Enough to Miss Christmas

"No, Hon. Talking to your father is my chore."

I buttonholed Paul in the living room after dinner. The kids were upstairs. He could tell I was nervous as I spelled out what happened.

"You did what?"

"I gave her an enema."

"She was that sick?"

I tried to explain myself and made a mess of it. The more I said, the more I confused my husband.

"You couldn't have just made her take the medicine?" I explained further, or thought I made my point but he wasn't buying. "You're an adult, for God's sake . . . she's a child!"

"I know. I know."

"I can't believe she let you do that to her."

"She practically made me do it!"

"Sarah, she's twelve years old! Why are you telling me now? It's been four days. Is she all right?"

"Yes. She's fine. There's no problem."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Dr. Mason . . . Karen told him about it and he gave me hell, so to speak. It's all about Karen and I testing each other and all that shit. It's really confusing."

"There's a lot of confusion going around here."

I was catching hell again, this time, from my husband. That was a first; it was usually me giving him hell for something.

He got up. "I have to talk to Karen about this business."

"No! She'll be embarrassed." As soon as I said it, it sounded as if I was hiding something, guilty of a crime, trying to keep him away from the evidence. "At least let me go with you." He didn't protest. We both went up and knocked on Karen's door.

She let us in. She was writing in her diary.

"Karen, honey. Sarah told me . . ."

"God, dad! Do you have to do this to me? Okay; I couldn't poop and Sarah helped. And, yes I pooped. Okay? End of story. Why is everyone making such a big deal out of it? This is really embarrassing stuff, Dad. You think I really want to talk about pooping with men? Can't I have a little privacy about some subjects? You're as bad as Dr. Mason! I don't want to relate details, if you don't mind."

"You're okay with what happened?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

Paul kissed his daughter good night and we left her alone.

"Are you any less confused now?" I asked as we descended the stairs.

"God, no!" he answered. "Is this doctor really helping?"

I wasn't sure on that point either. I just knew I too was constipated in addition to feeling generally shitty. Heaven forbid I tell Karen. I knew what she'd suggest! At least I had sack full of unused remedies at my disposal.