Flushed, with pride

It's now Day 12 of NaMoGroMo, and already all the kids can't say enough about that hip, new craze, "gromming." (Which is cool! It's sort of like grooming, and yet completely not!) I've entered the usual Nadir Days of my beard growth, when it's longer, and itchier, and people are starting to compare me to Brad Childress. Which is really below the belt.

The good news is that my first submission for The Huffington Post went live yesterday. And as of this moment, you can go to the main page of HuffPostDivorce and see this. Which is pretty nifty, despite the disparity in the numbers of comments.

Today I want to tell you about a sensitive issue that is starting to plague the Laid-Off Lair. I have to warn you, however, that it involves effluent ... and my boys' sudden inability to flush it.

Lately, there have been waaay too many times when I've gone into the bathroom, flipped the lid, and been hit by the waft of a macabre stew that could buckle a Blue Ox. The boys know I'm not all that vigilant over their bathroom visits, so each feels comfortable enough to 1) cite a lack of evidence and 2) immediately try to rat the other out.

So I had this idea.

If there's one thing that eats at the very soul of each of my children, it's having to watch his brother enjoying something at his own expense. So I told them that I'm going to start keeping track of Library Visits, and if anyone leaves a load in the commode, his brother will get an Oreo. And the guilty party will have to watch him eat it.

It's only been a couple of days, and so far the bowl's been clear. I'm wondering, though, if they'll discover the gaping loophole in this strategy. Clearly, they can have one kid foul the place up and cop to it, while the other agrees to split the cookie. If they do figure out how to game the system, I will clearly have lost this battle. But I'll be too proud to care.