Toilet & trouble

About a week ago, Claire discovered a toddler's toilet seat cover stashed away in one of our closets. She liked the Sesame Street characters on the rim. She also liked experimenting with possible alternative uses.

"Look, daddy," she exclaimed as she rested the atop her head like a hat. She laughed in delight of herself.

Sarah and I both walked away and left her in the bathroom with her seat. About a minute later, we heard Claire burst into tears. She let out a loud wail.

Sesame Street had her by the neck.



For five minutes, poor Claire had a pretty rough go. She couldn't get the thing off her head. Her mother was laughing at her, in her face. Her father grabbed the camera and shot away.



Mom set Claire up on the kitchen counter and tried to gain control, not only of Claire's crying but of her own giggling. Neither of them could get the seat over her cranium. At one point, amid the sobs, Claire said, "Oh...(gasp) I...(gasp) have...(gasp) a good...idea. (gasp) I will (gasp) tip (gasp) it (gasp) like (gasp) this...." She tried tipping the seat at an angle to her body. It didn't work. She cried more.



Finally, dad put down the camera, rotated the seat one-quarter turn and lifted up. Off came seat. Forwars burst more tears. Claire was wailing but relieved.



What must Paige have thought? "I'm not going to do like my sister when I grow up."