Zoey just slammed the bathroom door in my face. “I need piracy, Mama!” she shouts.
I grin, “You need Pri-va-cee.”
There is a loud thump and a sigh.”No. I NEED PIRACY. PY-RA-CEEEE!” My poor, misunderstood child continues, “And I don’t need YOU, Mama.”
I roll my eyes at the door. I hear the thunk of the ducky potty seat being put into place followed by some rustling and squeaking. Then the sound of water on water. I sneak around the corner to the pantry and pour some chocolate chips in my mouth straight from the yellow bag.
I hear Zoey muttering behind the closed door, “I can do it. I can do it” Then grunting. Huh. Good to know the prunes are working.
“Mommy?” Zoey’s voice is a little smaller, softer. “Mommy? I don’t need you but I need you to wipe my butt.”
There are so many things I want to say to this. For starters I want to launch into a detailed explanation (complete with pie charts and a laser pointer) of why butt wiping is a valuable skill. A valuable skill that is best learned soon than later. For instance, now, right now, would be a good time to learn it.
Butt wiping is much like stairs. Stairs which Gramme and Pop-Pop don’t think their one and only genius granddaughter should go up and down. Like, ever. (It’s the whole falling-and-splitting-her-head-open thing that gets them.)
But I really don’t think there’s any way for Zoey to graduate from Harvard if she can’t do stairs. Imagine: the first day of school she heads to class in Harvard Hall and . . . OH MY DEAR GOD! What are those things?!?! She’ll never make it to class on the 3rd floor, what with not knowing how to climb a series of steps, otherwise known as STAIRS. Then she’ll flunk out and I’ll have to take the Harvard Mom sticker off my car. Zoey will move back home and I’ll have to un-convert my writing room back to her room. There is no way in hell I’m wiping my child’s butt after she flunks out of Harvard. And steals my writing room.