Wipe Out

I’m still wiping one little tushy, butt I thought I was done having to give a “final wipe” to the other bums in the house until the other day. 

We had snuck out while Max was sleeping to jump on the trampoline, because after a while butt busters and “lotsa butt busters” and “Hold me!” get kinda old. So we were doing “combinations.” This activity originated last summer as a cool way to show off one’s athletic prowess through a series of moves - pike, splits, back-buster with a twist, etc. and daring others to copy it--sort of the HORSE of the trampoline (minus the letters - there are no winners and losers in this PC game). Now it consists of one person putting on a stupid little show about their favorite video game or movie and everyone else trying to remember who comes first, King Gooba or Yoshi. So when it was my turn to make up the combinations, I decided to break from my “cool to boys, but still sweet-looking” Ninja kicks and instead give them a taste of their own medicine. My combination included a ballerina, princess, butterfly, and fairy - all four-letter words to my rambunctious crew. Reed took it like a man, sucked in his cheeks (that’s his embarrassed face), and pirouetted with his eyes permanently rolled. Calvin was having none of it. He made a mad, trying-not-to-smile face, crossed his arms forcefully, then turned around and mooned me.

Besides his butt-cheeks, Calvin also revealed to me that maybe I should still be giving him a final wipe. I know I should have given him a serious talking to about voyeurism, but like the conscientious mom I am, I decided instead to laugh - and make fun of his striped tail. He denied it, but when we went inside for Wiping 101 class, the proof was on the paper. Piece after piece.

I always said that boy has an ornery streak. I just didn’t know how wide it was.