It was a Tuesday night much like any other.
The kids (reluctantly) ate their dinner, they’d had their baths and were getting ready for bed as I folded up the few loads of washing I’d done that morning.
My 5-year-old son, Mason, was in the middle of brushing his teeth while his sister, Christina, leapt around the room dancing with her iPad, having already cleaned hers.
Mason never seems to have the patience to brush for long enough, so my husband, Troy, and I have been trying to find ways to teach him about dental hygiene and how important it is. Lately he’s been really into the Macleans Brush Time app which he uses on my phone. Feeling quite pleased with myself that he brushed his teeth for a whole TWO minutes without complaint, I continued to fold the washing with a smirk on my face.
I was winning at this parenting thing, right?
Shittens are the poop-related invention every parent needs. We discuss, on our family podcast.
Mason proceeded to walk to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth, insisting that he didn’t need any help to do so. He’s been on a real independence bend lately so I let him go. But then Troy noticed he’d been gone for quite a while so thought he should go check on him.
That’s when I heard giant screams coming from the bathroom.
“OH MY GOD, MASON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???”
“YUCK, YUCK, YUCK.”
These were the words (and some more colourful ones thrown in for good measure) that I could hear coming from the bathroom. Troy came into the bedroom where I was folding the washing, Mason trailing behind him with his head hanging down when he explained to me he had found him cleaning his toothbrush in the toilet.