I wish I had a picture to show you of the last time The Who unfurled the entire roll of toilet paper.
It was so classic. He was just a little older than one and I made the rookie mistake of leaving him alone in the bathroom for 6 seconds. Oh, he laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. And so did I — because he was a one-year-old unfurling toilet paper and what is more classic than that? I snapped pictures (of course I snapped pictures) but recently when I decided to organize my iPhoto, I ended up deleting every picture I had intended to save, thereby leaving me with only the crap photos. In an infuriatingly ironic twist, every photo that I had deemed so precious and save-worthy was gone. And I thought I’d get over the disappointment of it eventually, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. Because every time I go to look for a photo that I’m sure I have, it’s not there.
Like today, for example. Today, we got to open all the windows in the house for the first time this spring and there was this delicious breeze swirling around, spinning the handmade paper flower decorations dangling from the living room doorway and yes, rustling the ends of the toilet paper in the bathroom.
Oh! The Who must have thought. Oh! The toilet paper rustles! I remember that stuff! And Oh! I have cleverly lulled Mama into complacency by not having unfurled the toilet paper in over a year, so she will never think to thwart me!
And so it was written and so it shall be.
Nearly half the roll before I thought to go see what was keeping him so quiet. And he laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed and I was hard-pressed not to laugh with him because, well, he’s just so cute. Anyway, I didn’t snap any pictures today because there’s nothing remotely milestoney about your almost 2.5 year old furtively rolling out the toilet paper and then refusing to stop when you’ve given him the firm, I-mean-it-and-I’m-the-Mama look until finally, you have to bodily lift him out of the nest of toilet paper on the floor and sit him down on the rug just over the bathroom threshold while he whines and tells you, “But I don’t like to stop, Mama.” There’s really nothing milestoney about that.
But still. I would have liked to have shown you that precious black-and-white of The Who in a diaper and Paul Frank monkey jammies, throwing his head back in delight amidst billows and billows of Scott tissue.