Pee-Pee, Poo-Poo, and Doodie

There is a familiar annoyance that’s popped up once again in my preschool classroom, and I blame 3-year-olds. Since my children range from 3 to 5, most of my elders have out grown this phase. But a recent influx of the wee ones has brought it about once more.

It is time for The Return of the Potty Words.

They are so annoying because they are lifeless. There’s nothing controversial about them … not like the REAL curse words. If a kid would toss out an f-bomb, now THAT would be exciting. Hey, I'm not condoning it. I'm saying if a 3-year-old told another to go “F” himself, that's a WHOA! Halt! That’s me stopping whatever it is that I’m doing to go and address that situation pronto. That’s a parent call. That may even constitute a time-out!

Nope. Not potty words. Useless, they are. For example, a child will interrupt my small group math activity with the following statement: “Miss Daisy! Jordan called me a poo-poo head.”

A what? A poo-poo head? So?

Or this statement: “Miss Daisy! Jayden said I'm a pee-pee face.”

Oh, whatever! Grow up, already.

And the best yet: “Miss Daisy! Jacob said doodie pants.”

And he probably has them, too.

I don't respond like this, of course. I want to. I want to say give me a break. Stop wasting my time. Come to me when you’ve got a REAL juicy word, kid. These potty words are infantile and sound ridiculous when you're over the age of 5 … okay, maybe 7. At any rate, they are silly, worthless words! Stupid head. Fart face. Stinky butt. Who cares!?!

Since I cannot say what I want to say in response, here are some special phrases I use to add excitement to even the lamest “stinky butt” remark. In all my Master Jedi glory, I must manipulate their minds with my words once again.

Response 1: Question their reality.
Ask, “Well, what do you think? Are you a poo-poo head?” The child stops dead. Mind blown. She looks at me with horror and exclaims, “No!” Then I pull out the wiping brow gesture, “Oh! Phew! I’m glad you are not one of those!” Then I mind-trick and suggest she help me wipe tables for snack. The look on her face, though. It helps me cope with the lameness of the phrase poo-poo head.

Response 2: The guilt trip.
I place my hand over my mouth, imitating the horrified look from poo-poo head girl. I gasp dramatically and exclaim, “Now YOU just said it! You said it, too!” Pointing right at them also adds a nice touch. That shuts them up instantly. They may run crying, though. But at least that's more entertaining than being interrupted for pee-pee face.

Response 3: The sympathy route.
Place gentle hand on his shoulder. Give compassionate look. Calmly and quietly say, “I can tell you are upset. What do you think you should do?” Now, mind-trick the young ones. I would say, "You should tell him you don't like that." They ask, “I should tell him I don’t like that?” Teacher smiles, “Yes! That’s a great idea!” They scurry off to repeat the phrase, "I don't like that." The kid who originally said doodie head forgot it already, and they both resume building their Legos.

They don't forget it for long, however. I need them to solve this themselves. I've got to plant the seeds of knowledge and lift them above such 3-year-old banter. And just leave me the fudge alone. Let me get the dumb documentation I need with my stupid small group to get my booger-butt grades in for parent/teacher conferences next week! There isn’t enough time in the day for me to deal with any of this lame poop.

toilet
yoda