The other day I needed to use the bathroom.

Now, that’s not news for any of us. We all need to at some point or another. But when you’re fifty years old and have sent four fairly large babies through the network, as it were, certain structural changes (much the way that building foundations get cracked during earthquakes) occur which is a long way of saying:

When I need to go to the john, I NEED TO GO TO THE JOHN. As in NOW.

So I sprinted into the hall bathroom (sometimes called a ‘powder room’) and lifted up the lid to find (insert shower scene music from Psycho here)…

…a puddle of urine on the seat.

And when I say “puddle” I mean: an amount about the size of a quarter.

The only thing that saved two young men from certain violent death was my absolutely violent, necessary urge to use the john, any john, or at least one that didn’t have Lake Mead already deposited on the seat.

Once I had *that* taken care of, I stalked my prey, found them, grabbed them by the ears, and hauled them into said “powder room” and administered a verbal beatdown of epic proportions and then assigned them the task of spitshining said “powder room.”

It took me a while to calm down. I was roaming the house for hours, randomly shouting “A PUDDLE OF URINE!” every time the image snuck back into my consciousness. Craig said I woke up in the middle of the night yelling it.

Too much you say? Well, this wasn’t the first time I found a souvenir from a previous occupant in that bathroom. This is not the first, ahem, conversation we’ve had on this very subject. In addition, their father has instructed them on the proper care, usage, and etiquette related to their male plumbing, much the way I did the same for their sisters and related female plumbing.

I cannot turn these boys over to the world with this kind of behavior going on. I can’t even imagine them marrying someone and pulling this stunt. They have to stop, or I swear I’ll help their new brides hurt them. And, speaking of new brides, I’m in the process of drafting a disclaimer/waiver/full disclosure for those unsuspecting girls so that they don’t for one moment feel that I just let this behavior slide. I’m not confident that I’ll exterminate this behavior, but when Sam’s wife is purple with rage at three in the morning I want him to look sheepish and say, “Mom used to yell at me about this, too,” as opposed to shrugging and saying, “Eh. Mom always cleaned it up.”

So, if you visit my house and need to use the bathroom, please understand why I shove you out of the way and race down the hall to check on the status of that damned “powder room” before you, my friend and guest, hear the shower scene music.

I mean, we’re talking about A PUDDLE OF URINE!