kiwords

All I wanted to do was go to the bathroom. Just a moment to myself to…well, go to the bathroom. The door had no more closed behind me than I heard the thunder of a chase. Tre was in hot pursuit of Max, who was screaming through the house, trying to escape. I sat quietly, hoping to not participate in this little adventure. But the boys have some sort of Mama-radar, and they homed in on me quickly. Soon the drumbeat of racing feet came down the hallway toward the bathroom door, and two boys burst in. “Base!” hollered Max, grabbing me by the arm. I’m always base. “No fair!” replied Tre. He never thinks it’s fair that I’m base…unless he’s the one clinging to my arm. I replied in the time-honored tradition of moms trying to pee throughout the ages. “OUT!” I shrieked, pointing an imperious finger at the door. “OUT OUT OUT! And CLOSE THE DOOR!” They slunk out, closed the door, and thundered away.
Deep breath in through the nose…but before I could blow out the cleansing breath, the door opened again. Raphael peeked a delighted head around the door. “Yoo goin’ pee?”
“Yes, honey. Close the door please.” He was more than happy too, and stepped in and carefully closed the door behind him. I had hoped he would be on the other side of it when it closed, but oh well. He trundled up to me happily, and proceeded to gather up a large fistful of toilet paper, all the while making small talk. Toddler style. “Yoo don’ gotta pen*s? Nooo, don’ gotta pen*s. Ah want some juice. Yoo go git me juice? Ok, Ah drink juice. Ah gotta pen*s.” He started trying to shove the wad of toilet paper in past my leg, pushing mightily. I told him no. He pitched a wee fit, flinging the toilet paper to the floor, but was distracted by discovering (for the millionth time) that I have a belly button TOO! He quickly moved to roto-rootering my belly button with one enthusiastic finger. “Ah gotta button. Yoo gotta button? Hi, Mama Button!” I redirected his attention by asking if he would like to flush for me. He trotted around to the other side of the toilet to do so, and I hastened through the rest of the procedure without help. Thank God. I got my pants fastened and hands washed before he was done flushing multiple times and singing out, “Yoo don’ go poop? No poop? Oh well. Bye-bye pee! Bye-bye!” As I opened the door and started to walk out, he jumped and raced in front of me. He wrestled the door from my grasp and pulled it closed on my foot. “Ah gib you primacy,” he told me soberly (meaning privacy). I sighed back at him, as Claire (our beautiful stupid cat) slipped past and glared at me for using her water bowl like that again. “Darlin’, I get a lot of things around here. Primacy just ain’t one of them.”