Bathroom Territorialism and the Common Three Year Old

Bladerunner's brother and his wife own a two bedroom, ski-in, ski-out condo here at Big Mountain. (We'll call the Trailhead Brother-in-law Rear Engine. We'll call his wife Grasshopper. Lest you think I'm taking nicknaming liberties, I will advise you that these were their self-selected trail names during their 1996 Appalachian Trail thru-hike.) They came in from their home in North Carolina this week, and we drove over to visit for awhile.

Rear Engine and Grasshopper have two sons -- the 4 year-old Towhead, and a 3-year old I like to call Laser Boy. I call him this because this kid fairly vibrates with intensity. When he gets really into an activity, Rear Engine told me today, he literally starts to quiver. Laser Boy was asleep in the second bedroom when we arrived last night, and they moved him into the other bedroom so we could go to bed. I awoke to sound of a door opening and a small voice this morning.

"Hey! This is my room and I like to watch TV in this room and you guys really shouldn't be sleeping in my bed and I watch TV in here because this is my room and I want to watch TV and what are you guys doing in ---"

"Laser Boy!" Rear Engine hissed. Squalls ensued. Sounds of footsteps as Rear Engine dragged Laser Boy into the other room. More hollers.

We learned later that Laser Boy is inordinately attached to the bathroom in the room we are occupying, and felt it was extremely unfair that his toilet options had been limited. He had entered the room with the intent of spending some time on his favorite can, and was highly perturbed to find the place occupied.

The screams eventually subsided, though, and we kicked around the mountain all day. The snow is melting. Tomorrow we head to Glacier National Park.