Tuesday, July 23, 2013

The Mayor of Peepiss Town

So this one should definitely be filed under weird shit The Barbarian and I do as parents. And make room. It's gonna be a big file.

Both of our families are a bit strange, but creatively and awesomely so (mostly...?). However, I think maybe The Barbarian's family takes the cake in terms of the wealth of bizarre traditions, nicknames, euphemisms, stories, and the like belonging to them. The Barbarian and his sister Auntie Smellia, close in age and just plain close, apparently grew up in the most fantastical world of imaginative delight. Seriously, these two were like the coolest weird kids ever. They held mock trials for their delinquent stuffed animals and traded messages at bedtime via Grandpa Walrus, posing as their alter egos, New Zealand John and Big Boss Diane. And no, they're not named any version of John or Diane. I mean, you can't make this shit up. Well, you can technically, because they did. But you know what I mean. They were NERDS. Big, epically awesome nerds. My siblings and I just held each other down and farted on one another. Ours was a different brand of epically awesome...something. 

Anyway. One of my favourite concepts of theirs has always been the mythical and magical land known as Peepiss Town. What is Peepiss Town, you ask? Well, it's where you go to pee or take a piss. OBVIOUSLY. So when you have to pee, you announce that you are "going to Peepiss Town." Isn't that grand? I mean, in reality, the idea of a town everyone uses specifically as a depository for urine is utterly disgusting, even for me. But somehow, framed as this juvenile euphemism for peeing, it simply sparks my imagination and childish delight. Because I'm strange. I know. 

Now, then. When you have twins, there is, of course, a natural tendency to want to compare them, and it's something of which The Barbarian and I work to be really conscious. Obviously there's no way to completely avoid it, but we do try to minimize the practice so there isn't this air of competition all the time. That is, until it comes to comparing wet diapers first thing in the morning. Because, dangus. Those are some seriously hefty diapers after 11 or 12 hours. And yes, that means no, we don't change diapers overnight. I think maybe we did when they were super tiny, but it didn't last long. Our goal is to keep them asleep, not wake them up to perform their least favourite activity in the middle of the night. That's just setting everyone up for failure, and we like to keep things positive around these parts. Positive parenting through grossly saturated diapers. Whatever works, right? 

So first thing in the morning... Okay, that's not true--we stay in bed for a while pretending the babies aren't actually awake as they sing and jump on our bladders, then we, surprise, empty said abused bladders, and someone puts the kettle on. I mean, I already made it pretty clear their diapers are not really a priority for us, so don't act all shocked. Let's start again, then. 

So when we get around to it sometime after everyone's awake in the general vicinity of first thing in the morning, we change the beebs' diapers and cannot help afterwards but compare the two little wrapped up packages that fit so nicely in our hands (am I the only one who appreciates the perfect tidiness of a nicely rolled with tabs folded in diaper? Yes? Okay, then.). And we get pretty technical about it too, holding them simultaneously while gently lifting them up and down to gauge which one's heavier. If we had a digital kitchen scale, we would totally use that shit for this. Wait. OH, MY GODS, WE NEED A DIGITAL SCALE. That would change everything. Wow. Mind blown. 

Okay, so once we have determined whose diaper weighs more, that beeb is declared--you guessed it--Mayor of Peepiss Town. Because why wouldn't the baby with the most pee in their diaper get to be the Mayor of Peepiss Town? It actually makes perfectly logical sense if you think about it. So, in fact, refile this under perfectly logical shit The Barbarian and I do as parents that you wish you had thought of first. Not sure on the size of this file yet, though. Jury's still out.

Now, for all of you wondering (and I know you are), the election process goes like this. A new election is held every morning, and the amount of pee contained in each diaper act as votes, with the heaviest diaper obviously containing the most votes. Sometimes votes are lost if we have a leaking incident prior to our lazy asses actually changing diapers. And that's basically too bad for the candidate in question. We call it the "hanging chad" effect and we do not, I repeat, do NOT count hanging chads. How would we even logistically do that? So, no. Votes lost are votes lost.

Sometimes, though, a candidate will attempt to gain the upper hand by winning votes from Poo County. The votes from Poo County come from the sort of fringe citizens living outside the town proper, and they are notoriously difficult to convince to participate in the very democratic process of choosing a new town mayor. They can only be convinced to vote in about a quarter of all elections, and that's generally only after some heavy canvassing on the part of the candidates' campaign teams, run by either of our two resident campaign managers, Pig or Furry Bubba. Furry Bubba is a much more effective manager, whereas Pig is simply more than a bit apathetic about the whole thing. Consequently, the beebs are constantly attempting to lure Furry Bubba to their campaign with promises of more highchair droppings, and he's not particularly loyal in the realm of politics, so he bounces back and forth. Technically, the voting rights status of folks living in the greater Poo County region as it pertains to electing a town mayor is, and always has been, in question. But we let these votes stand, as separating them from the proper town votes is essentially not a venture we're willing to undertake "first thing" in the morning, also known as ever.

Occasionally there is a recount. Normally either The Barbarian or I count the votes and declare a winner, but sometimes the count is so close, we must consult and have a recount. These are very tense mornings. But transparency and fairness are of utmost importance in the politics of our house, so we work tirelessly until we're confident of the outcome. Okay, not really. Especially if the kettle is whistling. But you get my point.

And on very rare occasions, no clear winner can be determined, so we have a runoff. The first person to receive late votes from Poo County is then officially declared Mayor of Peepiss town for the day. Poo County is very influential. The gerrymandering in the evenings is just ridiculous, basically producing a new map every day. It's really quite challenging to keep track of it all. But what kind of parents would we be if we didn't?  

So that, my friends, is how The Barbarian and I begin every day--by holding an election for Mayor of Peepiss Town featuring our 11-month-old twins as candidates and their pee-soaked diapers as votes.

Now you know.                 


  1. This is just completely brilliant. And by the way, long long ago, The Barbarian's great-grandfather, a certified Older Adult and a Retired Policeman Who Was An Official Hero, would, on his way to the bathroom, announce that he was "going to meet a man about a horse". Yup. We thought it was funny as heck.

    1. Thanks, Mark! And that's hilarious--that was one of my dad's classic sayings too. But only when he was really gonna stink the place up. ;) I remember spending much of my youth trying to figure out exactly what that could mean...