Fact: it is Friday. {Pee Pants}

**Yep. I posted this on accident today, I meant to have it self-publish tomorrow... but since it's up, I'll leave it.


Fact: it is Friday: Where I talk about myself.  On Fridays.  I don't talk about my babies, unless I want to, which sometimes I might.  But mostly Fact: it is Friday is when I'm going to maybe tell you something you didn't know about me. Or maybe a story from my bucktoothed-childhood or bratty teenage years.

Becky Fact 3: As a child I never wanted to come inside and use the bathroom, because I knew that as soon as I went inside, really fun things would happen outside.

You know, your sister would catch the elusive turtle sunning himself on the rock.
All your friends would decide to bike to the park, and when you came back outside they'd be gone.
Someone would build a snowfort, and since you didn't help you couldn't go in.

I knew those things would happen if I took the time to run inside and pee... so I rarely went inside.
I would just hold it until I could hold it no longer and then...
Well, luckily, little kids can get away with wearing their swimsuits all summer long, so sometimes I would just pee as I ran through sprinklers, or waded into the pond behind our house in search of frogs or minnows.
I know now how gross that is, but it seemed okay when I was a kid.
And when I say kid, I might mean like... a ten year old.

One fine summer day I ran over to my friend Melanie's house to see if she could play. I say friend, because we played together - but only because she was the only girl my age on our street.
Pretty much I thought she was creepy.
There was a yellow ring of dead grass in their yard where their half-starved dog ran around and around the stake he was tied to.
They never opened the shades in their house, so it was always dark, cool and creepy - even in the summer.
And once, Melanie's older sister climbed to the top of a tree and brought down a bird's nest. She proceeded to crack all the eggs inside and show me the half-formed birds.
I still think about it all the time. It was horrible.

But I went to see if Melanie could play.
I rang the doorbell.
I waited.
I could hear someone coming to the door.
And suddenly, I had to pee. I had to pee big time.
I couldn't run home, because the person would come to the door and see me running across the street and know I was the one who rang the doorbell (and I was scared of all the people who lived there but Melanie) so I just crossed my legs and waited.
Melanie's dad answered, and I asked if Melanie could play.
"Hold on," he said, turning back into the house. Then he turned back, "Do you want to use the bathroom?" he asked.
Maybe it was the crossed legs. Maybe the bouncing and pained expression. Maybe it was my hand that sneaked down there to try to physically hold in my urine.
Somehow he knew I had to go.
"Nope," I said. (There's no way I was going in that house.) "I don't have to go."
"Oookay," he said suspiciously.
To prove that I didn't have to pee, I put my hands on my hips and uncrossed my legs.
At which point in time, I peed all over their front step.
I stood there in my swimsuit, urine running down my leg and a dark puddle growing on the cement step.
Now that I had started there was no way that I could stop it.
I just kept on peeing.

So I did what anyone in my situation would do: I turned and ran. I ran as fast as my long, skinny, pee-covered legs could take me.
I ran home and I'm pretty sure that I didn't come back outside for a few days.

Because, really, a few days is usually how long it takes me to get over things that should be way more embarrassing than I think they are.
Which is probably why I just keep embarrassing myself.






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Fact: it is Friday. 

I think you should do it too. 

And here are your instructions (not really rules...):

1. Write a fact about yourself.

2. Elaborate.

3. It can be long or short, detailed or not.

4. Don't write about your kids. (Unless you want to. Because, I mean... it's your blog. I can't stop you from writing about your kids.)

5. Link up to this blog, so we can all read some facts, and not feel bad that we dropped out of school to be stay-at-home moms. (Since if we're reading facts, then we are still learning.)

6. You're not a dropout like me? Or a stay at home mom? No biggie. You can still play.

Can't think of what to write? Start like this:

Fact: When I was a kid I was really good at...

or

Fact: My biggest pet peeve is...

or

Fact: I have a third nipple.

Etc.