The Tale of a Lolly in a Potty

To quickly move beyond the self-indulgent display of sentimentality in my previous post, let me tell you a story.

In our house, we have a 3.5-year-old girl named Smartypants who, on most occasions, succeeds in reaching the toilet before she springs a leak. We are thankful for that.

Also in our house we have a 17-month old adventurer named Smiley who spelunks behind couches and delves into danger. She is the one to be wary of. She still uses a pacifier when she finds one, or she carries it around in a dirty hand. We call the pacifier a Lolly, a term passed down from my wife's family (I know nothing of the name's origin).

As I discovered today, these two little people have quite the routine. It would seem Smartypants, while remembering to flush the toilet and put the lid down and wash her hands, can't remember to close the bathroom door. And so as she leaves, our little Smiley rascal meanders to the toilet with that sweet, devilish grin playing on her face, lifts the lid, and...

You might not want to read this if you're easily disgusted. Fair warning.

She sticks the Lolly in the Potty, rinsing it clean in a bowl of toilet water. Then she leaves as though nothing significant has occurred.

Now, once I saw this happen, I snatched the Lolly from her foul hand and cleaned off both the hand and the lolly.

But the scene begs a simple question: How many times has this happened before? How many times have I arrived only AFTER Smiley reinserted the Lolly into her mouth. I hope not many.