seldnei | one day he'll ask, "Mom, *why* did you put that on the internet?"

... and I will reply, "Because I had to deep-clean your bathroom 5,000 times in one year.**"

("I need Wallace and Dwomit!" he wails as I type. Not a fan of previews, is the Zweeble.)

Here's the thing about potty training a [my, ymmv] boy. Once he figures out the whole standing-to-pee thing, that's what he wants to do. Judging by the Beavis-esque chuckles emanating from him as he does it, he digs being Lord of the Bowl.

Thing is, the aim is baaaad. I know all the jokes about men not being able to aim, but I have never, in 17 years, had to deep-clean my bathroom because

dealio has made it reek of urine. Deep-clean the sink, maybe, but not the entire room.

There is also the peeing in the tub, which also cracks him up. He used to be satisfied with peeing whilst sitting there, watching the little ripples and giggling, but now he likes to stand and watch the splash.

So this weekend, I deep-cleaned the baths. (figuring I was doing one, why not both?) Bleached the tubs and mats, washed the shower curtains, did the mirrors, did the sinks, scrubbed the baby potty (then bleach-wiped it, then Lysoled it, then rinsed it, then let it sit in the sun a while), mopped the floors, put it all back together.

Now the Zweeble's bathroom smells like a hotel bathroom, rather than a bus station bathroom.

(and I ask another eternal question: how come only one or two rooms in my house can ever be totally clean at a time?)

I still have to deal with the tub toys, which are sitting out on the porch. They're an after-bedtime project, I think.

**"Be glad I didn't post about your poop."