Here’s a parenting question for you. (Sorry, Shelly, it involves another poop story.)
The two year old walks into the room, smeared in fecal matter. Her face, her naked stomach (she’s always naked), her arms. She’s wiping it with a piece of toilet paper, which isn’t working so well, being covered in poop already. She looks very angry. “Sissy wiped poop on me!” she asserts. I grab her hand away from her mouth, rush her back to the bathroom and confront the 5 year old.
“Did you wipe poop on her?” I ask.
Mind you, the five year old is clearly emptying her bowels, which takes her a long time and always smells like the stuff that comes out of the men’s room at the Chevron station.
“No! I didn’t! I didn’t! She went poo before me and she did it!”
The two year old now yells that although she did go poop, she didn’t paint herself in it. It was the five year old. A shouting match ensues. I need to solve the problem quickly before I asphyxiate.
Since they’re both just as likely to have done it, I decided to lecture them on the death that can occur from rolling in feces. All this, while I’m gasping for fresh air. We’ve had this lecture before, many, many times, but apparently I am not a good teacher of hygiene and so someone did not get the memo that poop is not a toy.
And given the decibel level in that bathroom as they argued, neither was about to admit to being the artist. What would you do?