“Come wipe my butt! RIGHT NOW!”
“Young man, you do not talk to me in that tone of voice. Apologize right now.”
“I’m sorry I rude, Mama. Would you please come wipe my butt, right now?”
“You don’t tell adults ‘right now’. You’re a kid. You don’t order people around, DragonMonkey. And no – you wipe your own butt.”
“EWWW. Poopoo is so gross. YOU WIPE IT.”
“No. I’m not doing it. You’re four years old. You wipe it.”
“No! I don’t want to. It’s gross. Eww. Ewww, eww, ewww.”
Disconcerting pause.
“Eww. Come see. Come see, Mama. Eww.”
“No. I have no desire to come in that bathroom. You’re four. You wipe it. You’re not a baby any more.”
“Wiiiipe my bu-u-u-u-u-tt…. Wipe it! Please, come look at my butt and wipe it!”
“Here, I’ll make you a deal. I will come in there and wipe your butt–“
“YAAAAY!”
“Don’t interrupt. I wasn’t finished. I will come in there, and wipe your butt, but when I am done, I am going to spank it.”
“NO! NO SPANKING!”
“Then wipe your own butt.”
“No. I have an idea. You just come wipe my butt, but no spank it. Does that sound like a good idea?”
“No, DragonMonkey, it does not sound like a good idea. You have two choices: Wipe your own butt, or have me wipe it, and then give it two spanks.”
“No, mama… NOOOO. It buuurns… Oh, it buuuuurns… owwww… poopoo…. It so ewww… it buuuurns…”
“DragonMonkey, you’re not the Wicked Witch of the West, and that’s not water. It’s poo. It’s just as gross for me as it is for you – you wipe it.”
“I ca-a-a-a-an’t… I’m too sick to wipe it…..”
“If you’re too sick to wipe it, then that means you have to spend the rest of the day in bed – right after I go in there and wipe it, and give you the two spanks.”
“No! I not sick!”
“Then don’t lie – you know the policy on lying in this house.”
Long silence.
“DragonMonkey? Are you done?”
“COME WIPE MY BUTT, PLEASE, OH, PLEASE….”
“No. I’m not getting into this habit again – you perfectly capable of wiping your own heiny.”
“Bupt? Bupt, Ma? Bupt?”
“NO. IT’S MY BUTT, SQUID. MY BUTT! YOU DON’T SAY BUTT. I SAY BUTT.”
“BUTT! BUTT! BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT!”
“DON’T SAY BUTT! ONLY I SAY BUTT! ONLY I ALLOWED TO SAY BUTT!”
“BUTT! BUTT! BUTT! BUTT! BUTT!”
“MAMA! SQUID SAYING ‘BUTT”! HE NOT ALLOWED TO SAY BUTT.” Pause. “COME WIPE MY BUTT, PLEASE.”
It’s 2:11 pm. I have 8,000 more words to write by tomorrow evening in order to finish NaNoWriMo in time.
My boss gave me over an hour of EMERGENCY-OH-MY-GOSH-GET-THIS-TO-ME-ASAP complicated dictation that I can’t do until the kids take a nap.
My four-year-old is currently in stink-bug position in the bathroom, gross little heiny pointed at me. We’re at a standstill in negotiations – it’s like that really cool scene in a Western film where the two cowboys face each other from opposite ends of the street, waiting to see who draws first… only it’s less tumbleweeds and shiny pistols, and more screeching and feces.
In other words, it’s not nearly so cool.
My one-year-old is still racing around the house, screaming “BUTT!” at the top of his screechy little lungs.
Happy Thursday, everyone.
