Toy-lette paper

When we first arrived in Utah, Jonah was still at the phase where I could not take a shower un-interrupted, so I either had to wait until he went down for a nap or just deal with the constant fight over the shower curtain's position (open v. closed) and with the barrage of objects he deemed should be in the shower with me.

One morning, I decided to try to get cleaned up secretly and quickly before I could be detected. A few minutes in, I heard Jonah wander into the bathroom. He batted at the curtain and emitted a squeal of delight at the prospect of his favorite game. My vocalizations, however, were not ones of delight. With shampoo suds dripping in my eyes, I lunged to firmly maintain the integrity of the vinyl barrier. Surprisingly, he did not put up much of a fight, and I was left in peace to finish my soapy ritual.

Something was nagging at me, though--the silence was suspicious. But I figured I could be sudsy and dealing with a Situation, or done and dealing with one. I opted for the latter. I rinsed off, turned off the water, and took a deep breath. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he was quietly looking at a book in his room. I opened the shower curtain to find my boy in a fluffy nest of white toilette paper studiously finishing his task of unrolling a second roll.