Alexandra's teacher, a woman that has been at the school longer than the school gate itself, pulled me aside yesterday after she had delivered all the children to their rightful owners.
Her grey eyes locked with mine and she quietly but sternly asked if we could please encourage Alexandra to use another word instead of potty.
"Some of the other children are starting to notice," she said, "and they are starting to say things."
Even though it was an almost freezing +1C, I could feel my whole body get hot, and my new wooly purple knit scarf I got in the sales felt like a noose around my neck.
I wanted to deny it. Maybe I could pull it off. Of course we don't say potty, that's so childish. We used that word when they were little but now we use more appropriate language.
But that was not possible. This woman spends large amounts of time with my child. She knew. Yes, we said potty at home. Sorry, it's stems from my yankee roots.
"Maybe you could use the word toilet or loo at home," her face softened, and she put her finger to the side of her nose. Did she just wink at me?
"Yes, of course," I said still red, and wondering what other inappropriate language she thought we used at home. She probably also thought that we used words like boo boo, wee wee and poo poo (we do).
"Thanks' she smiled, and I could tell she had Alexandra's best interests in mind and her good intentions melted my embarrassment.
So on the way home we all had a talk and decided on "loo," which is much more posh than "toilet".
However, I'm dreading the poo poo talk.
Photo credit: Tim Neblitt
