Children can be quite gross, and their disregard for trash bins seems to know no bounds. This became painfully clear when I stumbled upon a sticky, chewed-up piece of candy on the floor next to my toilet. Which of my four delightful offspring was responsible for this mystery? It’s anyone’s guess. However, the evidence was unmistakable: a once-chewy treat—perhaps a Starburst or one of those peculiar fruit-flavored Tootsie Rolls—had morphed into a sugary glob, splattered across my bathroom floor.
The area surrounding the toilet isn’t exactly a clean zone, but I certainly didn’t expect to find a gnawed, taffy-like mass affixed to the tiles with its own syrupy residue.
After prying the gooey lump from the floor, I tossed it into the toilet, thinking it would happily join the other unmentionable waste. To top it off, I let nature take its course. However, when I peeked into the bowl post-flush, I found the candy stubbornly clinging to the toilet like a fruity pink barnacle. Surely, being made of sugar, it would dissolve with time, right? Or so I hoped.
While folding laundry in the adjacent room, I heard my husband enter the restroom. Moments later, his voice cut through the air: “Uh, Honey? Is there candy in the toilet? Do I need to know why?” I explained the situation, suggesting he could always dislodge it with a precise stream of urine. He accepted the challenge (with a bit too much enthusiasm for a grown man) and aimed directly at the offending candy. Despite his best efforts, including a second flush, the candy remained firmly in place.
As a mom, I had more pressing matters to attend to and absolutely no desire to retrieve the candy. So, I decided to leave it be.
Minutes later, as we prepared to leave the house, I called for the kids to use the bathroom one last time. My son, Jake, who was four at the time, entered the restroom. After a notably long pause, he finally emerged, happily chewing. My stomach dropped.
“Jake? What’s in your mouth?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer.
“Just some candy,” he replied with a mouth full of gelatinous pink goo.
“Did you get it…” I hesitated, “from the toilet?” He nodded, completely unfazed. To him, it was just a delightful surprise—a treasure from the toilet. And then, to my horror, he swallowed it.
To summarize: my child had consumed a piece of candy that had been chewed, spat out, marinated in toilet water, and urinated on by multiple family members. I was mortified, while my husband found the entire ordeal hysterical.
Fortunately, Jake survived the incident. Now at nine years old, I remind him of this story whenever he turns his nose up at dinner—like my cooking could possibly be worse than toilet candy. I look forward to sharing this tale with his future partner, just as they’re about to lean in for a kiss.
Ah, the messy joys of parenting!
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