 says. "I cleaned up the fwoor with mommy's shirt."

Well, kid. There's that.
Thanks.