Blake: (yelling in a muffled tone) Mom! I need you!
Me: Yes, Blake (speaking loudly, well alright, yelling back).
B: I need you.
Me: What for? Where are you?
Erika: (snickering) He's in the bathroom.
Me: (at the bathroom door) Blake, are you okay?
B: No, I need you.
Me: (trying the door, its locked) Honey, can you open the door?
B: No, can you get one of the fluffy things... and just... (more words that I cannot make out, is his head in the toilet?)
Me: What fluffy thing? (what the hell is going on in there?)
B: You know the stick with the squishy white stuff on the end?
Me: (Good lord, this could take forever) I don't know what you're talking about. Can you open the door?
B: You know the stick you put in your ear. You take one and take off some of that white fluffy and put that in the door.
Me: Huh? You mean a Q-tip? (Where in the world is he going with this?)
B: Yes, take some of the white stuff off and then put it in the door.
Me: I don't understand. Why do I need to do this? You want me to place it under the door?
B: No, in the little hole and push it in. Hurry, I need you.
Me: (Finally! I'm beginning to see where he's going with this). Oh, okay. Hold on, I gotta go get one. (I run to the kitchen, turn down the stove so our dinner will not burn, ask Erika to watch it, race upstairs with the dog chasing after me, and find a Q-tip). I get one, remove most of the white fluffy from one end, and insert it in the hole in the doorknob and ta da! the door unlocks. I go in to see him sitting on the toilet moaning about his tummy. I say "Are you alright?"
B: Yes, but I just can't move, my tummy aches. Can you carry me?
Me: Carry you? Are you kidding? You're 7 years old. You need to wash up and come to the table, dinner is just about ready. Do you need me for anything else.
B: No, I think I can do it. What's for dinner?
All that because he wanted me to unlock the door, go into the bathroom and see him? Or did he want to see me?
Boys are little men in need of a female's attention. They can't seem to do anything by themselves. I'm trying to raise my son to be independent. Where am I going wrong? Are we suppose to read their minds?