I’m at a defining moment in my parenting career. I’ve espoused ideals about raising the next generation to do better—be better—than previous generations. To raise a thoughtful, intelligent, wonderful creature. And if that really is my goal, I have to step up to the plate now. Because it’s go time.
But I’m not sure if I’m up for it. Picking our battles, and all. Limited resources and energy, and all.
I mean, if I’m the only one in the house who wants the seat down, and there are 812 battles a day as it is, do I really want to fight a three year old over leaving the seat up? To tell him, patiently, every day for the next 15 years that it needs to be down?
Spouse, who has always put it down, would prefer it up. Peanut uses the whole seated apparatus more than the rest of us each day, and is new to the gender politics of leaving it up. And is a pain in the ass to reason with. The twin male cats use biodegradable litter that gets scooped right into the toilet, which is easiest with the seat up. Four to one, my friends, are not odds before which I wither. Four to one, ladies and gents, is nothing for a spitfire like me. Four to one, dear readers, is the odds I am playing against my summoning the reserves to pick this battle.
Seriously, I should put up or shut up. I spend my whole life railing about men who left the seat up. Who raised these insensitive, lazy louts, I wailed?
Well, it seems, maybe, possibly, probably—Me.
NaptimeWriting 
I say pick the battle.
And while waging the war, just think of mothers like me. Women with daughters. Daughters who naturally put the seat down when they are finished. Who have never had to be told twice.
Because these daughters are too busy eating food on the toilet to argue about anything else. They believe all seats are created equal. They are not, I tell you! They are not!
Oh, man! (Or should I say woman.) This is the pits. You do have to pick your battles. It’s so true. But this is kind of a biggee, right? Ugh. I’m sorry to say I don’t envy you, but I think I agree with CK. Pick it. It is good manners, after all. My son tends to leave the seat up, and my daughter, my petite daughter, doesn’t look before she sits. The poor thing has nearly been flushed! I haven’t picked this battle, but perhaps I should. Hmm…
@ck and momalom, I hear you. Can I pick it later? like when it seems like it’s capricious, coming from nowhere, and unjust? Or do I really have to pick it now, while he’s a menace to the household? Do you know how hard I tried to make him a sit down peer? OVer a year, y’all, with nary a stand. Now he and Spouse have peeing contests and pee on each other’s streams and stupid-ass male crap that had me proclaim, out loud, “Oh, thank GOD there’s something he won’t scream and whine and cry for mommy to do. Finally a skill I can say, ‘ask your father.'”
@ Sarah. The floor, the wall, the cat box…yeah. Read that post. The cat box. The floor.
He told me yesterday he was glad there was a man and a boy at the farm where we were picking strawberries, because they all have a penis. “Yeah? So?” I asked. “Vulvas pee, too, and they can pee standing up, too.” He doesn’t need to know it tends to be messier, because right now, nothing is messier than him.
Four to one, indeed. I am boldly outnumbered here in this house. Granted, only 2 of the 4 penises here are yet potty trained, but I realize my need for seat is not, and will never be, at the top of any male mind in this domain. As my husband says, he figures that he has to pull the seat up to pee, why shouldn’t I have to pull it down? He’s very logical, that one, and it makes me second-guess the shear etiquette of a lowered lid.
My largest complaint is the 2am stumble to the toilet in the dark and oof, I plop onto a cold, surely unhygienic toilet bowl, nearly falling right in before I catch myself and say dammit! Now that, I could do without. Oh yeah, and the urine splashed all about the bathroom walls. Now really, what is that all about?
Pick it later. I’m surrounded by males too, and I wonder how I’ll ever teach them manners. I’m teaching ALL the men to say exuse me after a burp and one man that he can NOT leave the tiolet roll empty. That’s just wrong.
my vote is later if at all. life is too short. and there are so many many many other battles, aren’t there? i support whatever weirdo boy ritual/contests with pee pee (as long as they clean up the splatter) arise. of course, i live in a house with ladies only and only uno male. the seat stays down.