It was a year-long contest, if I remember correctly.
We had three kids, and we caught ourselves saying the most bizarre things. Things we never expected to hear our own mouths speak.
Things like, “The dog is not a napkin.”
And, “Please don’t paint yourself with your popsicle.”
At some point, like oh-so-many parts of parenting, it moved from outrageously frustrating to epically entertaining.
So we made it a contest.
Every day for about a year, we saved ’em up. All the crazy things we’d said that day.
And then, at the end of the day, we’d duel.
Quick. Rapid fire. Pull your pistols and verbally shoot. Duel.
First me. Then Greg.
And he won when he said,
“To Ian. In the public bathroom. At the top of my voice. I said, ‘Put it down! Put DOWN the URINAL CAKE.'”
And I died. I might’ve peed. And then I died some more.
Greg didn’t win the battle.
He won the whole war.
I just don’t know what else can beat that.
But I’ll tell you this.
I’ve spent a lot of time seeing the words “urinal cake” since I made it my URL more than 3 years ago.
So I’ve spent more time than probably anyone contemplating our phrase.
And you know what?
I don’t just find it outrageous anymore.
Because somewhere along the way, “Put down the urinal cake” became my reminder.
My reminder that it’s OK to notice the yucky things and to comment on them out loud. To recognize when I’m holding on to them too long. And then to let them go.
And to laugh. Always, to laugh.
To grab and squeeze every ounce of joy out of a life that’s sometimes full of urinal cakes.
‘Cause you might see the urinal.
But, baby, I see the cake.