I was watching one of the boys wiggle and squirm while standing at the fridge. Clearly he was hoping its contents had magically changed in the last five minutes to cake and ice cream, but that’s another story. He had just gotten up and I hadn’t heard him take the annual trip to the potty so, I figured I’d remind him before there was a puddle on my floor.
“Hey, Rainy! I think you need to go to the bathroom,” I called across the kitchen.
“NO I DON’T,” he hollered back.
“You sure? You’re doing the potty dance.”
“Moooom, I am NOT. I am just marching!”
Apparently I am going to have to break out my marching fundamentals handbook and have a little review with that boy because he’d be kicked off the field in minutes for technique like that. And if not for technique, he’d be kicked off for piddling on the floor.