What is it about boys that make them want to lay on the dirtiest floors in public, run their hands along grimy banisters and manage to pick up every germ available from here to the state border.
Upon returning home, I have to remind them every time to wash their hands.
At what point do kids finally get the point that this is part of the routine?
Perhaps when they have kids of their own?
Vman walks into the bathroom and closes the door.
I don’t hear the water in the sink run.
He’s in there for about five seconds.
Hmmm. I’m thinking this child hasn’t actually washed his hands at all.
When he opens the door, I ask him if he actually washed his hands.
He looks down at his palms and declares that yes, in fact, he did.
So I say to him, “Well, I’m so glad that you decided to wash your hands.
I would hate for you to get horribly sick from all of those germs you picked up from the post office floor while we were out.”
He pauses. Is he going to call my bluff?
Vman casually says he needs to make sure the sink is working properly and will be back in a minute.
Mom: 1. Vman: 0.
And thus, this is the life of being the mom of two boys.