The Smell of Poop, Not Pie...

My view from the throne. Don't worry, I wasn't actually using, said throne, when I took this picture.




Recently, a friend told me that whenever she smells baked goods she immediately thinks of her wonderful mother and the goodies (pie, in particular) that she lovingly prepared for her all throughout her childhood. It was delightful to hear her speak so highly of her childhood and I immediately thought about my mother teaching me to bake cookies and cakes. The sense of smell is an amazing gift. It never ceases to amaze me how just smelling a familiar scent or tasting something familiar can immediately cause intense memories to rush back into consciousness. After that discussion with my friend, I was more cognisant of the smells around me and the kind of effect they had on me.




Around the time of my new found appreciation for the senses of smell and taste I took my boys to see the movie Ratatouille. The villain, in this otherwise charming little movie, is a food critic portrayed in a dark and sinister manner. He had a ghastly pallor, and the animators supported their frightening images of him even in small details. (The typewriter he wrote his scathing reviews on had a skull on it, and in one ariel view of him the viewer could notice that the walls of his office were configured in the shape of a coffin.) My reason for bringing up the food critic in such vivid detail is because at one pinnacle point in the movie, this evil character's whole persona changes when he is served a dish of specially made ratatouille. As soon as the dish is brought to his mouth and passes his lips he is whisked away mentally to the French countryside and his childhood as a peasant boy, where his beloved mother made him the same wonderful meal. Because of the smell and taste of the ratatouille his heart is softened and he becomes a friendly, kind and approachable character.

Here is my dilemma. My children WILL NOT STAY OUT OF THE BATHROOM when I am "using the facilities" as they say. It appears that my children must have some sort of abandonment issues, because it really seems to be a hardship for them to leave me alone for just a few minutes. Apparently, granting me a little privacy is just TOO MUCH to ask. Perhaps, I had this coming to me because, I seem to remember my mom complaining that we wouldn't leave her alone when she was in the bathroom as I was growing up. She used to call out in frustration, "GRAND CENTRAL STATION!!!" as we would waltz into the bathroom, sometimes, one right after the other. I guess my kids just like having me as some sort of a captive audience. (Editorial Note: I always cover myself with a towel, at least, so that nudity isn't a concern.)

I recently said to Mike, "You know how people will say that the smell of pie, or something else delicious reminds them of home? Well, when our kids smell poop they are going to think of their Mother because, they won't stay out of the bathroom when I am in there!"

Well, I should look on the bright side. At least they want to be with me, right?