As I’ve mentioned, it’s been a bit of a difficult summer so far. One of the particularly harrowing challenges is that Daphne has inexplicably regressed to no longer being potty trained.

Or rather, inconsistently potty trained, which is a far sight worse.

Because sometimes she does take herself to the bathroom, just like she’s been doing for years. Yet at other times, completely at random, she’ll hose down the couch and whoever happens to be sitting next to her in that moment, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’s peeing. (That is, until her father leaps up and completely freaks out because he’s covered in urine, again, for the third time today.)

As special-needs parents, this is yet another one of those devious challenges. Because we believed we were done with the whole toilet training thing some time ago, we simply aren’t in the habit of thinking in potty timers and Pull-Ups. (I mean, she’s 9.) But suddenly we can’t know for sure. Some days she holds her water just fine; others she seems completely oblivious to the fact that she’s peeing on our floor.

When we purchased those Improvia bed pads a month ago we expected to, you know, put them in her bed. We didn’t foresee that our whole house would suddenly take on a new lime green hue as we shuttle fresh pads under Daphne wherever she happens to sit down.

You might also note the absence of the couch cushion to the right in this picture, as it’s (once again) being fumigated outside.

And then…there’s the car.

Her booster seat, pictured here, seems to be the most common micturate victim. I actually just pulled the whole contraption out of the car over the weekend, Lysol’d the base, washed the pad and line dried it, cleaned and vacuumed underneath, then reinstalled the whole thing.

Now this worked for the seat itself. But the fumes in the car were still pretty heady. And so I purchased, for the first time in my life, one of those little rearview mirror air freshener trees.

For those unaware, I have been gifted/cursed with hyperosmia, which essentially means a heightened sense of smell. Usually this is a rather handy thing, as I’m able to be able to sniff out things ahead of most people, as long as I stay far, far away from scented candle aisles and Crabtree & Evelyn.

But then I became a father.

And while I certainly got used to changing poopy diapers and child vomit, it never got any easier on my nose. In fact, if Daphne was particularly poop-spackled and I couldn’t hold my breath for long enough, I’d often have to exit the room, gag a few times, then do the shirt ninja thing and come back to finish the job.

But I’ll tell you… That pine tree thing?
It smelled like open ass dangling from a rubberized string.

Whatever bizarre chemicals they soaked into that cardboard would raze my olfactory glands and literally daze me for 4 or 5 seconds if I got too close to it.

That tree lasted in the car for 41 minutes, exactly long enough to get from our house to Lowe’s. At which point it was summarily deposited into their exterior trashcan where it is, at this moment, undoubtedly eating through the bottom of said bin on its return trip to hell.

I haven’t quite figured out what to do about the pee smell yet, but I can say with certainty that ain’t it.

Now all this being said, Daphne has been doing pretty well with this remedial potty training. I don’t think she’s had an accident since Sunday.
**knocks wood**
But I’m sure that she’s tired of our constant nagging about it. And I know her mother and I are tired of doing so.

Alas, until we get back to some toileting consistency, we’re living our lives one 25-minute potty timer at a time.

Eat your heart out, Dom Toretto.

j.s.