Monday, June 4, 2012

Double Jeopardy

My daughter is taking matters into her own hands.

Unfortunately those matters are her own feces. For years I've heard her pleaded call from the bathroom, "DADDY!!! I NEED HELP WIPING!!!" Which was fair enough - she took to toilets like a bear to the woods. About six months ago we introduced the idea of her starting to have a bash at wiping herself. And she had a decent go - but mostly knew soemone else would polish her up. But - being a four year old child - she doesn't quite 100% understand the sheer evil that is poo. Add - being a four year old child - she didn't have the dexterity needed to clean it off. And considering the only time I've ever thought about dexterity before was during nerdy games of Warhammer/Games Workshop fantasy gaming when someone anxiously worried about their dwarf's dexterity. Now I know they really meant they wanted to give their character toilet-paper points.

Which is all a roundabout way of saying that my daughter isn't very good at cleaning off her arse. But bless the little bugger - she's giving it a good go. Sadly it means quite often she just smears monkey-fudge all over herself. Thankfully she's very good at calling me before touching anything else. The only downside is she feels compelled to use armfuls of toilet paper in an effort to grab the whole sorry mess off. Such as this morning - where she had taken a stab at it but pretty much suceeded in just moving it about her rear end and then dumping 8 or 9 sheets of toilet paper into the bowl. When I responded to her happy call to help she was stood - bottom proudly and hopefully pointed at me covered in it's own shame - with her one hand held in the air as far away from the rest of her body as she could physically manage. "Did I do a good job!?" she enthusiastically asked. I betrayed my lie of "you're doing very well.." by initially gasping and blurting out an instinctive, "...oooh Phil Mitchell." Which was a complete surprise to me - I've never exclaimed his name at any point in my life, so it's bad news for him that the sight of my daughter's turd-smeared arse should bring rise to it now.

But it does mean that for what hopefully is a brief period of time that I once again have to keep diaper-rags around to wipe dirty bottoms with. I'm hoping this is one skill she picks up really quickly. Although not too quickly so that it becomes apparent that this is the very purpose she has been put on earth to excel at. I'm betting there's a college scholarship for that somewhere in this fine land though.

In related news my daughter came bounding downstairs yesterday to tell me that she had put her brother on the toilet upstairs. Which I didn't fully compute at first - because that's never happened before. "...but I forgot to take his underpants off." she followed up. "Like shoving fudge through cheesecloth.." I instantly thought. Then I ran upstairs. He was happily smiling on the toilet. In his underpants. His very wet underpants. I asked both the kids to do a reenactment of the whole incident. I almost wish Kirsty Young and Matthew Amroliwala could have been there narrating the whole thing. Sadly when I jokingly narrated it I sounded like Bob Mortimer's hilarious John Craven/dalek-on-Countryfile impersonation. Turns out though that my son now sees his sister as a trusted person to go to ask to put him on the toilet. Which she was more than happy to help with - what with her being an expert and all. Which I am quite happy with - but note two main failures here -:

1 - The two kids failed to address the underpants in anyway - and left them on.
2 - Both of them did see fit though to take off my son's shirt. What kind of horrifying event did my son foresee where he felt compelled to tell his sister, "actually we'd better take my shirt off as well - this is going to come out like a taunted-cobra.

This morning though is a slow damp day so far devoid of toilet mishaps. My son somehow hurt his foot during the night so has been crawling around with his leg in the air - like a posh woman drinking tea with her pinkie up - defiantly playing in spite of the pain. No idea how he did it. When I went to wake everyone up they were all in my massive bed - so my son did manage to run over in the wee hours without trouble. But consider that when I rose them from their slumber he was upside down with only his head covered by a duvet then I'm not sure he has any idea what he's doing.

My daughter is completely preoccupied with drawing and crafts. We headed off to a craft store yesterday with the goal to buy anything I felt like putting in the cart. You don't need a plan at a craft store - just some modicum of restraint. Thankfully in that regard the local store was having some sort of seasonal shift - so we ended up being quite modest. We got the usual stickers and whatnot. They also have a $1 aisle I let the kids pick out a few silly things from. One thing they chose were some of those naff pills you put in a glass of water that turn into an animal. See if you can figure out what this one is.


Frankly it looks like one of the animals has defecated that one out. Anyhoo - my daughter though is happy enough at the kitchen table making her latest tableau with sticker she says are scented - but aren't. Which is good because the one's she asked me to sniff were a peace sign, a unicorn and the Littlest Mermaid. Which in the real world would stink of patchouli oil, manure and fish.

Or as I more commonly refer to it - girls from Swansea. 

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