I peed on my son today.
More on that later (I sense some of you are scrolling down already...). First up I need to announce that my daughter is today's winner of (drum roll...) The Golden Sausage. I imagine we will be making paintings, t-shirts and pinata's throughout the week based around The Golden Sausage. But for now I'm nicking this -:
It's not dodgy at all. Promise. My daughter succeeded in getting to Sausage Street before my son, that's all. Now hear me out. Every day when I pick her up from school we come out of her classroom - stop for a second to look in the display cabinet at whatever the kids have made (this fortnight it's clay-baked food) - say hello to some of the women who think my son is cute (I pretend they mean me) - and then make an exaggerated effort to open the main doors. During which time my daughter had started challenging my son and I to a race to get to our car first. Usually with a comment like, "last one to the car is a silly sausage/rotten egg/squishy banana!" The parents huddled in the hallway have heard this so often lately that they actually seem to be stepping aside to allow us to go through the motions. More and more recently she's focused that taunt to sausages - because she is well aware that I believe sausage to be manna from heaven. So oddly it's a way for her to rub our noses in it when she wins the race, and to be nice to me about sausagery. That's the professional term for th act of sausage fiddling/fancying. Like falconry.
Anyhoo - when you go out the doors you can either go right or left along a sidewalk. The right side I never get to park on. I've dubbed that Banana Boulevard. The other way - the one we always go - is Sausage Street. Once my daughter gets the all clear to which way to start going she will stress that we are all in a race to the car, and that the winner gets The Golden Sausage. Oh - and that she is to win. I then scoop up my son (usually as their is gravel and he hates falling on that) and do that fake slow-running thing behind my daughetr with loud dramatic footsteps. Then we get to the car, I strap my son in, come around to her side where she declares that she is the winner - again - of The Golden Sausage. She even does a, "Dah Duh Daaaaah!1" noise after saying The Golden Sausage in a cheesy John O'Hurley voice. Needless to say she does want to come up with paraphernalia for that. I'm all for it personally.
But here's why you are actually here. I peed on my son earlier. Not on purpose. This isn't Fear Factor. Although sometimes I do hear Joe Rogan commentating on my kids and my living room carpet fights. But no - it was a mistake. And no - I don't think it will be all that long before Google traffic starts rocketing it's filthy golden stream towards me. Basically I rushed into the bathroom before going to get my daughter from school. My son - as is his want - came running in to smile at the oddness of someone stood up peeing. I'm quite used to the audience now. I'm even at the stage where I don't really feel uncomfortable that the kids come in - watch me pee - and then celebrate by jumping and hooting when I'm done. Actually my wife tells me that when she poos at work that nobody cheers. Which is sort of sad. I'm actually thinking that when I do stop being a stay-at-home-Dad that the withdrawal may be so stark that I may need to hire Peter Dinklage to follow me into the bathroom so that I don't feel all weird.
Anyway - my son was in there as he always is and I mostly ignored him. And then the silly bugger stuck his hand out as quick as a gecko's tongue toward a mosquito - right into the line of fire. There was plenty of, "No. Absolutely not. No no no no no no you will not be one of those people." from me. He got a teeny bit upset by how abrupt I was about it but seriously - you don't grab another man's urine. Thankfully I am an adult man who has had years of training to stop/start urination over the years (yes - I've played "can you hit that woodlouse up there?" in a pub urinal) so I quickly ceased delivery. After I was sure he was not going to do it again I finished up and then washed his hand with about three different soaps and a hand sanitizer. How can my son be petrified of any kind of dirt being on his skin, but want to grab urine? It makes no sense. Anyway - I repeated the central point that you don't thrust your body - or anything for that matter - in front of a peeing human (I'll allow dogs and bears - I'm not a killjoy) and he nodded in agreement.
Of course when his sister got home and went to bathroom he stood in the doorway and yelled something in French at her and over-enunciated the words, "pee pee" (which I don't say). Then he whispered something sinister at the end whilst pointing at the ceiling. I now have a fear that they are going to both try peeing at the ceiling somehow.Which is ludicrous.
They'll never beat me at that.