We just got back from traveling to Nebraska and Iowa yesterday. We stayed part of the time with my darling aunt (my dad’s sister) and my uncle (my mom’s brother), and their families, as well as visiting with other of my relatives during our stay. It was a wonderful time. Not so relaxing as one might think or expect, but I don’t expect that these days. In fact, I just laugh when people ask if it was relaxing. No. No, it wasn’t.
What I hope for is that my son will build the kind of memories I had as a child with my cousins with his (2nd) cousins and that my aunt will get to know my son, who is the only continuation of her (deceased) brother’s genetic line.
I’d like to share one of the stories from our trip that will have me laughing for years to come.
My cousin’s youngest daughter, Abby, just turned two years old. In fact we celebrated her 2nd birthday with them while we were there. She doesn’t say much, but has these unimaginably huge blue eyes that communicate (along with her pointing fingers, body language and her giggle) pretty much most anything she needs. Monday morning, the last morning we were out at the farm, I was busy with a project that my aunt asked me to do and Tony was carrying suitcases out to the car.
William was in the house, playing with the girls. They had been playing hide-and-seek, a game that has moments of loud and moments of quiet. So when things got quiet, I assumed they were in the hiding part of the game until I heard William yell out, “MOMMY! I NEED YOUR HELP!”
I got up quickly and asked him what he needed, mostly to track down where he was in the house by the sound of his voice. I found Abby standing one step into the bathroom, her eyes huge and her finger stuck in her mouth conveying all sorts of uncertainty and concern. William stood further into the bathroom, his underwear on backwards and pulled halfway up his legs.
“Did you go to the bathroom?” I asked curiously.
“Yes!” He replied, matter of factly. “I went poopy and I also peed. I didn’t flush it yet.”
“Oh.” I responded. I went over and checked the toilet and it was as he said. “Did you wipe?”
“No.” He answered, and exasperation entered his voice to a level only a 3 year old can muster, as he continued, “I told Abby to wipe my butt, but she didn’t do it. That’s why I need your help.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Abby, her finger still stuck in her mouth, her eyes huge as saucers and her diaper soggy, and visible below her little dress. I smiled a little and said, “Yeah, dude, I don’t think she knows how to wipe butts yet.”