China Talk Tuesday - Those Crazy Pants

I'm going to tell you today about a funny little thing in China, regarding small children...and their pants. It is not uncommon to have an 18 month old completely potty trained - they simply take the child to the potty at specified times during the day, starting when the baby is very, very small, and the process is completed much earlier than their American counterparts. Brilliant, if you have the patience to hold a wiggling infant over a potty 8 times a day. (This sounds more disparaging than I mean it to. BBJ is currently standing on a toy, smacking me on the arm, shouting "lookatmelookatmelookatme, mommy, lookatme!!!" in my ear. Forgive me if I sound abrupt or frazzled.)

To make the job easier, they have designed special garments for these children to wear during their "training" process. These garments are designed so that it is very, very simple to take a child to the toilet, eliminating the step of actually removing the child's clothes.

Why do I bring all of this up? Well, to edify you all and instruct you in the ways of Chinese wisdom!

Oh, and also to explain the Cultural Significance of this little award Tonggu Momma saw fit to bestow on me, in response to the Bloggy Buddy award I sent her way yesterday. (Apparently, she got tired of the passing on and the thanking and the displaying of the numerous awards she received, and decided to design a little something to give back to those who had bestowed awards on her. I'm pretty sure the award speaks for itself.)

My friends, I seem to find myself the proud recipient of the "But(t) ...I was being nice!!!" award.

Enjoy, and consider yourself edified.

(Oh, and yes - this is for real. I saw it when I lived in Hong Kong, but...I lived in the boonies, so this practice might appall my city-dwelling husband. Apparently, I saw a LOT of things in "the boonies" that appall my city dwelling husband. And I like it that way.)




PS - BBJ just walked by and, in a stunned voice, asked, "What IS it?!" Since this question was preceded by a rather HIGH rendition of Happy Birthday, and my ears are still ringing, it was all I could do to squeak out, "It's a butt."

Smart, move, right? Just call me Smooth Mama.