Places toothbrushes were never meant to be.

This post is brought to you by the letter R and the number 2 and 1/2. If you haven't guessed, this is about my son. So...

Last night, after I managed to coerce him into the tub and was thoroughly soaked by a dancing kid, Ragsy got out and dried off and tip toed to the sink to brush (he's recently had a thing with walking on his tip toes, but that's beside the point, just like his habit of adding "boing" to the end of most sentences and phrases). Anyway, my son typically brushes his teeth naked on his step in front of the sink, dancing gleefully in front of the mirror. Last night was no different. Humming to himself and doing the Ragsy two-step or stomp-and-bob or whatever you'd like to call it, he brushed merrily and relatively thoroughly. I turned away to pull the slip mat off the bottom of the bathtub and turned back.

Ragsy, finished brushing his teeth, was still dancing and singing while merrily brushing between his butt cheeks. "Scrub, scrub scrub," he sang, "Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere, clean up, clean up." It was priceless.

I replaced the toothbrush with a cup and asked my husband to make sure his hands stayed away from his butt and left the room because I was laughing so hard I had to sit down. I also don't want to encourage him to keep scrubbing his butt with a toothbrush, though if you think about it, it's doubtless more thorough a job than can be done with a washrag.

I'm trying really hard not to wonder what else he's been scrubbing or how many times his toothbrush has been a little too close to his butt. I'd like to think this is the first time, but I usually clean up the bathroom while he brushes because he's fairly self-sufficient in toothbrushing. Thank goodness we have an extra toothbrush lying around.