The New Deal

Mr. Handsome and I like to make deals and to place bets with each other. Once, when I was feeling unloved and uncared for by Mr. Handsome (yes, yes, our marriage is not without issues), I forced him to make a deal with me: Each person would try their best to meet the other person’s needs for a whole week—only think of the other person and not of themselves. It was actually a pretty fun deal.

Another time, we made a bet to see who could go the longest without spending money (outside of the basic, pre-determined expenditures). I won.

Yesterday morning, after a rough night with The Baby Nickel, I made a deal with Mr. Handsome. He gets The Baby Nickel out of our bed and I’ll get him potty-trained (something that’s been bugging Mr. Handsome). Right at this exact minute, 5:15 am, The Baby Nickel is upstairs crying and Mr. Handsome is doing his best to get him back to sleep. I’m ignoring them both.

Potty training isn’t going so smoothly.

Here he is, first thing in the morning, so he’s still in his diaper. He hides when he has to poop. If he knows he has to poop, why can’t I get him to just go do it on the potty? Why the aversion? Maybe if I offer to drape him with a blanket…

The guilty culprit emerges…

Last evening, unbeknownst to me, he pooped in his undies, pulled them down to his ankles, and then duck-walked from the driveway up onto the porch and into the house where I finally realized what was happening and snatched him up and plopped him in the tub. Mr. Handsome had to help clean up that one.

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