Yesterday evening, Opie had a high fever and so was unusually content to lounge on the couch watching Noggin. (He's fine now.) Jo, disdaining the "baby shows," decamped to the backup TV in the basement. She proceeded to holler up the steps every few minutes with some desperate need or another. Finally, Jeff taught her how to use the intercom feature on the telephone so she could call him if she needed something.
Naturally, five minutes later she did. I heard his end (snicker) of the conversation: "You called me on the phone because you need me to wipe your butt?"
True story. And that is something nobody told us before we had kids.