
It’s official: My son Mendel and I are at a standoff. His atrocious bathroom behavior has continued for a month now, and we are nowhere near a solution. It’s not what you think; he knows how to use a toilet, and always wipes and washes. It’s what comes after that has us all running in circles and pulling out our hair. His so-called ‘recreational activities’, involving spilled shampoo, entire tubes of toothpaste emptied straight into the drain, and miles and miles of toilet paper wasted, need to stop. They need to stop now. Not tomorrow, not next week; now.
I recently got my hands on an old copy of “Miss Manners’ Guide to Rearing Perfect Children”. I know; Miss Manners has obviously partied with the kitchen sherry a few times too many if she thinks it is possible to rear “perfect children.” Or maybe she was just joking, whichever seems more likely. Never mind that for now; I’m desperate and willing to look for answers in all the wrong places.
“A true lady does not acknowledge that there is such a thing as a toilet,” Miss Manners tells me on page 54. That’s not a problem. I don’t have any intention of being a "lady." When I hear the word "lady," I have visions of overly clean furniture (lots of Formica), stiff perms, and perhaps an Avon saleswoman in a flowered dress. I don’t know why.
While discussing bathroom etiquette, Miss Manners says: “The only proper announcement of departure for a bathroom is ‘Excuse me.' The question 'Where are you going?' is so rude that it should never be asked, but it unfortunately often is, the human mind being unaccountably subject to lapses of imagination.” She then adds: “'How long are you going to be in there?' is not a nice question.”
Obviously, had Miss Manners seen the future, she would have planted a little asterisk next to her comments, meaning: “Does not apply to Mendel, who, in the year 2009 will drive his parents crazy with his (lack of) bathroom etiquette.” When Mendel starts walking towards the end of the hallway, it is extremely important to ask where he is going. Equally important is the question how long he will remain "in there," since experience has taught us: The longer the bathroom visit, the more hygiene products he will have to clean up afterwards.
That’s right: “he.” We have come to the realization that it is best to let him clean things up by himself. We are tired of investing in rubber gloves. When it comes to cleaning up, Miss Manners finally agrees with us: “Shared territory must be scrupulously maintained, and agreements should be firmly made about the distribution of such possibly limited properties as hot water or space for hanging laundry. Individual matters, such as towels and shed hair (eww), are the responsibilities of their owners.” I’m thinking that includes spilled shampoo, toothpaste, make-up stains and unrolled toilet paper.
I am making Miss Manners a promise: Before my son turns five, he will learn how to unclog a toilet and clean out a drain (he already knows how to remove lipstick from a vanity and mascara from the wall). In the meantime, I am hanging on to this book; although Mendel might disagree, I think it makes for great bedtime reading.