Bite Back

I was over at Family In Bloom reading Tulip’s latest about how her husband put a really powerful and appropriate boundary in place for her pre-teen stepdaughter, Daisy. Go read her post, if you haven’t already – the way Tulip’s husband handled the situation was just SO perfect. It was like stepfamily poetry or something.

What was interesting though was despite the ringing-from-the-hills rightness of how the issue got dealt with, a rightness so patent that it had commenters alternately sighing wistfully and congratulating madly, Tulip was nonetheless second guessing the actions taken and wondering if the way the particular situation was dealt with was too harsh.

(In case I wasn’t already clear, there was NO.WAY. it was too harsh… in my opinion, anyway.)

The whole thing made me think: isn’t it funny/weird/interesting that we stepmums tend to push harder than our partners for boundaries, rules, structure in a dynamic that can feel utterly ENDLESS, but when we finally get our wish and we get to firm up the boundaries or someone else does it for us, we suddenly feel a tiny bit guilty, uncertain, or just plain mean?

I had this come up recently in a different context.

It was my week in the Boys’ City, and there had been a steady but not slow degeneration into morning chaos and disorganisation from the Boys. Morning after morning, we’d get halfway to school to hear a voice from the back that someone had forgotten their assignment, due today and reeeeeeeally important. Or someone else had left their lunch behind. Or their tie, and now they wouldn’t match the other kids at choir and would risk getting into trouble.

I’m sure I need hardly say that in every instance, there had been a range of reminders that morning about the assignment, the lunch, the tie. For goodness sakes, the Lovely Man and I give multiple prompts about taking assignments and homework with them, we place the Boys’ lunch boxes on top of their school bags to be packed and we LAY THEIR UNIFORMS OUT ON THEIR BEDS for them (OMG, I’m a valet to pre-teens!) while they enjoy their leisurely reading breakfasts. Which is another story altogether…

Anyway, the Boys were constantly and sloppily forgetting their school things. And for the most part, the Lovely Man would either turn the car around to get whatever it was, guaranteeing a late arrival at school for all the Boys, including any that were organised that morning, or he would drop them at school, then drive the twenty-five to thirty minute round trip to collect the forgotten item and deliver it to the school. There were never any negative consequences to the Boys from their forgetfulness, just a confident expectation that the adult servants would rectify the situation with minimal inconvenience to the child involved.

I’ve always had a problem with this approach; the incentives aren’t there for improvement in the patterns of behaviour, so how could we expect improvement? It would actually be unfair to expect the Boys to be more careful to remember their things unless the adult response changed.

So anyway, the Lovely Man had early work on a couple of mornings in a row and it was down to me to do school runs alone. The Boys were a tiny bit more motivated about getting ready in a timely way than usual, but inevitably the call came: Boy B had forgotten his blazer and tie, and Boy A had forgotten his blazer as well, despite my reminders.

We were about halfway to school, doing okay for time but set to be late if I turned the car around, so after checking that they wouldn’t be cold, I said:

It’s a pity, but I’ve got things on today, so I can’t run home and get them for you. You’ll just have to manage as best you can.

There were no demands that I rearrange my schedule or accusations of cruelty or wickedness; they were pretty accepting.

But you know what?

Even though I stuck to my guns, it was a warmish day, and I absolutely knew letting them tough it out was the right and necessary thing to do if they were ever going to learn to take responsibility for packing their school necessaries properly, I felt bad and guilty and just plain mean.

All day long.

Quotes from BoyLand

I’ve now spent a full week with the Boys since the Lovely Man told them about our engagement.

It felt like a long week.

As we expected, they didn’t have a huge amount to say about us getting married. After all, weddings are not usually high on the interest/excitement list for tweenage/pre-teenage boys even in the best of circumstances.

Then, of course, what little they said was well-tinged with ambivalence, and interspersed with plenty of acting out. Again, as expected.

Our goal is to talk about it in a low-key, happy way without forgetting that it’s really a celebration for us, not them.

We try to check in with them, see how and what they are each feeling and address whatever concerns and worries they have.

Plus, while there’s certainly no expectation that the Boys will or should feel at all celebratory, we also don’t want to overplay the whole topic to the point where they start to wonder if us getting married is actually the End Of The World As They Know It.

It’s not an easy balance, and the things that are starting to leak out aren’t necessarily what I would have expected.

For instance, all the Boys mentioned the idea of us having more children. Thankfully, and unlike a number of our less-than-tactful acquaintances, none of them asked whether we were getting married because I was pregnant.

(I’m not. Just saying.)

For instance, Boy C said:

If you were to have boys that would be REALLY COOL but if you have girls then we’ll have to get earmuffs to block out all the squealing!

[That's right, Boy C, because there is certainly no squealing to be heard in a house populated by three boys. Banish the thought!]

At one point, Boy C also draped a (clean) Chux cloth over my head and said:

That’s what you’re going to look like when you get married!

Yeah, thanks. I can’t wait.

*******

Boy B, when asked by the Lovely Man whether he would come to our wedding, said:

Okay, just as long as I don’t have to do anything annoying!

Fear not, Boy B, there will be no embarrassing tuxedos or corny interpretative dance performances or unity candle rituals.

If any of the Boys want to be involved in the ceremony then that’s fine, and they will be given the option in a non-pressuring way just so they know they are welcome, but I couldn’t think of anything worse than pushing reluctant kids to be ring bearers or do a sand ceremony for the sake of demonstrating what a happy little Brady Bunch we are[n't].

*******

Boy A hasn’t had anything specific to say on the W topic, except to ask the Lovely Man whether anything would change about our time with them, and be told, that no, it wouldn’t.

He did have one gem for me, though.

After pretty much ignoring me all week, one morning while the Lovely Man was working and I was trying to orchestrate the school run solo he approached me with an obviously school-issued bit of paper and said:

Boy A: B, I wouldn’t normally let you sign something so important, but this has to be in today and Dad’s not here. Can you do it?

Me: Sure. Pass it over and let me look at it.

So, was it a government-required receipt for exam results, without which he wouldn’t be allowed to proceed to high school? Or perhaps an official authorisation for him to participate in advanced pre-military combat training?

Umm, nope.

I giggled to realise that this Document Most Imperative was…. an order form for his class commemorative tee-shirt! with payment not required until next year!

Wowwee. I can totally see why he might have hesitated to consign something so important to my questionable authority.

*******

Finally, Boy C has let a couple of things slip that make me think he is a bit uncertain about whether the roles in our household will change.

One night when the Lovely Man got called into work I took the Boys to a model-painting activity at a megalopolis shopping centre on the other side of town as a treat. When I delivered them to the painting area, the supervisor said something inane like:

Oh look, kids. Mum has come along to paint as well!

As previously described, these kinds of comments lead to ructions if they go unaddressed, so I said:

I’m not their mum, actually.

And Boy C chimed in with: What are you then, B?

Me: Well, what do you think of me as, Boy C?

Boy C: I know! An ugly old stinky granny?!

Later, as I drove Boy C home, we talked about how that wasn’t a nice thing to say and that it hurt my feelings. He said he was sorry, but I could tell he was a bit thoughtful, and he still sounded confused.

Me: It sounds like you’re wondering what I am to you, Boy C.

Boy C: Yeah. What are you, again? What about when you and Daddy get married?

Me: Well, I’ll be your stepmum, I guess. But you could also say that I’m your dad’s partner, and call me by my first name like always. Or you could call me [Nickname] like Nephew 1 calls me. You could even say I was your step-[Nickname], if you wanted.

Boy C: Could I say that you’re my step greek salad? Or my step chicken schnitzel? Or my step hyper-baric-roller-rocket? Or my….

[and he went on to generate an enormous stream-of-consciousness list drawn from what we had eaten for dinner, his favourite toys of the moment, things that had happened at school and half a kazillion other sources. NOBODY does stream-of-consciousness nonsense-generation as well as Boy C.]

Me: Absolutely, Boy C. As long as it’s nice, you can call me anything you want.

Star-crossed lovers?

One night during our recent Easter holiday with the Boys at my parents’ beach shack, the Lovely Man decided it would be fun to take them out for a traditional country-town Chinese meal, complete with lurid plum sauce and deep-fried everything.

As we drove back home through the darkness to the shack, honey chicken and sundry culinary delights gurgling in our tummies, Boy C piped up from the backseat:

Boy C: Do you know, Daddy, I think you and Mummy would make a really, really good couple. Like, with each other, you know?

Stunned silence from the front seat. The Lovely Man and I both, independently, decided against turning around and saying something like: “Actually, Mummy finally signed the divorce papers this week, so… nuh. Not going to happen.”

The Lovely Man squeezed my hand in the darkness as Boy C continued.

Boy C: Yeah, it would be perfect because you’re just like Harry Potter’s dad and mum, you’d be so well suited together.

More mute gulping from the front seat. Luckily Boy C didn’t seem to want an answer.

Boy C: They’d be a great couple, because, you see, Mummy’s so intelligent, just like Lily Potter and Dad’s so… ummm… so…

Boy B: Active! Dad’s really active, just like Harry’s dad! And they got together and had us, just like Harry’s parents had him.

(For the record, the Lovely Man is devastatingly smart. And the Boys’ Mum was apparently always a bit intimidated by that, despite being no slouch herself. The Boys, especially Boy A, often seem to feel compelled to insist to me how Very Intelligent she is, despite me never, ever saying a word about it or bringing up the issue of intelligence, of anyone, at all, ever.)

Boy A: What do you mean? Dad’s quite intelligent too, you know!

What came through very strongly from this conversation was that the Boys have a need to see the story of their parents’ marriage as special, almost mythic, within the family history. They need a love story, a sense of themselves as part of the family destiny. The divorce hasn’t altered that need; now the mythic love story they tell is just a little more star-crossed.

Harry and James Potter had their son, Harry, and were happily in love until the evil Voldemort killed them.

The Lovely Man and the Boys’ Mum had their three beautiful sons and were happily in love until the Evil Divorce Monster fell out of a clear blue sky and broke up their marriage.

(I could go further and add that Boy A, at least, identifies me directly with the Evil Divorce Monster.)

I can understand the Boys needing this sort of emotional family architecture to provide an account by which they can understand their existence. After all, if the way you see your parents’ marriage is that they were ill-suited and a bad match and their marriage was a mistake, then presumably in kid-magical-thinking terms, that makes you, their children, mistakes that should never have been made.

Then, of course, there are the obvious reconciliation fantasies at work in this little vignette. Those go without saying.

Fair enough.

One thing I never, ever, expected to experience in my stepfamily, though, was sitting in the front seat of the car while my stepchildren openly attempted to matchmake their parents based on the Harry Potter novels from the back seat.

How do your stepchildren think and talk about their parents’ marriage?

How do you and/or your partner respond when it comes up?

What’s the most unexpected thing your stepkids have ever come up with?

House Rules – final version

House Rules

Words

We speak courteously and respectfully.

No running each other down.

We call people only what they want to be called.

When somebody’s talking to us, we listen and don’t interrupt.

We say please and thank you.

Actions

Adults and kids from this house do not hit, bully or hurt others.

Limit rough play and stop when asked.

We respect others’ things by asking permission.

We respect others’ privacy by knocking on closed doors before entering.

If you don’t agree with an adult, you can ask for an explanation, but once you’ve heard it you have to do what you’re asked without arguing.

***********

So, the moment day of truth arrived this morning for our new house rules.

I agree with commenters that the list was too long – it still is, really – but quite a few of the items have shown themselves specifically necessary.

“Calling people only what we want to be called”, for instance, started because of me – I tend to give people affectionate nicknames and the older boys (in consultation with their Mum, I gather) decided they hated being called anything but garden-variety Boy A and Boy B and asked for this rule to be included. Fair enough, and of course, it works both ways; they can’t so readily call me fat, ugly, “a stupid old granny” etc etc etc after insisting on its inclusion.

The listening/not interrupting rule was a shoe-in – the Boys tend to keep their heads in their books for the first seventeen several repetitions of anything they don’t want to hear. Plus Boy A is already an accomplished verbal swordsmith. Woe, the upcoming teen years…

And after this morning’s numerous unannounced entries into our bedroom, including one featuring me sitting naked on the bed, I’m going to begin Phase: Enforcement on the “knock before entering” rule bright and early tomorrow.

Post tonight’s dinner of Butter Chicken, which saw discussion followed by unauthorised demonstrations of “how Indian people eat with their hands”, I’m wishing I’d lobbied for a table manners rule. Or at least a “We willingly crawl around picking up under-table food debris after each meal” rule.

Do you have a feeling that things are going to get interesting from here?

Disengaging

Disengaging is not a new concept in step-land.

But it was new to me when I first came across some articles a few months back.

At that time, I was trying trying trying to get the Lovely Man’s kids, and especially Boy A, to like me.

There were thoughtful little gifts, special efforts to make their favourite foods, questions about their interests and opinions.

Boy B was mostly ok, though he was wary and occasionally rejecting. The day I overheard him tell Boy A that he hated me I went into our bedroom and cried.

Boy C was, as ever, fun and funny to be around, offering me a level of mostly unconditional trust and pleasure at our friendship that felt like it was all that was getting me through.

Boy A, though, was really letting rip. Everything I did was stupid, he felt free to criticise my appearance, my cooking, my family. The sighs of disdain rang out and the eyes rolled and his gaze and ears were always averted from me. He actively sought to exclude me and tried to build alliances with the Lovely Man against me.

My poor sister used to patiently hear out my venting and say:

B, you’ve got to stop trying so hard! Just ignore him if he’s being nasty.

That was her approach with her own (heavily alienated) stepdaughter, and she found there was less pressure on them both.

But me? I Wasn’t Giving Up.

But then, after a particularly awful visit, I came across the disengaging concept.

Here’s the classic piece about The Disengaged Stepparent.

And Help! My Wife is Disengaged, an article aimed at men with frustrated stepparent partners.

And finally, Disengaging Made Easy.

(A lie, I’m afraid. It’s not actually easy. But it’s easier than the alternative!)

I didn’t follow the suggestions exactly.

I haven’t refused to do laundry, or made any big announcements. I will if I need to, though.

Here’s what I now do differently:

I’ve mostly given up cooking for the Boys.

It was causing me way too much grief to have my nice meals rudely rejected, so mostly I allow the Lovely Man make the dinners. If I do cook, it’s something their Dad makes that they’ve had a million times before, or a dessert that they’ve eaten in the past and liked. School lunches, when I make them, are exactly what they had the previous day.

The best thing? I’m not giving anyone a hook to hang their loyalty issues or desire to reject me on.

I now almost never buy little treats or presents for the Boys.

I liked doing it, but I didn’t like being expected to do it or not being thanked, so I stopped.

If, for instance, I decide to go to the fancy deli to buy Boy A’s favourite gourmet jam so he has an extra breakfast option, I don’t mention it, or I let him think the Lovely Man bought it.

It’s not that I don’t want to do nice things for the Boys – I do – it’s that I don’t want the stress of being unhappy with the way they choose to react, or to add to the “pity spoiling” they already get from other family members.

Instead, I aim to be completely present in the time I spend with them, whether that’s wrestling on the floor or helping with their homework.

I play with Boys B and C and hang out when and as much as I feel like.

Generally, we have a play session each day, but if I feel like staying in my bedroom with a book, then I do it without feeling guilty.

And because I’m actually enjoying the time I spend with the younger Boys rather than forcing it, we have more fun. They beg me to come and play now.

I no longer try to include Boy A. He’d be welcome if he wanted to join in, but he never does and I don’t mind at all.

I try to do what I say I will rather than “give in” to be popular.

So last visit I told the Boys they could choose a treat for two days of smooth morning school runs. If both mornings hadn’t ended being smooth, they would not have gotten their treat.

I tell Boy C exactly what time I will read until in the evenings, and it is his job to be in his PJs and in bed with clean teeth before that time. The longer he takes getting ready, the shorter his reading time. I don’t give in to cries of “just a few more minutes!”

Because I said I wouldn’t, that’s why. And I want them to know that I can’t be swayed by begging, pouting or bad behaviour.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Ironically, I’m both happier in myself and more popular with the Boys as a result of my decision to disengage.

There are different approaches to disengaging as a stepparent. Depending on the situation, it may not need to be full-scale, on-strike, you’re-hitchhiking-to-school revolution. But I bet there’s a few things in almost every stepmother’s life that might benefit from a strategic disengagement.

What do you disengage from in your stepfamily?

What could you disengage from?

Catching dreams

So, with just a couple of blips, my last week with the Boys turned out to be a good one.

I continued to focus on the strengths in my relationships with Boys B and C and to give Boy A lots and lots of space.

The younger Boys and I re-established our reading ritual and indulged our Ikea cinnamon buns for afternoon tea addiction and even broke new ground with some crafting.

To give background, Boy C quite often has nightmares, coming into our room frightened at two or three in the morning maybe twice a week.

(The Lovely Man, bless him, always gives him a cuddle and puts him back to bed, or sits with him in his room until he’s sleepy and comfortable, depending on how quickly he feels safe again. I love Boy C dearly, but am ecstatic that kids climbing into our bed is a by-invitation-only event.)

The morning after his first nightmare this visit, I asked Boy C about his bad dreams and the “bad thoughts” he often has before going to sleep. He described his dream, and I listened.

The I asked him what he thought would help him have better dreams.

He said that at his Mum’s he has a dreamcatcher and that he thinks it stops the bad dreams.

Specifically, little Mister Precise Young Scientist said:

Well, it probably isn’t really actually true magic, but it helps me feel good about going to sleep and then I have good dreams.

Fair enough.

I promised to buy him one, but the Lovely Man suggested that we make one instead.

Child of the Age of Googlearius that I am, the internet was mined pronto and spat forth reasonably simple instructions.

So I bought ingredients and, over a couple of afternoons, we set to work.

It was interesting observing my teaching style, and the different ways Boys B and C set about the various tasks.

I tried to use scaffolding, a set of teaching techniques where you show kids what they need to do for each stage and then let them do it, encouraging problem-solving along the way, thus building on their new skills step-by-step. They told me what they wanted help with and I played assistant to their creative directorship.

Boy C decided not to struggle through the traditional weaving technique to make the net pattern. Instead, he held the suede-covered ring and directed me precisely where to weave in each section of thread. His pattern turned out a bit chaotic but very effective.

Boy B was more hands-on and decided to make a starburst shape with his weaving. He also made plans to extend his dreamcatcher with a second, smaller ring hung from the main woven section.

Both Boy B and C chose headache-bright fluorescent feathers for the streaming tails of their dreamcatchers. Here is Boy C’s, photographed with my iPhone.

I was so impressed with how the Boys handled this project. Both of them showed a lot more patience with the process than I expected. They persisted, Boy B even completely rewinding the suede thonging around the ring to get a more even finish.

I felt really proud, too, when the Boys suggested that they would like to give the extra dreamcatcher I made as a trial run to my nephew, D, as a present from the two of them.

Seeing their catchers above their beds makes me smile; they hang as a momento of a time when we really enjoyed each other’s company.

__________________

It was interesting to watch Boy A’s reaction to my less engaged approach to him during the week.

He obviously noticed the difference; not because I was cold or nasty or left him out, but because I stopped seeking his approval and putting him front and centre, and so created less opportunities for him to demonstrate his feelings towards me.

My new choices made the situation much easier on me and even, I suspect, on him.

So, for instance, when I bought dreamcatcher materials I bought three sets, just in case Boy A wanted to be involved, but when I was setting up the crafting table I said to him, in a very low-key way:

There’s enough if you’d like to do one, too, Boy A, but I thought you probably wouldn’t.

He said:

No thanks, it’d be a bit….

and let the sentence trail off.

Previously, I would have been all:

Rah! Rah! I really want you to do one! It’ll be fun! I chose your favourite colour!

And his response would have been a much more direct and explicit rejection of me, the whole stupid idea and even, most likely, his suddenly-no-longer-favourite colour.

After all, as Wednesday Martin says in her (life-changing) book Stepmonster, for a child in a loyalty bind, the internal emotional pressures of feeling like they are betraying their mum can be exacerbated by a stepmum they find fun or warm or who seems to want to befriend them.

I’ve seen Boy A loosen up and obviously enjoy my company from time to time in the past; I’ve also seen him “snap-back” into highly rejecting behaviour afterwards, once he realised the terrible thing he had done what had happened.

Without my efforts to bridge the gap with him, he seemed more relaxed. I was more relaxed. There was even a funny moment where he was looking with interest at some nature pictures I’d emailed the Lovely Man – until he realised they came from me. The sudden change in his face was so comical that I said, very lightly:

Gosh, Boy A, it’s amazing how much cooler the animals in the pictures were before you heard that, hey?

He nodded, trying very hard to hold back a tiny wry grin, despite the almost audible siren of his inner voice wailing

DO NOT SHOW ENJOYMENT! DO NOT LIKE THIS WOMAN!

I think we both had a little inward chuckle at that.

Quite often in the past, my attempts to connect with Boy A have resulting in dismissive behaviour and even hurtful complaints about me to the Lovely Man. Certainly he was very much aware that I was trying hard to build a relationship with him, and in true loyalty bind fashion, the harder I tried the more he felt as though he had to demonstrate that he couldn’t possibly accept me.

This week, while it wasn’t suddenly happy families, at least we had something a lot closer to peace.

And in stepfamily terms, that’s almost a dream come true.

Focusing on the strengths – followup

The Lovely Man and I flew in to the Boys’ city yesterday, and all day I was feeling anxious about collecting them, about what they might do or say in the throes of Transition Fever that would be hurtful or rejecting.

I told the Lovely Man about the feeling, and he (accurately, I think) compared it to the trepidation he experiences when he has to see the Boys’ Mum, a kind of how will she make me feel bad today feeling.

At school pick-up time, I waited in our local after-school treat café for the Lovely Man to drop Boys B & C off, while he dashed away with Boy A for a doctor’s appointment.

To my surprise, the younger boys were really happy to see me!

Boy C broke into a huge smile – he has a gorgeous, wide toothy smile – and gave me a cuddle, saying that he’d missed me, and he and Boy B chattered happily with me all afternoon about their pets, their friends, their new teachers and their planned additions to the Hugest Most Ginormous Lego Collection in the southern hemisphere.

Last night at their bedtime, the Lovely Man hollered out that it was time for The Wind In The Willows, a nightly reading ritual I have with Boy C.

As I came in through the door, I overheard Boy C saying to the Lovely Man:

B is one of my very favourite…. umm…. not really parents, but people.

I got into bed with him to read, and after the Lovely Man left I said to him:

No, it’s not really quite like a parent thing, is it, cause you’ve already got a mum and dad.

He agreed that it was a bit different.

But you’re a very special boy to me, Boy C, and I love you a lot.

He put his arms around me and I kissed the top of his blond head.

Boy B came in and spent a few minutes hanging around pretending not to listen to the story, until eventually he crawled into in Boy C’s bed with us and I read The Wind In The Willows to them both.

It was a watershed day, and really nailed home to me that my new plan to focus on the good relationships in my stepfamily and not fret so much about the challenging ones has been the right choice.

Instead of worrying about Boy A’s completely predictable rejection, refusals to answer me, dismissive and negative comments and grumpiness, instead of struggling to engage with him and ending up feeling miserable and unwanted, I had a really fun evening playing with, reading to and hanging out with the younger boys.

Because I didn’t give Boy A the chance to disrespect me by trying to chat with him, offering to make him afternoon tea, asking about his day or any of the other attempts to connect that I usually make, his brothers didn’t have to watch him being rejecting toward me, which normally seems to induce a mini loyalty conflict in them, particularly for Boy B.

After all, if their older brother hates me and my “usurpation” of their Mum’s “rightful place” so much, it’s not going to be completely ok for them to like me. Understandable enough, I guess.

Interestingly, even Boy A was better this morning, volunteering several remarks in the car on the way to school that were not specifically about my manifold failings, obvious idiocy or poor choices of hometown, family or car.

It’s early in the week yet, and I’m sure there will be new pits to navigate before Friday,  but it’s such a relief to feel that we’re off to a good start and that the hazy blueprint I had mapped out in my mind before this trip has firmed up and taken shape into something reassuringly useful.

So, each day of this visit, I’m going to make an effort to do my self-care and to focus on my strengths.

What are the strengths in your stepfamily?

Adventures in Goo

So, I bought Boy B some green Gelli Baff as a Christmas stocking filler…

Boy C: B! B! You’ve gotta come in here and see the goo!

Me: Is everyone decent? (Knowing that Boy A and, increasingly, Boy B can be a bit bashful)

Boy C: Yes, but Boy B’s only got his t-shirt on. He says you can come in, though.

Me: Don’t worry, Boy B, I can’t see a thing.

Boy C: You can now! (pulling up Boy B’s shirt to expose his bare bum)

Me: That’s ok, Boy B, I’ve got one of those built-in editing things they have on the the TV. All I could see was a blurry section.

*************

Some time later…

Lovely Man: Boy B, if I can arrange the bathslime so that it’s visible on your back but your penis is completely hidden, can B come in and look at your scales?

*************

Boy C, to the tune of Walking On Sunshine, accompanied by actions to match:

I’m dancing on the toilet, oh-oh

I’m dancing on the toilet, uh-ha

I’m dancing on the toilet, woo-hoo

And don’t it feel good!

*************

Guess I’m back in the Kidhaus…