Little Liars

I'm getting kinda tired of being conned, y'all.

I realize it must be fun for Cameron to see me dance like a puppet at his beck and call. He jerks the strings - "Pee-pee, Mommy!" - and I stop whatever I'm doing, no matter how important, and frantically rush him to the nearest toilet.

... And then wait for fifteen minutes while he leeeeeeans first this way, then that way on the toilet, dangling his feet, with a coy smile on his angelic little face. Fingers at the toilet paper. Picks at the genitalia. And ultimately produces no "pee-pee." Then, not only have we wasted valuable time that could have been spent updating Facebook  looking at Twitter doing something more productive, but now we have to struggle with the logistics of washing his pudgy little hands. He's not tall enough to reach the sink, even with a step-stool, so I end up squashing him against the counter and kind of pinning him in place with my front while I guide his hands under the water, usually soaking my own sleeve in the process. This debacle in itself takes, oh, about three to five extra minutes.

And it never fails. Twenty minutes after the first ill-fated trip to the bathroom: "Mommy, pee-pee!"

I fall for it almost every time. Because the times that I don't? The diaper is inevitably whipped off, and there's a puddle on the floor, as soon as I turn my back for 2.3 seconds.

But it doesn't stop with urine. I know that because Colin recently went through this "I'm going to throw up" phase. And even though I knew that 95% of the time he was just bluffing, it was too much of a risk - especially when we aren't at home. Like, one time we were at a restaurant and just after our food came, Colin was all, "I think I'm going to throw up." I couldn't tell by his physical cues, since even when he really is going to throw up he doesn't whine or squirm or anything beforehand. And since I didn't want to risk a booth full of barf - not to mention public humiliation - I took him to the bathroom ...

... where he essentially inspected the toilet for ten minutes, pointed out that "Hey Mommy, there's writing on this wall!" and then sloooowly washed his hands. Meanwhile, back at the table, my food had cooled to a disappointing lukewarm. (Good thing I'm used to it, since it's always that way at home by the time I finish dishing out and cutting up everyone else's dinner.)

I guess these things are just a rare taste of parental manipulation, and they enjoy the fact that I'm pretty much at their mercy. But that doesn't make it any more pleasant.

I'll be sooooo glad when everybody in this house learns to control their bodily functions without help!