Welcome to Turdsalot

[Clever intro I can't think of right now.]
Ahem. (Cough cough)

Parenting teen and young adult males: Part 2

Poo

This week son #4 used a term for which I have been searching for years.  I didn't know I was looking for this term until he used it. A term that encompasses what it means to live in a world of constant discussion -- and performance -- of bodily functions.  See, as one of five girls, I most assuredly did not grow up in a house where discussions of fecal matter, expectoration, or flatulence were allowed, let alone common.  We had acceptable terms for bodily waste that only vaguely alluded to that actual matter involved.  I genuinely never gave the matter any amount of significant consideration beyond "Poop is gross.  Let's talk about something else."  Years later when my own children were potty training, I used the term "tinkle" in a conversation with another mother who was a native of Israel.  She gave me a blank look.  

"She did . . . what?" She asked.

"You know, she tinkled."  I responded, caught a bit unprepared to define this term.  Discussing urine with causal acquaintances was new to me at this point in my parenting experiences.  (Later I would discover the joy of discussing all matter of human waste with complete strangers.  This is what raising boys brings you to.)

"She was sparkly?"

"No, um, you know, she peed."

She looked at me again, completely devoid of both expression and comprehension.  "Why do you call it that?"

"Because of the sound it makes?"  Truthfully I had never given it a thought.  We had just always called it tinkle.  But now I had images of sparkly little rainbow pools in the toilet.  Both intriguing and disturbing.

She gave a hesitant nod and we moved on with the conversation, which was obviously so stunning that now, twenty five years later, I can only remember the portion that had to do with urine.  Stellar.

Tinkle was the only acceptable term for urine in the home I grew up in.  "Pee" was along the lines of a four-letter word.  This should give you an idea of the level of allowable phrases for other bodily functions.  Poop was only ever called a "BM" (bowel movement, for those who missed out on this bit of 1960-70's vocabulistics) but for some reason, a fart was when someone needed to make a "poopy."  Now, maybe it's just me, but when I really give a moment to thinking about the term BM, it's really soooooo much grosser than the term poop.  Which, now I think about it, is along the onomatopoeic lines of tinkle.  And let's not even start with farting being "needing to make a poopy."  Because that's just a shart, which is waaaaaay worse than plain old flatulence.  The 70's really don't make a lot of sense on so many levels.

At any rate, I was more than unprepared on the vocabulary front to raise boys.  (The list of areas on which I was unprepared to raise boys would look not unlike a chart of our galaxy.  In this case, ignorance seriously saved my sanity.  Except I'm not really sane.  So, maybe not. Blissfully nuts?  I can go with that.). I had no and I mean NO idea of the amount of brain space the male of our species gives to bodily functions.  Happily and enthusiastically so.  Like, shopping-for-shoes-at-an-amazing-sale-and-a-fab-coupon level of enthusiasm.  For the better of part of three decades I have been dropped in to this world earthy glee.

I. Do. Not. Get. It.

So when Jonathan used this term the other day, it caught my attention.  I looked at him, mildly confused.  Random fecal words are now a common and largely unnoticed part of my day.  This one was new and unknown to me.

"What?"

Jonathan grins.  "Turdsalot.  You know, like Camelot."

Please allow a moment of contemplation here. . . .  This moment needs to be noted and recorded for posterity.  This moment is when I finally have a word to describe the world I live in.

TURDSALOT

Oh how I wish I was musical.  I could whip up some fantastic parodies of the musical with new poo-inspired lyrics and with some slick home videos shot on the throne.  (Get it?  Throne?  Cause it's Turdsalot? Like Camelot has a real throne but in my world it's the ceramic type? Get it? Get it?) It would need to be pretty awesome with super elementary school-era costumes and bad acting, with an off-key piano for accompaniment.  It's all so real in my head.  Because it's so real in my real.  Here are some of the nobility who live in my kingdom.

Sir TMI -- Color, content, quantity.  After every visit to the WC. Please don't. We don't want to know.  Ever. And yet we get thrice-daily reports. And after eating an entire box of Cap'n Crunch, the descriptive enthusiasm brings to mind religious fervor.  But more smelly.  Cheap fruit snacks can go neon. One has to wonder what early food scientists thought when these unexpected side affects began cropping (crapping?) up.

Sir Deadly -- You've heard the term "silent but deadly?" It was invented for the Davis boys.  Literally, they have cleared classrooms.  They thought it was hilarious.  The teachers did not.  ("Um, what are you feeding him?" Real question from a real teacher.)

Sir Boastful -- There is NO reason, I repeat NO reason to proudly Instagram the size of your leavings.  You think I am kidding.  I am not.  And apparently, "mudding" on another person is an indication of claiming victory over them.  This is something one declares loudly at the beginning of pretty much any sort of contest. Again, I have no idea. WhoWhatWhereWhenWhy = Nope.

Sir Descriptive -- Did you know you can replace about any noun in any song with a synonym for poop?  And verb?  And adjective?  Frequently all in the same sentence.  (I guess I should be happy they know their parts of speech but I'm having problems working up the energy to cheer.) And then sing about it for days on end?  Did you know you can make up entirely new songs about pooping?  Why would anyone want to, you ask?  I have no earthly . . . I just  . . . No.  

Sir Constant -- Poop. Crap. Plop. Poo. Dump. Dookie. Float a log. Drop a load. Turd. Toilet muffin. Mud.  Groundhogging. (When the poop is trying to come out but you aren't to the toilet yet.)  Little turtle.  (Constipation. As in "I gotta trick my poop into coming out so it doesn't stick out its little arms and stop itself.  Like a little turtle.") Ok I gotta stop.  I'm grossing myself out trying to remember every clever way they've come up with to refer to fecal matter.  But somehow, they have a never-ending supply of vocabulary words in this category.  Why on earth can they not turn their powers to broader horizons and knock the SAT out of the ballpark?  Sigh.

On the one hand, I totally understand that voiding one's bowels is one of the great common equalizers of humanity.  We all do it and there is absolutely no way to make it cool or suave.  I don't care how large the cadre of handlers and estheticians a celebrity has, he or she poops the same as every last person on the planet and it ain't pretty.  So I guess there is something unifying in that.  But we all breathe and sleep and eat, so I would think that of the four options, pooping is the least desirable.  Truly I would rather bond over the love of good food than of the satisfaction of a large BM.  Yet I have heard way more conversations on the later in Turdsalot than the former among the knighthood. Waaaaay more.

So here I am.  Queen of Turdsalot.  Trying to kick each of the knights out as quickly as possible before my gag reflex is permanently stuck in the "on" position. They have this way of sneaking in the back door when I'm not looking.  But I will get them all out in the end.  And then, AND THEN, we will renovate and I will be . . .

QUEEN OF CHOCOTOPIA!!!