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i'm done. this is what you hear yelled through our house whenever one of our potty-using children has finished going to the restroom. this call intends to draw an adult, any adult, to come up and wipe the shouter. if it is bella, when you round the corner she is already leaning forward so far in anticipation of the wiping that she is holding the book she's reading flat on the floor using her hands, planted on either side of the tome, to keep her from spilling over onto her head. her bottom is lifted off the seat to grant the worker ready access to her bottom for wiping. if after wiping you make a move to leave the bathroom without washing your hands she says, whimsically, 'uhhhm. aren't you forgetting something father?' while motioning to the sink with her eyes. if the call has come from alex, when you round the corner he is crunched up as tight as a roly-poly with his hands pressed hard over his eyes giggling terribly. alex still believes if he can't see you, you can't see him. when i walk up on this i say 'hey, i thought someone shouted 'i'm done' up here, but there's no one here.' to this he whips his hands away from his face with flourish and yells 'here i am!' the zeal in which this exclamation comes often causes him to wobble precariously with his feet still too short to touch tile.

i need checked. this is what you hear yelled through our house when one of these potty-using children has attempted to wipe themselves. if it is bella, and you are the one to respond when you round the corner to the bathroom, you will find her framed in the wide-open doorway with her back to you and full bent over using her head on the floor for support. such a stance offers you a for sure full view of her recently wiped rear which is unsteadily wavering in the air. inevitably, this pose will give your approach a moment of pause (still does me at least). in this stall she will brightly ask 'all good?' to which i always respond, 'yeah, all good bella'. if it is alex who made the call, when you get there you'll find him standing in front of the toilet fighting to pull his underwear up his stick-thin legs. when you ask if he needs checked he will decline saying he was just telling you that he wiped. when you ask if, since you're here, you can take a look and make sure everything is ok he becomes perturbed saying that he did it and everything is fine and he is a 'big boy'. the smart move is to let it go. fortunately you don't have to sweat it much because i've never seen alex have anything less than an ideal, wipe-free bowel movement. 90% of his diet consists of bran muffins, yogurt, bananas and grapes. the result of this picture-perfect diet is picture-perfect turds. each and every one of them are photo-worthy, truly. the closest thing i could compare an alex floater to would be an over-sized Tylenol capsule, less the red and yellow hemispheres. and the word Tylenol scrawled on the side of course.

your turn. this is what marty and troy mutter to one another whenever either of the above cries bounces off the walls of our home.




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