Why potties are not allowed on the table!

Vavielle as a baby

My oldest daughter, Vavielle was a wonderful baby and toddler.  She slept through the night at just a few weeks, went to bed easy with no fuss (of course I gave her a bottle, we did not know any better in those days) and possessed a bright, cherubic manner.

When Vavielle was a year old we started potty training.   In a few weeks we had it mastered and often she would run off to the bathroom and spend time on her potty.   Then we flew to New Brunswick.  We had moved to British Columbia when Vavielle was an infant. However all of our families were back in New Brunswick so we visited whenever we could.   This trip we were flying and our route included a layover in Montreal.  Now in the sixties one dressed up to travel and I had my daughter decked out in a frilly little dress.  Mother and daughter were making their jaunt to the rest rooms and we discovered to our delight that there were tiny little flushes, just a potty height.  After I had Vavielle situated on the wee flush, no mean feat, think all those poufy skirts, I turned for a second.   Famous last words.

We should have had this set up\

 There was a loud roar, a whoosh and terrified cries.  I turned to find my little girl upended in the flush, only her tiny shoes remained above the rim and she was sobbing uncontrollably.   After I extricated her from the toilet, changed her clothing and calmed her down I discovered the flush mechanism was on the floor and childlike Vavielle had pushed it to see what would happen. 

 That episode set us back a long way.  Toilets were out, potties were in.  No worries of being drowned in a potty.  Fast forward to age three.  Our little family was driving, yes driving to New Brunswick from British Columbia.  I planned for every eventuality.  Knowing that bathroom facilities could be uncertain at best, I put the ever faithful potty in the back seat along with numerous rolls of toilet paper.  A few days into our trip we were stopped at a picnic site.   The place was bustling, every table was filled. In fact we were sharing our table with an elderly couple.  I was busy making the meal and Vavielle was chatting away to me.   Suddenly her father called her name in that “oh no” tone of voice, “Vav…ie..lle”!   I turned, and there on the picnic table, between my tablecloth and the other travellers food was an item you do not want to see.   Yes, it was the potty.  Better yet; perched on the potty was one bare bummed little three year old.

 Since I am the oldest of six, four of them brothers, I was not nearly as embarrassed as my husband.  We did pack up quickly; we did get back on the road.  Bathroom breaks were always closely supervised.  And no one asked me  Why potties are not allowed on the table!