Bushman

A few weekends ago I went to Time Out for Women. Whilst Grady and I were away in Edmonton, Porter and Lane were working on their manliness. Porter says to Lane, 'Dad, can I pee in grass?' Lane says, 'Sure.' I mean why not, right? So in our backyard, Porter whips down his pants to his ankles and aims for the middle of the grass. No folks, the yellow grass on the lawn is not from a dog but from my son. J.K. Then while we were on our family walk, the same one where Porter scraped his elbow, Porter said, 'I have to go pee!'
I panic, we are so far from home, how are we going to make in time for him to go the bathroom? Lane says, 'Come with me', and away they go into the bush. When Porter came out he said, 'Mom, I feel better!' This is a pro.

The con: Twice on our way to Church, Porter has whipped his pants down to his ankles and tinkled on the front lawn. Somewhere the line must be drawn. Peeing on the side of a highway while on a roadtrip: a good thing. Peeing on the front lawn when a toilet is 15 feet away: bad. Here is a picture of him on one such occasion on the way to Church.

I have a problem, I say no and tell him not to do that, but I guess I am too gifted at having an omniscient viewpoint. If I was just a fly on a wall, I would just laugh my guts out.