There are few things that scar a parent for life worse than the potty training years. Eventually we forget about diaper duty, teething horrors or sleep issues, but toilet training stays with a parent long after the kid is able to reach around and wipe it’s own arse.

It only takes one puddle of pee and some urine soaked pants in the middle of a crowded mall to make a mom wish she’d listened a wee bit closer in those sex education classes of her distant past.

Potty training wasn’t the worst thing I’ve endured as a parent, but it definitely ranks up there as one of the most humiliating.

I still have nightmares about almost being arrested for letting my two year old daughter pee in the bush at a golf course and being chased down the street by a mob of angry trophy wives after my son whizzed on the edge of a McMansion’s perfectly manicured lawn.

Every parent has potty woes. ‘Tis the nature of the business. But not every parent (read: Boo) teaches his three-year-old son to stand at the edge of the deck to see who can pee the furthest in a moment of father-son bonding.

It took me three summers (and one angry mob) to teach that damn kid that you can’t just whip it out where ever you want and let loose with the hose. Thanks Boo.

Nowadays, our biggest potty adventures tend to be the panic one feels upon realizing there is no toilet paper to be found. After the fact.

Or at least I had hoped. Until last night. When, while driving home, Frac announced he had to go to the washroom and there was just no holding it.

“Too bad buddy. I told you to go before we left the city.” I tend to be sympathetic and helpful like that.

“But Moooom, I didn’t have to go then. But I gotta go NOW!” he whined.

“I think there is an empty bottle under the seat. Use that,” I offered as his sister groaned in disgust.

“That’s gross, Mom,” Frac argued.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait a little bit longer, kiddo. We’re almost home.”

“I won’t make it. I’ll die. My bladder is going to explode. And then when I die my bladder will empty and I’ll end up peeing all over your car and Fric,” he pointed out.

Sigh. Kid had a point. I just had my car detailed.

Pulling over, I told him to get out and get ‘er done.

“What? Here? There’s no bushes or trees,” he argued as he eyed the wide-open farm fields that stretched out as far as the eye could see. “People will see me.”

“What people? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I pointed out.

“The people driving by, on the highway,” he said with his words. His facial expression was more like “Um, how on God’s earth did I get stuck with this twit for a parent?”

“You are sadly mistaken if you think the people driving by at over a 100 km/hr are going to be able to see your willy.”

Frac considered this while his sister tormented him by making sounds of water swooshing and talking about dripping faucets. That’s my girl. Always helpful. Just like her mom.

“Just go out and face away from the highway and you’ll be fine,” I assured him. “But be quick about it. It’s cold out there and we wouldn’t want it to freeze and fall off.”

“Very funny,” he muttered as he climbed out of the car.

“What about you,” I asked Fric. “Do you have to go too?”

“No way. I’d pee in a bottle before I squatted on the side of a road,” she huffed indignantly. I thought about telling her about the time she did just that when she was two, but I was distracted when I noticed Frac was sort of swinging his hips. It kinda looked like he was being electrocuted.

Rolling down the window, I called out and asked if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he yelled. And then he turned around and jumped in the car.

“What were you doing out there, buddy?” I asked.

“I spelled your name in the snow,” he giggled while sporting an evil grin.

Sure enough, in a lovely shade of yellow against a glistening canvass of white were the shaky letters T A N I S.

How thoughtful. Apparently I’m raising him to be as classy as his mother. His father would be proud.

If only I had my camera to bear witness to my son’s creative streak. Damn it.

***Before I get any angry emails about invading my son’s privacy and embarrassing him, know that he gave me his blessing to post about this. In fact, I do believe he’s going to ask the bus driver to pull over so his friends can admire his art work on the way to school. Really. My heart just BURSTS with pride, I tell ya.***