wipe your own bum. or maybe don't...

Elliot: (from "somewhere" down the hall) Can someone wipe my bum!
Me: (from the living room) Hang on!
Elliot: Wipe my bum RIGHT NOW.
Me: Excuse me?
Elliot: Excuse me?
Me: You are being very rude.
Elliot: You are being very rude.
Me: I'm gonna spank you!
Elliot: I'm gonna spank you!

A short recess while I realize my across-the-house threats and scolding are not very, well, threatening.

Elliot: Wipe! My! Bum!
Me: In a sec.

I fire up another game of solitaire on the computer.

Elliot: WIPE MY BUM!

I finish the game. I head to the bathroom. The princess is sitting happily grinning at me from her throne.

Me: You are not being very nice.
Elliot: I like you!
Me: Yeah. That's because I'm nice.

Superior parenting happens in my house in a moment by moment basis.

I always figure if I dawdle she'll be more eager to start looking after her own toileting. I think usually she just gives up and leaves, sans wiping.


Actually no, I shouldn't say she always does. The other day she went to the washroom, and I dawdled (it's really hard to muster up the excitement to spend half my day leaning over a shit-laden toilet), and a few minutes later she came out and proudly announced: "I wiped my own bum!" And I thought, "Yes, and I'm sure you did an excellent job."

A few more minutes later she comes to me for a hug, and I scooped her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, in  her favorite baby possum style hug that I love so much.

Then I smelled it, a whiff. A not-so-subtle poo-aroma. I groaned and leaned her back, and took her innocently clean-looking hands and sniffed one.

Don't ever, ever, ever sniff the hand, people, just don't.


If you're looking for a super fun,
 archived poop story, click HERE.

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