Whether through genetics or influences in our family environment, certain members of my family exhibit certain bathroom behaviors, i.e., reading while on the throne for extended time periods.
The first family member that I recall doing this was/is my father. There was a box with books in there. Not thin little Reader's Digests, NOVELS.
I picked up the symptoms. I don't have a box of books in my bathroom, it is just one little book now, a book of sudoku puzzles. If I know I'm going to be in there long, it's a sudoku puzzle. Locking the door is to ensure the kids don't barge in when I'm wrangling a particularly difficult one. My husband shares the sudoku book. He's in there more because of surgeries that happened years ago. Everything goes through him.
My oldest will take refuge in the bathroom with a book after I nag at her to go to sleep late at night. I don't know if she really needs to use the facility or if it's just a ploy to get some more reading time. She could be lounging in the bathtub for all I know (she locks the door so I can't check on her).
So, this morning, while we were getting ready for church (no time for sudoku puzzles you understand) we inform our three year old that it's "time to go potty". We are in the middle of potty training him. We have given up on all the charts, stickers, treats; no toys or books to make him sit on the potty, no trying to help them "feel when they need to go" and we just tell him to go every couple of hours or so. We hope he'll pick up the habit. This morning one of the other children was bathing in the kids' bathroom, so we told him to use our bathroom. He said, "Okay, I go potty, I need book." He went in, closed the door, and my husband said, "Don't lock the door."
We heard a click. My little boy laughed. It was a short "Ha ha ha" like he meant to say, "Gotcha Dad."
We were stunned. He had never done THAT before, the little stinkpot. Of course, we were grinning at each other at the audacity of this punk on the other side of the bathroom door. He came out a minute later, sans pants (still working on the getting redressed part) with that impish grin of his.
Oh yeah, Dad? I blame you.