It had been a quiet night. The soldier on sentry duty had heard no sound; all was calm. This was a relief, because after a full day in sole command, and a playdate to round things off in the late afternoon, she was absolutely knackered. She had gone through her checklist at the end of the day, making sure kit and rations were present and correct for roll-call next morning at 0700 hours, and then retired to keep watch over her charges, later than planned as usual.
At 0600 hours, the call for help came through on the radio, an hour earlier than expected.
"I need a poo! I need a poo! I NEED A POO!"
The soldier threw herself wearily out of the trench, picking up speed as she raced through the debris from the previous day's battle, muttering under her breath as she sustained an injury to the foot. Detritus - the worst kind - from yesterday's skirmish littered the hall; the booby-trap consisted of tiny pieces of lego plane no doubt brought down by enemy fire in the early evening yesterday. Picking miniscule pieces of yellow and blue plastic out from her toes she flung open the bedroom door to reveal the scene within.
The top bunk; empty, it's occupant making his presence known by the crashing sounds coming from the sitting room. The bottom bunk though was occupied by a soldier in desperate need of aid. She scooped him up, racing towards the bathroom and salvation. Would they make it in time?
Some little time later, wiping her brow in relief, she and the stricken soldier commenced the clean-up operation. They had made it - just. The missing solder from the top bunk wandered in dressed for battle in a cowboy hat and pyjama top, waving a green plastic toy tennis racket which he was using as a some unidentified form of weapon. He surveyed the scene. He looked at the damage. He checked out his younger brother. And then he said:
"Wow. Boy #2, that is ENORMOUS."
The sentry, still wiping the sleep from her eyes, flushed the evidence away. Situation saved, and under control.
Until the next time...
This post was written by Potty Mummy, who blogs at The Potty Diaries, where she chronicles the trials of potty training her boys and tries to keep from becoming potty. She is still coming to terms with being a stay-at-home mum and not a career woman. You'd think she'd be over it by now; it's been three years since she last worked - and went to the loo with the door shut ...
Photo credit: hitch hiker