stamp collectors, train spotters, and thimble enthuthiasts; all of them have a peculiar, but dogged fascination with their own personal "muse". while i do not harbour secret stashes in rubbermaid boxes under the bed, i have acquired a lot of poo paraphernalia (in the form of books, remote controlled fart machine, fart pots, plastic turds et al.). i am fortunate enough to be able to develop and explore my interests (and get paid hourly for it) during the work day. considering 95% of the population on my unit, at work, is under 5 years old, i have an opportunity to talk about poo every day if i choose.
yesterday, i spent over an hour watching and encouraging (i squatted, grunted, and made fart sounds) a 5 year old (with some significant developmental and expressive language/communication delays) dance around, and dip his toes and/or hands into the toilet, without ever actually depositing the graham crackers/tinned peaches/sloppy joe/lemon cake he had consumed several hours prior. he has not yet made the abstraction that a large (ish) hole filled with water is a place to relinquish control of one's sphincter. put him in some pull ups however, and packs of pavlov's dogs are taking dumps to the grunts this child issues forth.
still no turd in the toilet.