Friday Night Lights - Saint Cloud Style * October 11, 2007

Salutations and Greetings,

    “Hey everybody, come quick.  A giant tree frog just shot frog urine on Poppie (i.e. Grandpa Sherwood).”

    “Was he holding the frog?”  I asked, preparing to give my pre-prepared speech, What do you expect when you pick up a tree frog?  I keep the frog speech in my mental file right next to the speech entitled, What do you expect when you stand in a fire ant hill?
   
    “No!  It shot pee through the porch screen at Sherwood.”  Phillip held Zoe up to get a better view, while our new granddaughter, Emma, begged to be held up to see the frog pee. 

    Someone quipped, “It’s a sniper frog.”  
   
    “That is impressive.”  Sherwood held our grandson, Conner, closer to the back porch screen and pointed.  The entire family gathered in a clump to see the impressive quantity of frog urine as it dripped down the screen.  Sherwood proudly pointed to the urine stain on his shirt.  We all stared—impressed.

    I dragged my eyes away from the sight and stared, instead, at my entire family staring at the wet screen.  “You know what we’re having here?”  They continued to stare.  “We’re having a Saint Cloud moment.  That’s what we’re having here.”  No one looked at me, but they all nodded.  “It’s a Friday night in Saint Cloud, and we are all standing around staring at frog pee.”  They continued to nod.  Conner started to point excitedly when he caught a glimpse of the massive sniper tree frog jammed under the downspout.  It was as long as a grown man’s hand and as broad as a soup bowl.

    “That is one impressive frog,” someone said.  We all nodded.

    Finally, we went back to our seats on the back porch while Sarah, our new daughter-in-law, duct tapped Emma’s diaper on.

    When we’re all together, since the happy wedding day of Sarah Johnston to our son, Adam C. Zern, we have the cousins (Zoe the three-year old, Emma the two-year old, and Conner the eighteen-month old), and it’s become a giant potty party.  Frog urine is the least of our worries. 

    Zoe is finally potty trained and will yell at random moments, “I have to go potty,” where upon she will grab herself with one hand, and with the other hand start to rip various pieces of clothing from her body, while demanding, “Ya-Ya come sit with me.”  And off we go. 

    Conner can’t go “dumpasouris” (that’s Zern for poop) with any regularity—so we’re always on Conner poop watch. 

    And now Emma has taken to stripping off her diaper and peeing on the floor—hence the need to duct tape her diaper on.  I told my new daughter-in-law, “You might want to keep that duct tape handy for when she’s sixteen. You never know when you’re going to want to have the option of duct taping her into her bathing suit.”

    And just for fun, one week after I escorted my last child out of the door, I brought home a five-week old puppy (Lab and Australian Shepherd mix) which means that seventy times a day I am either taking the new puppy outside to go potty or wiping up a potty “accident.”  Or as Zoe tells me when the dog takes an un-authorized potty break, “It’s all right, Ya-Ya.  She’s just a baby.”

    I figure by the time the dog is house broken and all the grandchildren are out of diapers Sherwood and I will be in diapers—and that, my friends, is the “real” circle of life—so why fight it? 

    Here’s hoping that all your potty breaks are on schedule and that all your public bathrooms smell like roses.  Have a lovely week.

    Linda (House Broken at Last) Zern

   

   

       

   

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