I didn't think I'd find myself circling back around to the subject of potty training so soon, but the next story happened and it demanded to be told.
I'm laying there Saturday watching Green Bay whoop up on Seattle in 3 feet of snow (the messier the field the better the game as far as I'm concerned) when I suddenly do what most men do when it's just them and their loved ones alone at home. I farted. Not some Silent-But-Violent-Where-Did-That-Come-From fart. I shot a pocket of gas out the back of my pants so enormous, Brett Farve lost hold of the ball while trying to cover his nose. It was like a sonic boom going across the room and shaking the foundation of the house seconds later.
Fred is a couple feet away and can't help but look up in the direction the blast came from. Realizing what has just taken place, he puts a plan into action beginning with grabbing me by the hand and saying "Shoo Shoo. Shoo Shoo" "SHOO SHOO SHOO SHOO!!"
He's about to jerk my finger out of socket so I stand up still watching the game while trying to humor him. That's not good enough though. He spins around me with the speed that only a 2-year-old can possess and starts shoving me out of the room. "SHOO SHOO SHOO SHOO!!!"
"Hey!! The game.I didn't.it was." but then I quit fighting it, not to continue humoring him but mainly because all his shouting made me begin to wonder if maybe I had accidentally ejected a crew member. Sure I suppose deep down inside I knew that wasn't the case, but the kid is a 4 foot Sam Waterston. He may as well have been screaming "Guilty Guilty Guilty"
He shoves me all the way to the bathroom and sits down on his potty. I'm thinking "This is cool. Maybe he has to go and it's all a coincidence." That's when he reached over, started banging on the toilet, and explained "Shoo Shoo Daddy" smack the toilet "Shoo Shoo Daddy" smack the toilet. Apparently the student had become the teacher.