Finding a use for our toilet remote

I can’t believe this story has slipped my memory for so long, but it has been more than a month since Grandma and Grandpa Franklin visited and I just remembered how grandpa helped me find a good use for our toilet’s remote control.

First a side note…

You all remember the remote control for the toilet that I described back in August or September when we first got here (if you don’t, feel free to check out the archives).  You may also remember that since Callan has been practicing using the big toilet we have had to remove the remote from its holder attached to the wall next to the toilet so that curious Callan doesn’t push any unfortunate buttons while he is getting used to doing his business on a real toilet (removing the remote was, unfortunately, something we thought of after Callan had already pushed one of the buttons during a trial toilet session and sprayed warm bidet water up his back and all over the bathroom.  Thankfully the experience was not scaring and he is still interested in using the real toilet, although it could have been disastrous and could have set us up for a lifetime of changing diapers).  So the remote has been sitting on our dresser for two or three months now, out of reach of Callan, collecting dust.  

…Now back to Grandma and Grandpa Franklin

On the Friday they arrived we were all getting ready to head out for the day and Grandpa Franklin said he had to use the bathroom.  As he walked toward the bathroom I joked with him about not hitting any of the wrong buttons while he was in there. Then out of nowhere, the image of the remote sitting on our dresser popped into my mind, and an evil, sinister idea began to form.  I couldn’t resist.  I retrieved the remote from dresser and tip-toed toward the bathroom.  I tried to aim the remote through the crack in the door, but it wouldn’t work.  In order to make the signal reach, I would have to crack the door ever so slightly, which of course I knew would get dad’s attention, but I also knew he would be otherwise disposed, and he would not be able to stand up to shut the door.  So that’s what I did.  I cracked the door just wide enough to shoot the remotes beam into the small bathroom and, just like that, the bidet came on.  

Now, to the reader who thinks me cruel, you must know two things.  First, this is the same father who on more than one occasion encouraged me to play ‘apple foot’ as a toddler which involved me chomping on the footwear of various members of the family, the same father who was known to burst in on his tiny children during their bath armed with a camera and some cheesy line about showing pictures to our future girlfriends, and the same father who at least once, with the help of my younger brother Tom, placed a pile of shaving cream on my hand while I was sleeping and then tickled my nose with a feather, only to stand over me and laugh as I wiped shaving cream all over my groggy face.  He certainly was not unworthy of such a prank.  The second thing you should know is that I only turned the bidet on long enough for Dad’s eyes to bug out, and then I turned it right off.  Who says those remotes aren’t handy?