Taylor

One night Ty was going into the garage to rifle through our ridiculous shoe basket to find his shoes.  The motion light didn't turn on.  He came back in upset that it was to dark.

I remember not even lifting my head from my "to go out" snack preparations and telling him to wiggle around so the light would know he was there.  So he did, no light.

"Mom it didn't work, I wiggled and I wiggled and the light did nooooowt turn on."
"Try jumping up and down."

He goes out, I hear feet jumping and he comes back in--feeling less patient with my unwillingness to solve his darkness problem he says:

"It's not working, come get the light mom right now."

I go out and hold the door and tell Ty to walk into the garage and wiggle around (I really wanted to see if it worked).  It didn't work.  I tell him to try shaking his booty.  He shakes his booty and I wave my hand and the light flicks on.

He stops in disbelief and says:

"If I shake my booty the light turns on, (then sings) shake your booty shake your booty ya ya...."

We thought that was funny, but it wasn't as funny as the next babysitting group when he led his little friend Pavil out to the garage and said:

"If you shake your booty the light turns on."

So, Pavil obediently starts following Ty and shaking his booty.  The light doesn't turn on but I'm on my way down the hall.  I tell them to shake it faster, wave my hand and it turns on.

Next. . .

I walk down the hall and notice an unpleasant aroma streaking out from the crevices in the closed bathroom door.  I knock and ask, "You okay in there Corbyn."  Then I begin to wonder why on earth Jay would tolerate such a smell and sit at the bottom of the door, and why is he laughing so hard.

Corbyn has gone in the bathroom to take care of business and has torn off a tiny piece of toilet paper and is passing it under the door to Jay.  Jay grabs it, laughs hysterically, and passes it back under.  I think back to my last 15 minutes and realize Corbyn has been in there waaaaay too long and start to feel concerned he is getting brain damage from the strong smell.  You might laugh at that, but you haven't smelled it.  I pull Jay away from the game to help Corbyn focus and in true mom fashion ruin the fun.

Later that week Jay was crying outside the bathroom door because sometimes mommy's actually do have to go potty.  So, I tore off a tiny piece of toilet paper and passed it under.   I saw his ridiculously cute chubby hand consider the paper and slide it to his side of the door.  Corbyn your a genius.  My dad used to call the pot the thinking station.  I guess I'll have to agree.