From the moment I could talk
I was ordered to listen
— Cat Stevens
|Nothing was exposed|
in this exposure…
For now though, it’s the Atomic Diapers that are the problem. He just doesn’t want to take time off from whatever’s got him interested, and thus loads up his diaper. He knows by now that he loses TV or outdoor privileges when we gives us a nuclear waste dump, but hasn’t taken steps to avoid it yet.
But he does know when he has or hasn’t done it. Yesterday, we were going home and I smelled something. “Mason, are you atomic?” I asked him.
“No!” A very vehement “no” it was.
“It wasn’t him,” said Daughter Dearest. That was all that needed to be said, but who’s going to pass up the chance to say more?
Friday was better. His Grandmom was in the bedroom, and he came in and took her hand. “Come here,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Come on.” He led her into his bedroom, where he had a diaper and the wipes laid out on the bed.
“What… did you put those there?”
“Uh-huh. No spank, okay Grandmom?”
He did avoid a spanking on that one, yes. But it would be better if he said something beforehand.
If Planet Georgia wasn’t so bug-heavy, I’d do what Mom did to me: let me run around all summer flapping in the breeze. For whatever reason, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have something on. But I wouldn’t get the kind of pictures she did…