Quick Question: Who is to blame — the children who, though adorable, are apparently feral, or me for failing to write the legislation appropriately?
The Situation: Ran out of toilet paper yesterday.
We had an entire bag full of it, and yet when I needed it, it was gone. Vanished. POOF. Disappeared in a cloud of TP smoke. I imagine. Since I wasn’t there to witness the actual disappearance.
On the bright side, my children leave dirty clothes scattered just everywhere in our house, especially the bathrooms, so used socks and T-shirts suffice where toilet paper is lacking. Yes, I know it’s gross. I assure you I’m thoroughly aware of the exactly how repulsive it is to use a sweat and dirt crusted sock to wipe oneself. But people who live in the jungle must use what’s at their disposal, yes? Yes. Don’t judge.
I went on a mission to find the missing toilet paper. I swear we had a bag full. And since I just recently gave my children the Toilet Paper Speech again, its absence was a mystery. For those of you who live pristine, lovely lives — and pretty please message me all the details because I swear on Jesus’ Holy Name I need a few precious moments to live vicariously through you — the Toilet Paper Speech goes like this, liturigcal reading style:
Parent: Darling, darling children whom I love to pieces — sweet children who I endlessly adore — what, pray tell, is toilet paper for?
Children: For wiping!
Parent: And, beautiful babies, who are precious in God’s sight, what exactly do we wipe with toilet paper?
Children: Our butts. Also, vaginas if we have them.
Parent: And, little ones who seek to obey their parents and honor them all the days of their lives, are there exceptions to this rule?
Children: Yes, but only two.
Parent: And what are those two exceptions, cherubs?
Children: Wiping up our pee dribbles and poop smears on or around the toilet. Also, bloody noses.
Parent: Because…
Children: Because “Thou shalt not leave the water closet without conducting a detailed search for body fluids left behind. We are like the Marines; we never leave a man behind.”
Parent: And? …
Children: And we wash our damn hands!
Parent: Yes! Yes, abidingly perfect tiny humans. Yes. This is an Eternal Truth, and doing this will make Jesus happy. And it shall make your mother less likely to screech at you from the toilet. What, however, do we not use toilet paper for?
Children: Neither for cleaning the sink when it is chore time and we are too lazy to find the sponge, nor for mopping the floor because climbing the stairs to find an ancient towel from the laundry room is too odious. Neither for decorating our rooms, nor for wadding up to have a giant snowball fight. Neither for hiding under the front porch so we can take a dump without coming all the way inside, nor for wiping up the gallon of red sugar-free fake juice product we spilled on the floor.
Parent: Yes, sweet babies. Yes, all of this is true. And all God’s people said…
Together: Amen.
You can see why I was baffled. We are CLEAR on toilet paper in these parts. TP = for body fluids only, and only while ensconced in the toilet area.
I found the bag later, FYI. It was in the garbage. The whole thing.
I hollared up the stairs. “HEY! WHY IS THE TOILET PAPER IN THE GARBAGE? SERIOUSLY. GEEZ.”
And Greg hollared back. “Found it in the bathroom. Someone peed in it. The whole bag.” I could hear the eye-rolling in his voice. “I threw it away. Got TP on the shopping list.”
Sweet Jesus on a cracker. Who pees in a WHOLE BAG of toilet paper?? Rhetorical question. Obviously, a Woolsey child does. A Woolsey child looks at the toilet and looks at the full bag of toilet paper. A Woolsey child thinks to himself toilet paper is for body fluids, and a Woolsey child deposits his body fluids there. It’s not even technically against the rules. This is the problem with the Letter of the Law.
Lord love a duck.
So, quick question over to you: Who is to blame — the children who, though adorable, are apparently feral, or me for failing to write the legislation appropriately?
I fear I know the answer.
More soon.
With love,
P.S. We do not know who the culprit is. And, although I suspect it’s one of the children with a built-in hose, we didn’t conduct an investigation. Not a formal one. Not an informal one. Nope; we didn’t even ask. Greg found a urine-soaked bag of TP in the bathroom, threw it away, we’ve been wiping ourselves with socks, and our spray-happy child only had to tolerate his mother walking through the house yelling, “SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY?? YOU TOOK OUT A WHOLE BAG OF TOILET PAPER WITH PEE? That is DISGUSTING. This is NOT a game of Halo where your penises are your guns and your pee your ammunition. The toilet paper is NOT your enemy. KNOCK. THAT. SHIT. OFF. Never again. DO YOU ALL HEAR ME? NOT AGAIN.” There was giggling from several corners of the house, and we did nothing. Zero. Zilch. That is how apathetic we are these days. We’re winning at parenting, I tell you. Winning.
8 responses to “Quick Question RE: Toilet Paper and Whether It Is the Children Who Are to Blame, or Me. Probably Me.”
[…] must solve issues that arise only with items on hand like one’s wits, lack of dignity, and a dirty sock. Where one practices one’s Kegles not because one is disciplined to exercise one’s […]
I keep two rolls hidden in two different places. Momma takes no prisoners when it comes to her own wiping needs. You people can be wild animals; I am not drinking the kool aid. I stash one by the tampons as apparently reaching past the box induces fits of seizures. The other roll is in a boot in the upper reaches of my closet. I have only had to break out the tampon roll once. The boot roll gets an annual rotation just to keep it fresh. There are times I preach and then there are times I just shut the heck up and cover my own needs. Just saying…
Oh Beth… honey… I wish you lived nearer to the chilly north. I would take you out for coffee. And wine, if you prefer. And bring you TP.
You poor, poor thing. And, I’m sorry to admit, I’m laughing so hard I must go in search of relief myself… and pray the TP in my house has not been christened (yet,) by either child or beast.
(I’ll trade you a couple of those rogue Woolsey children for some of our 40 (yes really) foster kittens. The things I’ve found soaked with questionable liquids… you don’t even want to know.) :-p
Much love, friend. Just remember, this too shall pass.
They grow up eventually. Mostly. Kind of.
<3
Tell that to the young, naive psychologist and she will use her college funds to send you on a spa break. You do need to keep a secret stash though, like when you live in shared accommodation (as opposed to your current shared accommodation – you know what I mean, apparently there’s a difference) and one of the flatmates never buys toilet paper. The last thing you need is everyone coming down with some unpleasant bottom-rash and you have to explain to the doctor that you have not been taking care of your personal hygiene in the recommended fashion. Of course, he probably has a giant retirement fund that could send you to the Caribbean for a couple of weeks….
I only call her naive because of a lack of understanding on how the spoons are over-spent before you have your first cup of coffee.
Definitely the hose-hung male offspring! Perhaps a sleep-walking incident?! At least that was my brother’s MO when he made a deposit in the closet!
We had one pee inside the garage once on the wall. Not sleepwalking. We’d just arrived home from being out. He hopped out of the car, whipped it out, and started peeing. Like, 7 years old. I just stood there for a second, stunned. I had trouble comprehending what in the WORLD that child was doing. A toilet was, like, 20 steps away. Or the GRASS JUST OUTSIDE THE OPEN GARAGE DOOR. When my brain kicked in, I was all, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING????” He goes, “Peeing,” with this total DUH, MOM look on his face. “ON THE GARAGE WALL?? GET TO A TOILET, CHILD.” You could literally see it dawn on him — like, Oh, Yeah, a TOILET. Honest to God. I’m still completely baffled.
Get some from our garage if you still need it. It’s on the shelves near the utility sink, behind the paper towels.