The 4 year old, (oh, let's just call him "Charlie", for shits and giggles) had a little trouble cleaning himself after a rather messy cleansing of the bowels. Instead of calling me in to help, Audie (the 6 year old) decides to take control. “What can I do for you honey?” she says sweetly, (as if she doesn't want to wring his little neck 20 hours outta a 24 hour day!). Charlie, clearly frustrated, “My butts dirty, I can’t get it.". At this point he's gone through a bazillion *tiny* pieces of toilet paper. Annoyed at his own ineptness, he whines, "Help me Auds?”. Ever valiant, she grabs some toilet paper. “Oh, all right." she sighs as if extremely put upon-even though she volunteered for this particular mission. "Bend over sweetie”.
After a few failed attempts, with Auds standing about a mile away and swiping tentatively in the vicinity of his rear end, he's had enough and yells, “MOM! Need a little more help here!”. *sigh*
I knew it would come to this, but, I let her try anyway and here's why:
Everyone has a "Dad" parenting moment, when they say to themselves, "lets just see what happens". Come on fellow Mom's, you know what I'm talking about! Where the Dad, Aka the responsible individual in charge *cough*, tends to observe a situation instead of stepping in to prevent the issue all together? This is usually where family "accidents" occur, you know, the ones us women tend to discuss and laugh at during family gatherings??
Such as, "Johnny was showing me how he can walk backwards, when all of a sudden he fell down the stairs! Never saw it coming!" or "Ernestine wanted to make a tent under a folding table and secured the blanket on top with a series of well placed bricks. Ingenious plan I thought, until one of the bricks fell on her head!". Okay, that last one was actually my BFF and I when we were kids, but, where was her Dad when this happened, huh?!? Clearly, that's a tale for another time...
Back to the story at hand, I walk into the bathroom and grab a warm soapy wash cloth and proceed to clean his foul ass. Mission completed, Charlie's one happy camper scampering away to play. Blissful, with the knowledge that he's now traumatized his sister forever. Two words, Demon. Spawn. Audie looks at me and in a somewhat state of shock, says (with no small amount of disgust), “I am never using that wash cloth again!". Visibly shudders, "Yuck!”.
Now I ask you, should I shatter her peace of mind and tell her every wash cloth she uses has at one time touched each of her brother’s, her Dad's and my nether regions?! I could be kind and let her live with a false sense of security, but then thats not how I roll.
**Messing with the kids, not quite as enjoyable as envisioning a mental kick to an annoying persons head, but nonetheless gratifying!
This latest episode at the homestead Asylum, got me thinking, Auds has an astonishingly good point! Towels and washcloths should definitely be made to be disposable. By disposable, I mean burned, bombed and destroyed, never to be seen again. When washing/drying your face/hair etc.. have you ever thought, (just THOUGHT?!) about the disgusting crevices that that particular piece of cloth has journeyed on various parts of your families/house guests bodies?!
Peeps, there's a reason these should be as disposable as paper towels. Because really, does a washing machine ever *truly* make you forget, that the towel your drying your hair with was used only a week or two ago, to clean up Cindy's puke or (in our case) Charlie's poopy butt?! I assure you, I now avoid that particular wash cloth like the plague.
Which leads me to yet another observation, (of which is far worse), using hotels and hospitals complimentary towels/washcloths, that multiple strangers have used on the disgusting crevices of THEIR bodies?! Yikes!
Happy showering! *snicker*
P.s. Don't even think of kicking me in the head, that's my thing! ;)