I am not a Bathroom Blogger. I don’t discuss that “end” of my private life. But toilets in Japan are the happening thing in our family. The boys recount vividly their episodes. Our American boys are used to ho-hum, dull white porcelain. They have never seen Western toilets with Mighty Super Powers.

First an education on our toilets, and then….I will bring you into my inner circle. I will divulge the story how I was doused by a bidet.

Toilets in Tokyo are either traditional Japanese, or Western. I am not a fan of the traditional Japanese. I squatted over one ONCE. Lest you wonder, I only emptied my bladder. That was enough. I am not a boy. I have not grown up practicing my aim. I left the stall dry, but it was hard work.

Many have asked to see pictures of our apartment. Here is a piece of our bathrooms. Every bathroom has a mounted large “control.” Those are blue butt cheeks on the second and third buttons. Below shows how water shoots.

The buttons frightened me when I saw them. I have never pushed them. When I think “spray,” I think fire hose and hip boots, not a gentle wash. When I think “massage” I think serene dark room where my deep tissue is palpitated, not my rear end saying, “aaaahhhhh.” When I think “power deodorizer” I think industrial strength air freshener, not sweet aromas.

My boys have no fear of the controls. They have tested every button. They have been “exposed” to new levels of hygiene. I was content to take their word for it.

And then, I was baptized by the bidet. IN PUBLIC.

You don’t get it? See the purple button on the control panel.

I was, Praise the Lord, wearing a dress. We are on the tail end (Don’t you love my double entendres?) of summer. For the first time in many summers I am not pregnant or nursing. Unexpectedly, I look swell in dresses. Everything is where it should be.

I volunteered (insert, bird brained idea) to take Son3 into the bathroom in a fancy pants hotel. We had just dropped by for an early family dinner.

Son3 is TWO years old. Bless his little agile fingers.

Those that know me In Real Life, know I genuinely have problems sharing toilets.

I don’t share well.

I don’t use other people’s toilets without squatting. Some friends clean their toilets just for me, and let me be the first to use them. Public toilets are not my thing. Imagine me wearing a dress, ready for #1 business, NOT sitting.

Imagine a control mounted alongside the commode.

Did I mention The Bird Brained Idea to invite Son3? I thought so.

It was a bad movie. I said, “no touch.”

Make that,

“NO TOUCH!!!”

But his teeny fingers grasped the “MAX WATER” dial.

Yes, they did.

His fingers punched another button, and I heard a whirl. Why did I look down into the bowl rather than take cover?

A tube shot out like a cannon. Water blasted out and pelted my pretty polka dot dress. I screamed like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. Son3 screamed like he had seen a teenage ghost at a Justin Bieber concert. Meanwhile, the water cannon sloshed, flooding the fancy pants stall.

I got myself together, tiptoed to the paper towels, and snatched them in stacks. I tried to be inconspicuous. It was not easy with Son3 howling “WET, MOMMY, WET!!!”

The paper towels soaked the water. I went for Round Two of clean up. Somewhere around Round Four the bathroom door swung open with me bent over in my polka dots. I apologized to the lady. I told her Son3 had too much fun with the bidet. She shot me the Stranger Dagger Look every mother dreads, and disappeared into a stall.

I scrubbed my hands and Son3′s hands silly before we left.

If I feared the toilets in my apartment before, I am petrified of their Mighty Super Powers now. I do not need more bidet adventures. I will leave those to my boys.

 

 

 

Much hope swirls around a boy’s mind near his birthday. A hope to stand out. A hope for recognition. A hope for first place.

Add to that hopes of life on a new continent, days before his seventh birthday.

You know how we answered that?!?

WE’RE GOING TO DISNEYLAND!!!!

On Son1′s birthday we abandoned the hotel and hoofed it one extra train stop. We made a quick chow stop at his favorite, McDonald’s. We claimed a table as the line wrapped around the building. It felt like home, but better. The hosts bowed before and after we ordered. The culture extends into fast food restaurants. I cannot say McDonald’s hosts in the United States are so polite. And, it was the cleanest McDonald’s. Someone was constantly wiping or sweeping.

Next, it was a heroic ordeal to get Son1 a train card. We hiked down a parade of steps to the underground office. I do mean hike. This station had no elevator. Dr. Romance is THE MAN, though. He hoisted up the toddler in the stroller. He treaded down. I was wide eyed until others did the same.

Son1 was beamed at his train card. In Tokyo your name is printed on it. If lost, they replace it with your fare credit, OR someone can return it. That is SO different than subway culture in NYC, DC, and Boston. I am used to “finders, keepers…losers, weepers.”

We waited on the platform and by a fluke, loaded onto an express train. The ride was only 30 minutes! Time flew for the boys. They are so curious about trains in Japan and the different colored routes.

We sprung off the train at the Magic Kingdom. So we all remember, the fam posed with seven birthday fingers.

Tokyo Disney was packed like no other amusement park.  It was also the major Japanese holiday, Odon. We asked for an English map at the gate and hatched a plan. Our first stop was “It’s a Small World.”

Our boys have never been to any Disney park, not even when we lived 2 hours from Disneyland, California.  That shocks people. But, if you have been around this blog awhile, you know they have been to other amazing places. They were not been stripped of too much. So the wonder of Disneyland, “The Happiest Place on Earth” was new and precious.

We drifted along in two rows of the boat. A family of five merits big real estate on the rides! The older boys and Dr.Romance sat behind me and Son3. I relive their banter. They boiled down the places they have lived, and where they live now. And,… It IS A Small World, after all!!

Oh….and about the amusement park real estate….I just have to throw this in here. One of the most senseless reasons (okay, I have heard people actually say this multiple times) to not have a third child is that the whole family can’t ride on amusement park rides together, or sit at a table for four. That is crazy talk. Remember this blog post…remember we find beauty in BIG real estate on amusement rides. Two family tea cups scored us sidesplitting laughter.

Soon we were melting like ice cream in a hot desert. Our bodies had not yet acclimated. We spied a door that read “The Country Bear Jamboree.” So fun! It does not exist at Disneyland California anymore! The boys hee-hawed and roared at Japanese twangy bear voices set to country music.

Son1 was captivated all day. It occurred to me as we climbed up and down the Swiss Family Robinson house, and he popped up seven fingers….these days of pretend,  of imagination, and of enchantment…I have been there with Son1 for seven years. How much longer do days of make believe and fantasy last?

I don’t know. But when Son1 asked to ride the steam engine train, Dr. Romance said, “these train loving days aren’t forever.” So our hot, red, and sweaty family of five slid onto a passenger bench and closed the door.

Our last family ride before Son3 conked out was Pirates of the Caribbean. The older two boys were bedazzled by pirate gold and pirate life. We surprised them with dinner at the Blue Bayou, inside the ride.

And the restaurant surprised us all with a special dessert inside those mouse ears. And under the glow of lanterns, and beside the  sparkle of a candle, Son1′s face lit up.

He hoped brightly. He wished quietly.

 

 

 

My shoulders cringed and my stomach tightened when Dr. Romance signed up to climb Mt. Fuji with my SIX year old. I heard him. I refused to believe they were going. Just 33 hours after we arrived in Japan, though, I helped my son get dressed at 3:30 a.m.

My heart was a bit anxious. Climbing Mt. Fuji is a trek many people have on their bucket list. But a six year old is too young for a bucket list. Six years old is a bit earlier than I imagined for my “someday when he is older he can join you” speeches to turn into “yes, he can go.”

Dr. Romance has waited for these days since the first time the ultrasound tech announced “It’s a BOY!” For almost seven years I listened to plans for “somedays.”  I did not know they start now. He still calls me Mommy.

Okay, so it was 3 days before he turned seven. But that still made him SIX.

I helped to stretch clothes over Son1’s limbs. He was folded up in his bed, his body still jet lagged on US time. I ransacked the luggage for snacks and hiking loot. There wasn’t much left after a 7.5 hour flight with three boys. But I handed over what I had, anyway.

Now, just to make sure I completed my motherly duties, I threw out every worst case hiking scenario to Dr. Romance. I demanded his what if plans before they stepped out the door. My quizzing was pointless though. Dr. Romance is strategic and a planner. I wanted to ask for email updates, but I refrained. They were going to the highest mountain in Japan.  I told myself I had to be realistic.  I stood at the door to our hotel room and watched as they walked down the hall in the 3am hour.

But Dr. Romance is very keen to my dreamy and dangerous imagination. He knows my need for peace. So when his email scrolled up into my inbox and I nearly jumped up and hugged the screen. He let me know the three hour bus ride to Mt. Fuji turned into six hours. Traffic out of Tokyo during the holiday week was ugly. The driver skipped the bathroom break at the halfway point, and kept the bus rolling for five straight hours. Finally, they stopped and used a traditional Japanese squatting toilet.

An hour later they finally arrived at the foot of the mountain.

My dynamic duo purchased walking sticks. After I sermoned Dr. Romance on complete safety with my firstborn child’s life, their goal was just to get to the first station. There are nine stations total, and when you reach each station, you pay to have a stamp branded on your stick.

 

They hit the first station with some ease. They spied the second station in the distance so they kept scaling up.

 

Many climbers commented that Son1 was brave to climb Mt. Fuji. They only saw one other family with children climbing. Below was the “easy” part of the ascent. This was straight UP!

To protect the climbers from potential landslides huge steel barriers lined the trail.

 

Dr. Romance and Son1 completed seven of the nine stations to the top of Mt. Fuji!!!  This was at a rest stop. Five stamps are showing on the stick, and two are on the back side.

They started hiking so late, they never made the downward trail at station eight. The bus was scheduled to leave at 9pm, and Dr. Romance wanted no part of a night hike!

They hiked down the trail where hundreds of hikers were still climbing up. They slid down rocks and used the steel the chain to repel down in a few places.

Dr. Romance and Son1 want to hike Mt. Fuji next summer to earn the last stamps on their walking sticks.

Maybe a little part of me is okay with that.