The scene: the back bedroom, half an hour ago. I was sitting on the floor organizing my sock yarn stash, Barak was sitting in the big chair listening to the Uncle Moishy playing on iTunes, MHH was learning and Iyyar was asleep. It was bedtime for Barak.
Me: Barak, it's time to go to bed. Or do you want to go potty first?
Barak: Gonna go poop potty.
Me: Are you going to go by yourself?
Barak: No. Needa help you please.
Silence.
Me, to MHH: Are you reading something you can take into the bathroom?
MHH, who obviously has a sefer in his lap: No.
Barak: Abba can't takea sefer inna brafroom?
Me: No, sweetie, you can't take Torah books in the bathroom.
Barak: Why?
Me: Hashem doesn't like it. He says no no, you can't do that.
Barak. Oh. Can takea Torah in Barak Iyyar's room! Can do that! That's okay!
Me: Right, that's okay. As long as there's no poop in the garbage can, that's fine.
Pause.
Me (to MHH): How terrible is it that I want you to stop learning and take Barak to the bathroom so I can finish organizing my sock yarn?
(MHH, without comment, closes his sefer, gets up, and trudges out the door.)
MHH: Come on Barak, let's go poop potty and get some ice cream!
2 comments:
That's the one time my husband actually gets annoyed with me for suggesting that pottying and/or diapering is his job when he's home... when there's a sefer on his lap.
We can just leave that part out of your biography, okay?
*snort*
I'd say that I totally would have done the same thing, but first [censored because it's probably nmot a very nice thing to say about a wonderful husband].
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