a Picture Perfect Potty Tale

This is probably way more about Jones Pressley than you ever want to know.

BUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT ...

Last Thursday, he had some tummy troubles. These prompted our first-ever (in almost four years of parenthood!) "sick visit" to the doctor's office. Can you even believe that?

Sure, there have been panicked calls to the nurse-on-call when I assumed my fevered sons were sick enough to be taken straight to the ICU. I've used MyIdealDoc a handful of times, too, and let us NEVER underestimate the input of Dr. Dahdah or Seasea, who, with her four children, has seen it all.

Between all of that advice - and, more importantly, the healing hand of God Himself - the boys have never needed to be seen except for regular check-ups. There is no end to the amount of gratitude I feel for the health of my boys. It goes without saying that I do NOT take this for granted.

I won't go into the details of what happened last Thursday to shake our little boat; I will, however, note that it scared me more than just about anything else has ... EVER.

God was good, though - as He always is. Not only was OUR doctor the one on call for afternoon sick visits, but he just so happened to have a 4:15 appointment available. Everything was totally fine, but Jones did require the kind of treatment that involves - to put it delicately - loosening up parts of his biology that are, on their own, rather tight.

Okay, People. It's Miralax. He's on Miralax ... or BACK on Miralax, I should say.

Anyway.

The magic powder was doing its thing this afternoon. Understandably, Jones generally prefers to be left alone for this sort of thing, so I told him to call me when he was done. He didn't call for several minutes, and I went back to check on him. I walked in and saw him, sitting on the commode, deeply engrossed in his grandmother's copy of Mount Vernon Love Story (by Mary Higgins Clark).

"I reading this book," he announced when he saw me. "It's about Jesus."

I didn't correct, just sat down and started talking. That's when he showed me a picture of ... Martha Washington, I presume? ... and said, "I see Sissy!"

When his business was done, he took the book into the playroom and showed it to Freddie.

"This is Sissy," he said.
"That's not Sissy," Freddie corrected.
"Yes, it is. Sometimes, Sissy scares you, but it's just pretend."

Immediately, I flashed back to when Mom and Daddy'd let her babysit.

"Sometimes, Sissy scares you."

I knew JUST what he meant.

showing Sissy her picture