Monday, May 31, 2010

Wash Your Wiener

I figured it would only be fitting to christen this blog by sharing the most embarrassing thing I've done to the kid. This week at least.

(Please note: I will not use A's full name on this blog. This is for his safety.)

A has an aversion to cleanliness. This is not a family trait as my mother and I are constantly fighting over who will get to use the one shower in the house. Its gotta be a boy thing, that is the only way to explain how he can roll around in the dirt and then refuse to take a bath.

The last couple of weeks have been stressful for me on a deeply personal level. That's the only excuse I can think of to explain how A managed to go without a bath three days in a row. As soon as I realized it I marched his whining behind into the bathroom and started the bath.

Once the kiddo realized he was going to get to play in the water he was perfectly fine. I let him splash, squeal, and play for a good ten minuets before reminding him he needed to actually use soap during bath time, and yes that means washing your hair too. 

A quick note about our house. Its old. From what I've been told we are nearing 100 years on the house. The bathroom has indeed been updated, but not so far as to put in a ventilation fan. The small windows stay cracked open, just enough to let steam out. It would work perfectly except for the fact that now the neighbors can hear everything happening in the bathroom.

A got his hair washed and rinsed with minimal fuss. He seemed giddy to be able to use his dolphin bath poof to scrub his body... up until it came time to wash his privates. 

"Wash your wiener, kiddo." I called across the room while looking for the puppy dog towel he wanted.

"But it hurts!" He squealed.

Ut oh... Sure enough his little thing was red. (Another note, his mother didn't give him the "snip". So we are blessed with extra cleaning issues downstairs.)

"Sorry, baby, but you need to wash your wiener."

It took about ten minuets of him whining and me yelling "Wash your wiener!" across the bathroom for him to finally clean it right. All the time I was hoping like hell that the neighbors weren't on that side of the house.

I couldn't be so lucky.

As I fished the child-prune out of the bath I heard them snickering and laughing in their kitchen. Yup, they'd heard and apparently sympathized. Sure, their boy is a father himself now, but you never forget the trials of raising a boy. 

Now every night I yell "Wash your wiener!" without worry. A giggles and does as I ask. He knows first hand what happens when you ignore such an important task during bath time. 


  1. I am the mother of girls. Now grown. But my husband was not the most forthcoming of fathers. All education of the anatomical nature came from me. One day, Charlie was shaving after showering, with a towel around his waist. The 3 year old toddled up, pointed to his penis, which was showing, and said, "What's that?" My enlightened husband looked down at the object of her point and answered, "I don't know." I have nothing to add. molly

  2. Welcome to the world of blogging! Great post... Looking forward to reading more. :)