S was my only partner-in-crime at the time. We buckled Bonesy
into the passenger seat of my van. (Even that made me chuckle.) Before too long
a plot hatched in my juvenile brain. Bonesy was going to surprise somebody:
IMO, my 9-year-old son. I set him free from the confines of his box so he
could stretch his aching bones. We then ascended to the second floor where I positioned
him on the toilet in the kids’ bathroom. I was snickering the entire time. The
pièce de résistance was the toilet paper gripped in his bony fingers. I could hardly contain
my giggles. (I know: What is wrong
with me?)
We picked IMO up after school. I channeled
my inner actress and told him how disappointed I was that he forgot to flush the
toilet this morning, again. He dutifully trudged up the stairs – me in hot pursuit.
He yelped and I got to see his awesome, startled, backwards jump and then he hugged
me hard. I was cackling at this point. S and E came upstairs to see what the commotion
was about. I was so busy hugging and reassuring IMO that I did not catch S in
time. He buzzed past my legs -- straight into the bathroom.
Let me say now that it was NEVER my intention to let S or E
see Bonesy on the potty like that. It was for IMO’s eyes only. But I blew it and
poor S came flying out of that bathroom like a bat out of hell. He ran past me
and down the stairs. His distress triggered E’s empathy and she began yelling
and crying, too, pleading, “Get it out! Get it out!”
I felt like the worst parent EVER. It took 15 minutes
to get everyone calmed down. Way to go, Mom. Traumatize your 3-year-old with a
skeleton on the toilet that he just
began using a month ago! Brilliant.
That 12-year-old boy inside of me is in big trouble.
*Bonesy is now sentenced
to solitary confinement in an undisclosed location until a date closer to Halloween
when he will be slowly, safely reintroduced to the family.
*No child in this story has displayed damage from this episode (so far).
*No child in this story has displayed damage from this episode (so far).