A Christmas Memory.

My sister and I were talking about Christmases past, and recalled this little gem the other day.  Too funny not to share it with you.

Christmas of 2007, was Mea’s first Christmas at home.  She was eighteen-months old, which made her cousin S, 2 1/2 years-old.  My sister was in the final days of potty training my dear little niece.  She had been doing well for quite some time.

We start off Christmas day at our own homes, and everyone convenes at my Sister’s house around eleven in the morning.  We snack, we open stockings, we snack some more, depending on what is happening with dinner we may open presents or we eat, or vice versa.

This year, because Mea was still so little, we took a little longer than usual.  She had taken a little nap after stockings, and delayed present opening.

We open presents from youngest to oldest.  We were about half way through with the gift unwrapping, and there were boxes and paper everywhere.  Mea (and I) took a turn, and then we went to look for S.

At first no one saw her.  Then over by the stairs, and amid several boxes of opened and unopened gifts there she sat.

On her potty.

Pooping.

In the middle of the living room and amidst the gift opening.

Nothing quite like a little poop break.