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Survivor Journals

Bob of If I Die Before I Wake has invited nine journallers to participate in a Cyber Survivor Adventure.

Every couple of weeks, the group will be issued a "challenge entry". The site will post a excerpt from the challenge entries, as well as the link to the complete entry found on the journaller's own journal site.

After the challenge entry is posted, the nine journallers will vote one of the writers off the site.

The "ousted" journaller will actually remain on the site, but rather than posting further challenge entries, they will act as a judge and commentator.

The first challenge entry has been issued, and can be found at the Survivor Journal website. The actual entries should be completed by
October 1, 2000.

Please take the time to visit, especially once the challenge entries are posted. There is a message board to post your thoughts/comments and also a instant poll where visitors can vote for who they would want to see kicked off the site.

The reasons behind Survivor Journals are simple.

1. To try something new.
2. Increase the interaction of the journal community.
3. The challenge.
4. Increased exposure to all journals involved.

So take a look around, explore all the journals involved.

If you would like to take part in Survivor Journals, Year Two (around Nov/Dec 2000), let Bob know!


November 12, 2000

When you are raising children, you spend a lot of time thinking about the bathroom. Once the kid gets out of diapers, it’s amazing how much energy is spent in and around the bathroom. I was reading back over a couple of entries in my journal from when all of our children were little and I thought it might be fun to share them.

This one was called “The Peep Doctor” and was written when we were taking one of the kids to the urologist:

Tom has had his appointment with "the peep doctor" and another great trip can be recorded in the annals of "trips to Kaiser I have made." David and Paul fell asleep on the ride to Sacramento. Paul woke up right when we stopped, but David was just dead weight, so I carried his limp body around with me. We got to Urology and I plopped snoring David onto a couch and registered Tom. The nurse told me to go and have Tom give a urine specimen. I told Paul to stay with David (the bathrooms were in the waiting room, but naturally behind doors). I went into the bathroom with Tom and remembered that I left my purse outside, so leaned out to get it before getting the cup for Tom's the meantime, Tom is peeing into the toilet, very proud of himself! I screamed "STOP!" and hurried to get a cup to catch any residue, but we were too late. We talked water for a long while and Tom finally produced about 1/8" in the bottom of the cup and called it quits.

Tom and I came out of the ladies' room and Paul decided he wanted to go into the men's room. The room at this point was virtually empty except for an old lady who had a shortwave radio and was trying to tune into the TV channels so she could hear her favorite soap opera. By now it was after 1, so office hours were starting again and people began coming, each one with their little slips of paper waiting in line for Paul to get out of the bathroom. I could hear him singing and talking to himself, but I pretended I didn't know who he was. Then he started yelling to Tom... "Tom? You out there?" "Tom? Is Mommy there too?" "Tom? Did Mommy leave yet?" (to which a man standing in line shouted, "No, she didn't!") Then, "Tom? I'll be out as soon as I get the poop out of my bottom." (All this SHOUTED across a now-crowded waiting room!) When he yelled, "Ooops, I need more toilet paper for all this poop, Tom." I decided I had to admit he was mine, and I knocked on the door. When he opened it up, I marched in (to the men's room) and pulled up his pants and tried to gracefully usher him past the long line of men with their little slips of paper in their hands. He started crying, "But there's still poop in my bottom" and refused to sit in a chair. He would only writhe on the floor and scream, "I can't stand all this poop in my bottom!" At that point, I was ready to flush both of us down the nearest toilet, but there were still too many people waiting in line to get in!

Through all of this, David still snored peacefully, though by now we were occupying three chairs (David's body) and a good portion of the floor, since both Tom and Paul were now lying on it and writhing. They finally took pity on us and called us for our appointment. David, still limp, was carried into the examination room and I put him on the examining table along with Tom.

And this entry was written about an abortive evening I spent with the kids in a local restaurant:

Paul was feeling a bit left out yesterday because Ned was off on a camping trip and Jeri was at her Brownie Overnight. To help make things special for the other three, I took them to Sambo's for dinner. Things went pretty well for most of the event. They all decided on waffles or pancakes and despite the huge portions they all made a considerable dent in the meal.

Things started to go wrong when I OK'd a trip to the bathroom. Paul was looking a little yellow about the eyes and threatening to do something very embarrassing if we didn't find a room soon and Tom was yelling (yes, yelling) "I have to go POOP!" with David trailing along behind sing-songing "poopies, poopies, poopies." Well, so much for the ol' image.

The bad thing about having a kid old enough to read "m-e-n" and "w-o-m-e-n" is that they become quit indignant about suggestions that they visit the wrong room. That was still OK. We determined that Paul would indeed be able to open the door again after he went in and I went to pay the bill. One thing in Sambo's credit is that restrooms are behind a door which says "restroom" and then the individual doors are hidden from the general public. As I stood there at the cash register, the unmistakable and ominous sound of loud giggling came to my ears. I paid my money and retreated behind the "restroom" door to hiss "get out of there!" at the door to the men's room. David at this point discovered that he could open the door and went in to join the boys, whereupon Tom began to scream "David!" at top volume (David had crawled under the john door and was pestering him). I whispered louder, "get OUT of there!" and Tom yelled back at top volume, "But, Mom, I'm going POOP!" I grabbed Paul and told him to at least get David and all started to go outside to wait for Tom, who began to scream, "Don't leave me!" At this point I gave up proprieties and entered the forbidden men's room to pull Tom, pants still off, out the door.

Paul was yelling, "Hey! David went peep in his pants," the toilet was filled with sombody's poop (I assumed Tom's) and I had to make another trip back in to flush it. Somewhere in the middle of this melee, the waitress came running in to find us and give us Winnie the Pooh, who had decided to stay behind and finish our leftovers.

After the bathroom experience, I wanted to retreat as gracefully as possible under the circumstances, but first had to pry David's fingers off the front door of the restaurant, as he was chinning himself on the bar.

How DID I do it?

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created 11/5/00 by Bev Sykes