Smell My Hand

When a three year old tells you "smell my hand" its one's first response to be repulsed, followed by curiosity. Fortunately, in this instance, it was also followed by great pleasure that the hand in question smelled just like soft-soap, therefore, it had recently been washed.

Unfortunately, there was another smell eminating 'round the house that wasn't quite so pleasant. Upon returning from a long weekend in San Diego, there was a distinct "Port-a-Potty" smell in the kids hallway. It seemed to be coming from their bathroom, but I emptied the trash, washed the rug, mopped the floor, cleaned the toilet...no luck. I sniffed the shower curtain, nothing. Walked out of the room and into a bedroom, nothing. Walked back in--definitely something. UGH.

Two days later, the smell is equally pungeant, and the source equally undetectable. Then JP has a lightbulb moment. "Did you check the step-stool/training potty?" he asks. My eyes shot wide open, my lips turned down in a frown, I gingerly approached the former training potty (which by the way was used all of 2 times while actually potty training) and there it was. It smelled like a Port-a-Potty in the house because somebody (and it had darn well better be nobody other than a 3 year old!) had decided we needed a Port-a-Potty in our house and did horrible things in that pot.

We threw the entire pot out. No more step-stool in the kids bathroom, and there had better not be any more Port-a-Potty creations in my house!

Thank heavens for Gold Canyon Candles.