As parents, there are many values and lessons we'd like to share with our children so they can grow up to become upstanding and productive members of society, who know how to wipe themselves.

Sadly, my 5-year-old has been reluctant to fly on his own in this area and is still looking for assistance in the clean up effort of his own personal Katrinas.

Apparently, after several rounds of negotiations, my wife struck a deal with him. They've agreed that she'd help him out one day a week. Fridays.

It seems like she got a pretty good deal, but it has now lead to a daily 7 AM ritual in which my son yells from the bathroom-- (and if you haven't heard the recordings of him, just think Cartman with a lisp), "MOMMM?! IZ DITH THE DAY THAT YOU HELP WIPE MYTHELF?!"

6 out of 7 times, it's not the answer he's looking for.

Like an addict in need of a fix, he also tries to rope me into this, which I find hilarious. It often starts with him asking me to keep him company in the bathroom because he's "afraid of my robe."

Things quickly get back to, "Dad, iz dith the day that you help wipe mythelf?"

"Nope."

"Are you thure?! Thometimez Mom cut-th me thum thlaa-ack."

At that point I usually feel bad. And while I won't actually do it for him, I'll give him some pointers and a visual assist. I'm like a caddy in golf. I size up the shot, maybe make a suggestion on the best angle for success and then, more often than not, watch him not even come close to the hole.

And where a caddy might suggest a 3-iron, I might suggest he not use 50 sheets of toilet paper at a time.

Early this morning I nudged my wife until her eyes opened and asked her if this was the day she helps wipe myself. I was informed this was not humorous.

I'm sure it's tomorrow. I'll just ask her again in the morning.