I want to share a piece of a piece I wrote about when I lived in Aussie land way back when- when I say way back when, I mean I was about five and in a bath with my sister- while my mum video taped this moment:
“It’s my mother’s late twenty something voice commentating for the night as she films us in our half filled murky tub water. Her voice reminds me of mine today. “Jane?” my mother says, “Do you want to tell us why I came in here with the video camera?” Her accent isn’t as strong as ours, but each word ends slightly higher pitched. I stare at her with my legs hanging over the edge, using a large plastic cup to dump large amounts of bath water over my hair, but choose the silent treatment.
“Well,” my mom decides to add in, “I came in here because I heard my oldest daughter yell, ‘Oh my god–Help!’ Isn’t that right Jane?” I still sit in the tub shifting my miniature ass from left to right. “Poop!” I yell, exhausted from my mom’s version of the story, “Sally pooped in the tub!” Sally lays on her baby belly and slides up and down the tub, her legs kicking up behind her, able to understand everything but unable to comment on her bathroom accident.
I hop out of the tub to check the window leading to the back stairs porch for any possums, showing the camera my entire backside. The excitement of the “oh my god. help- poop” moment subsides and my mom begins to wrap things up. “Okay, well I think I’ll leave you two to finish,” she chuckles and begins to back up from the bathroom. Sally stares desperately into the lens for my mom as she backs out, “Baaaa, Baaaa! Pbbaaa!” She yells while pointing a chunky index finger to the water, and there it is.
The small perfect circle of poop, forgotten during cleanup; floating freely in the water. Sally kicks furiously at it, and my mom makes those “Oh, oh no, oh, ok” motherly sounds. The camera focus goes in and out, “I’ll get it”, my mom says, but she isn’t fast enough. “Don’t worry Sal! I’ll get it,” I slip back into the tub, stiff-arm Sally’s head and step over her body, nearly slipping during my mid Heisman. I sit there, eyeing the nugget with defiance, and take my plastic cup for the capturing. I splash half the water out and scream, “Sally move!” as I dive for the perfect catch. I hold the entire cup of bath water full to the brim with my sister’s tiny poop floating at the top; I was so proud.”