My youngest son was SO helpful today. He had, well, a "witto accident," and I only discovered it when I walked into his room, where he was playing, and was practically knocked out by the smell of poop.
"WHERE IS THE POOP?!" I was in full-blown interrogation mode. I. HATE. POOP.
He looked up at me and angelically said, "Oh, don't worry Mommy! I cleaned it with a towel!"
"WHERE IS THE TOWEL?!" Still in interrogation mode. The evidence was overwhelming and I needed to get rid of it. STAT.
"Oh, Mommy, it's in the bathroom, hanging up! I hung it up! Come Mommy! I show you!"
Off he trots, on his chubby short legs, to show me where he has hung up the soiled towel.
I grab it quickly, and throw it, along with other towels and washcloths that, honestly, probably never touched the poop, into the laundry basket.
Then I notice his clothes. Not the same ones he had on earlier.
"YOU CHANGED YOUR CLOTHES! WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?!" This is far too important a crisis for me to lower the interrogation level. We're at the red level here. No mellow yellow or anxious orange for me. Crisis. National threat alert.
"Oh, I washed them and put them away! Come Mommy! I show you!"
Off we go back to his room, where he cheerfully shows me a pair of soaking wet underwear that he has "cleaned" and put back in his drawer "to dry." I grab that, and any clothing that has touched that, and toss those also into the laundry basket. Then, for good measure, I grab the towel hanging on his doorknob and the clothes lying on the floor. Again, probably never touched the poop. But one can never be too sure.
"WE HAVE TO CLEAN YOUR ROOM! I'M THROWING ALL THIS IN THE LAUNDRY AND THEN I'LL BE BACK UP HERE TO CLEAN AND VACUUM YOUR ROOM AND THE BATHROOM! AND WE'RE GIVING YOU A BATH! AND WE'RE CLEANING THE BATHROOM TOO!"
Army sergeants have nothing on me, that's for sure.
He cried a bit during the bath, insulted as he was that I did not think he'd cleaned well enough. But miraculously, he helped pick up and vacuum his room and clean the bathroom.
The whole scenario brought back memories of my other son, at about the same age, telling me that "he'd had an accident earlier," but not to worry, he'd "picked up the poop off the floor with a spoon!"
"WHERE IS THE SPOON?"
"Did you put it in the garbage?"
"Did you put it in the sink?"
"Did you" -- long shot here -- "put it in the dishwasher?"
"NO! I put it in the drawer where the spoons go!"
That time, I sterilized every spoon, fork and knife in the drawer and the drawer too.
I hate poop. And kids are only "helpful" when you're not asking them to be.
- My interests include veganism and vegetarianism, health, ethics, politics and culture, media, and the environment. I have three kids; I teach college part-time, study piano and attempt to garden. I knit. I blog on just about anything, but many posts are related to my somewhat pathetic quest to eat better, be more mindful of the environment, and be a more responsible news consumer. Sometimes I write about parenting, but, like so many Mommy bloggers, my kids have recently told me not to. :) Thanks for reading.