Elijah, having been put to bed an hour previous, charged into the living room.

"I have to go poopie!" he announced.

"You know where the bathroom is. I ain't stoppin' you."

I said this with a bit of a stereotypical street accent, because I was watching The WIre and I tend to absorb the speaking patterns of any show in which I'm immersed. A month ago, I might have added "cocksucker." Anyway, Elijah left.

"Who's got ass duty?" I asked Regina.

"It's to you," she said.

A couple of minutes later, we heard the familiar shriek from the john.

"I'M READY TO WIPE!"

So I went into the bathroom and checked out the bowl. It was crowded.

"Dang, Elijah," I said. "That's impressive."

"I made a really big stinky poop," he said.

I wiped his ass.

"Be sure to clean it real good," Regina shouted from the other room.

"No, Regina," I said. "I refuse because I want our son to have a dirty butt."

"I'm just saying."

That task done, I washed my hands.

"Now it's your turn," I said to the boy.

He held up his right index finger.

"What?"

"I have a boo-boo."

"There is no boo-boo on that finger. Now wash your hands."

Behind me, Regina's cat Teacake, fat, old and stupid, was attempting to get into the bathtub so he could drink from the faucet. Elijah stepped on the digital scale.

"I'm waiting for it to say zero so I can weigh Teacake."

"You're not going to weigh Teacake. You're going to wash your hands."

"NO! I have to weigh Teacake."

"Teacake doesn't want to be weighed."

Elijah picked up the cat, who hissed. Some wrestling ensued, after which the cat was running away in terror, I had somehow managed to get some soap on Elijah's hands, and Elijah was howling.

"You get into bed right now," I said.

"I want my mama!"

His mama appeared.

"Good lord, Elijah," she said. "Daddy was just trying to wash your hands so you wouldn't get poop in your boo-boo."

Five minutes later, Elijah was asleep, and I was that much closer to the grave.

Posted by at 9:20 PM | Permalink