If you’re from Dayton, you might know that every two years there is a wonderful event here called the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. If you don’t know who Erma was, then I’m sorry for you. She was the original “funny mom” – helping mothers of her generation and beyond cope with motherhood’s challenges through humor. She is a local legend, but was also quite famous nationally as an author and humorist. The workshop inspires writers to continue Erma’s wonderful craft. I’d love to attend, but I am ashamed to say I didn’t even know about it until a few years ago. This year, it sold out in just 12 hours, and I didn’t snag a ticket because I hadn’t planned very well and didn’t have the funds at the time.
However! There was hope. You could win a ticket by entering the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. AND – bonus – there’s a separate category for local entries – narrowing the field. Surely I am the funniest person in Montgomery County, Ohio, right? No problem! I mean I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I am pretty flipping hilarious. Remember that time I told my daughter’s pediatrician about my OWN bowel movements instead my baby’s? Or when my four-year-old asked me if he could make p*rn on our bathroom wall? PRIZE-WINNING FUNNY! Except I never won any prizes with those and you can’t enter previously written stuff in the Erma contest. But the quality of my writing is totes prize-winning, I can see you guys nodding your perfectly-coiffed heads in agreement.
I’ll admit, I was nervous about being beat out by one Holly Michael. If you’ve never read her blog, you really should. She is freaking hilarious, AND she lives on a pig farm. I mean. That is difficult to compete with. I could see myself losing graciously to Holly. And I would have been HAPPY for her, to boot!
Turns out, I lost graciously, all right. But not even to Holly! The indignity. I lost to three strangers. Three people who live in close proximity to me AND who are funnier than I am. And are not Holly Michael or Emily Berry (who did not enter). What. The. Crap.
I’m a loser, baby. Not going to Erma. Next time I SWEAR I am going to have the money saved in time. Because money will definitely buy my ticket when my hilarious stylings will not.
Here, for your inspection, is my losing entry. I am thinking the reason it lost was because it was not completely about poop. Enjoy! While you’re reading, I will be storing up ideas for the funniest essay EVER for 2016.
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Third Time’s The Charm
One of the first thoughts I had upon seeing my unexpected positive pregnancy test in April 2010 was, “I do NOT have the strength to potty train a third child.” Actually, my first thought was “Crap! We just gave our train table and those expensive wooden trains away yesterday!!!” and my second thought was about the potty training. To my credit (I’m not a complete monster), my third thought was “I’m so excited!” My little guy was unplanned, but never unwanted.
Teaching him how to do his business in the toilet, however? TOTALLY UNWANTED. After two terribly long-and-drawn-out potty training adventures with my older children, I can confidently declare myself “Worst Potty Trainer Ever”. My first child was thirty-nine months by the time I convinced him that pooping in the toilet was not, in fact, linked to imminent death, and my daughter put me through six harrowing weeks of peeing ALL OVER THE HOUSE like an eight-week-old puppy before she finally consented to doing numero uno in the pot – three months shy of her fourth birthday. She wouldn’t commit to doing the deuce until after her fourth birthday; thankfully this blessed transition took place an entire two weeks before I gave birth to my third child and started using diapers again.
Two whole weeks diaper-free! I’m clearly a potty training genius.
Needless to say, when baby #3 came of age for this messy and torturous rite of passage, I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to join the potty party. However, three-year-old preschool was looming, so I half-heartedly started training him about two months before his third birthday. Like his siblings before him, he wasn’t exactly on the fast track. Those first weeks were filled with constant messiness and copious prayers of thankfulness for hardwood floors.
But as weeks stretched into a month, something incredible happened. My child, one that I had birthed and parented, figured out how to do his business on the potty before his third birthday. Say what?
Maybe the third time really IS the charm!
I mean, it definitely is – if you consider a child who is totally potty trained by the age of three but who won’t actually go in a normal toilet a sign of a charmed life. I’m sure that’s what people think when they see me carting around a tiny toilet with the face of a frog on it through hotel lobbies and public parks. “That lady carrying around her kid’s poop receptacle is so charming!” they say to each other as they chuckle and give me an indulgent smile.
They probably throw in something about what a great mom I am, too.
