The childhood ritual and routine

Moppys jalopy ,

Evidently not for it sure turned me on to enemas. She gave me that enema because I told her I was dizzy. What I didn't tell her was that I had been spinning around in circles for a little while and that was what made me dizzy. I just wished she had been into giving me regular enemas like every week or so. It was the Golden Age in the 1940s and '50s and I missed out. I have always had a problem with constipation and still do.

Unfortunately my wife thinks that taking enemas is a little perverted I think. She only helped me once early on in our marriage. She has refused to help give me an enema. again. I have taken a few over the years with her knowledge, but I could tell she didn't think I should.

She claims she never got an enema at home growing up so if that's true I guess the first enema she ever got was the labor prep enema when she checked into the hospital for the birth our first child in the late 1960s. I don't know if they gave her the infamous 3-H soapsuds and glycerin labor prep enema of if it was just a one liter plain tap water or soapsuds enema. I do know she got a second enema that time, the standard discharge enema, shortly before she was discharged from the hospital because I walked in on the nurse giving her that enema. Unfortunately it was at the very end of the enema but I did see the nurse bending over her for about 30 seconds, then pull the enema tube out, stand up and then store the 40 oz. plastic enema bucket under the bedside table. The nurse and my wife were facing away from the door so they didn't see me at first. There were no enemas given when the second child was born in 1970.

One of the first things I learned as a child was, "Always tell the truth." There was, however, one area of my life in which lying served me well. I grew up in the 1940's. Whenever there were any symptoms of illness or discomfort. seeing our pediatrician was the LAST recourse. The FIRST attempt of healing was always the same. A Soapsuds enema with Ivory soap. One of the outcomes was that visiting Dr. Taylor's office or asking for a home visit was very rare.

From my earliest memories enemas were emblazoned in my thinking as significant events and they had to be planned carefully. This involved several what we knew then as "fibs." I had to lie my way to Grandma's lap. She didn't need much manipulation. She was already an authority on the giving of enemas. Not only did she serve other members of our family, she travelled Kitsap County (Bremerton, Port Orchard and Belfair) with her creme-colored cardboard box of equipment and the ever-present jar of Vaseline Petroleum Jelly.

Everything about receiving enemas from Grandma was magical. I would watch with fixed stare as she ran the bath tub faucets to just the right temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold. A comfortably warm stream of water filling the bag. A bar of Ivory Soap was placed at the mouth of the bag as it filled. I recall vividly how a cloud of soapsuds billowed from the mouth of the bag,

A sizable glob of Vaseline was spread on the black nozzle. Any lube left over became a down payment just inside the anal sphincter. She spread my buttocks with her thumb and forefinger, In went the nozzle.

"Click!" My rectum was receiving a torrent of soapy water.

Some might find this process disturbing . . . perhaps even painful. Not me.

It was exhilarating. My heart beat faster and faster. My breathing became labored.

It became a competition of sorts. Could I take the whole bag? Usually I did.

In later years, I would refill the bag and begin a second filling before going to the toilet.

In sum, these experiences were an entire replaying and reconfirming the special love between me and my grandmother.

I don't think the enemas I got were any special routine. You went in, got it and went to the toilet. All kind of matter of fact. I know they were not enjoyable but I also knew to resist would have been foolish. I had a neighbor boy and his sister who I played with. This would have been in the mid fifties. We were all within a couple of years of age. One day her mother and grandmother (who lived upstairs) came into the room and said come on with us. She squealed and tried to run away. But they caught her and dragged her off. I heard her protesting loudly. So I asked my buddy what was happening. His reply was she was going to get an enema. Shortly I heard the sounds of a spanking and her crying. Then it was quiet and followed by more spanking sounds. Now I did know that she was head strong and got more than her share of spankings.

Between talking to her brother and her this is the ritual for her. Since the girl resisted so often her mother would enlist the grandmother to help. The girls would be dragged off to the bathroom and stripped. She would be bent over the edge of the tub. Her grandmother would hold her down and the mother would use the strap to "reward" her for resisting. The enema would follow. And if she started to act up too much, the strap would be used again. I was told it usually took two or three strappings before she was finished. Her brother said he rarely got in trouble when being flushed, as he had learned not to resist

Chamed..... When I have seen two women fist fighting all becasue of a road rage event, I usually think to myself that they should have had something like this from there mother!

Sad that it had to be a ritual.

A routine, yes, but ritual too often crosses the line into ritual child abuse

@LisaK said 2014.09.19 08:03

There was not a ritual.

Every enema was then and is now different

Beyond procedure there was then and is now only so much routine.

If enemas get to be routine or ritualized, THAT's what crosses the line into abuse.

.

@LisaK said today

Sad that it had to be a ritual.

A routine, yes, but ritual too often crosses the line into ritual child abuse

Who said anything about child abuse?

Why does everything come down to child abuse or rape?

How does one define routine vs. ritual? I guess in a ritual it has to be done in a specific way with no variations. In the morning do I get in the shower first or eat breakfast and then shower; makes no difference to me. Notice carefully, you will tend to put a sock and shoe on say your right foot most often. Those picks are routines. But if I put my sock and shoe on my left foot I wouldn't care. So some of these are just examples of routine. In my neighbor girl's enema narrative, the spanking was not a requirement. As the brother rarely got spanked. Had it been a ritual it would have been a necessary component. So often it is difficult to tell which is which from a distance.

Second at seventy two, I had many things done to me that would now be considered abuse. They weren't at that time. I never felt abused in any way by my parents. They were doing what they thought right, for what they believed was proper child rearing. That is not to say there wasn't abuse in those days. But it is hard today, using our standards to sort out anything except extreme abuse as bad.

Second at seventy two, I had many things done to me that would now be considered abuse. They weren't at that time. I never felt abused in any way by my parents. They were doing what they thought right, for what they believed was proper child rearing.

"Abuse" is such a charged word because what constitutes abuse is so arbitrarily subjective and changes by the decade.

Growing up with only a brother, and back then we only had one bathroom, we boys weren't old enough to make much out of the fact there was a red bag and hose always hanging on the towel rack over the tub. I now remember that sometimes Mom would have her "alone" time in the bathroom and once in a while, Dad would join her there.

My brother and I both remember sometimes barging in on Mom and Dad....never thought that much about glimpsing her kneeling over the edge of the tub and Dad sitting on the toilet next to her holding the bag. My only real memory was of Mom's bare feet and seeing her soles as she knelt, her backside was visible briefly....thought it was just kinda weird. No one ever said anything

@GyneDoll

I truly understand how utterly agonizing that severe spinal stenosis can be. I'm a Vietnam Veteran and suffered the pain of it for 18 years. For all that time, things started with slight pain in my lower back and slowly graduated to pain that for me, is simply indescribable! At the end, I was lucky if I could get 15 minutes of sleep a night. If it hadn't been for the VA getting a brilliant young neurosurgeon in to properly evaluate my case, I honestly believe I would have committed suicide because my body had become my personal prison. It took five attempts at getting an MRI (the last of which was under general anesthetic because I couldn't stand to lay on the table) to finally get one so the doctor could proceed. I hadn't been able to lay on my back for all those years.

Defecating was nearly impossible for me and I had to resort to enemas in order to have a bowel movement. I told you all of that because I wanted your husband to know that there really is help for spinal stenosis. Thank God, I've been able to lay on my back to sleep every night since then. Good luck to you and your husband.

I received enemas from very early until I was 6 or 7 years old. I never knew when I was getting one until a sibling would say,"Mom wants you now." I knew that meant that I was going to be given an enema, and sure enough, entering the bathroom I'd see everything ready. While she was swishing the Ivory soap in the basin of warm water she would tell me to take off my pj bottoms. She would lay me across her lap.

The routine never varied and I knew what was coming as she fill the syringe, lubed the nozzle, and spread my buttocks apart. Very gently the warm, slippery nozzle was inserted into my anus and I could feel the soapy water entering my body. I was given just 2 or 3 bulbfulls. I did not like or dislike the enemas. They did not seem like a big deal. Just a fact of life.

We did not receive enemas on any regular schedule. I don't ever remember being constipated or not "able to go." When I got to be 6 or so I became aware that my siblings had constipation issues. My guess is that when one or the other of them had a problem all 3 of us would have our turn over mom's lap for an enema.

My experience with home enemas was similar to that of many of you. Not a routine event, but starting at age 7 it was used in my house. I was skinny kid and veryactive, probably became constipated easily and our Dr. Was a believer that a good enema solved most problems. A few times I faked sick to stay home from school, but was sure to end up with enemas. I admit after the first few, i enjoyed enemas and still do. Years passed, but after the advent of the internet it became apparent many others enjoyed enemas too. My Zity Friends allowed me to discover i enjoy giving enemas too. Today, I don’t smoke, drink or use drugs, but sure still love a good enema. I’m glad to be with friends who enjoy enemas.

Hi,

I usually took something to read with me on the toilet. That's why it always took a little longer. If it took too long again, my mother looked into the bathroom and asked ... "any problems?" My answer has always been "no." "I do not believe you ..." and, before I knew it, the first enema bulb was filled and the contents pressed into my anus, followed by two or three more. This process was always accompanied with much nagging and discussions. It did not help, I had to go through it ...

"Abuse" is such a charged word because what constitutes abuse is so arbitrarily subjective and changes by the decade.

This reminds me of something I learned as a kid.

Under the spreading chestnut tree

The village idiot sat

Amusing himself by abusing himself

While catching it in his hat

I remember when I first heard that it seemed strange to me as I never thought of polishing my rocket as abuse. It was FUN! Someone else polishing it for me I didn't think of as abuse either.

I got enemas at home almost once or twice a month. This was the late 40's and early 50's. As most of you know enemas were as common as aspirin as a remedy for headaches, fever, or almost any malady. So naturally my friends' parents gave them enemas as regularly as I got them.

My family went out of town one weekend and I had to stay behind for a practice on the at my school. I spent the weekend in the home of a boy my age, my good friend. He was the only child as was I. I was 11 at the time. On Saturday afternoon I started feel bad...headache and stomach cramps. My friend's mother told me to lie down for awhile. After an hour or so she came into the bedroom to check to see how I was doing. I still didn't feel good. It was then that she told me she was going to give me an enema. I was stunned. I had already gotten addicted to enemas at home...always enjoyed them...had an erection each time, etc. But my friends mom! OMG! I immediately got an erection and felt like my heart would beat out of my chest. And I really enjoyed the feeling at the same time. Matt, my friend, said, "You are going to want to die." I had no idea what he meant but soon found out. She called me to go into the bathroom. Matt's dad was with her. He slowly undressed me, finally removing my underwear. I was told to lie on a towel on the floor on my left side. I was so embarrassed. I saw that the bag was completely full of water with soap suds showing at the very top. I couldn't believe it and got really scared. The mom inserted the tube into me and started the water. It burned and hurt right away. I started complaining but they didn't even answer...just quietly keeping the water running. I was forced to take 2 quarts of hot soapy water...at 11 years old! I cried and cried...begging them to stop. The dad held me down when I started moving around and trying to reach back for the hose. Finally it was over and I was allowed to get on the toilet. The mom came in periodically to check what I had expelled. Finally when I seemed to be finished she started the shower and told me get in and take a good bath. We never really talked about it again. As you see, that was an experience I never forgot.

One time I had a pain in my side before I went to school. I was around 10 or 11. They took me to school anyway. When my aunt picked me up after school and I got in the car she told me that, because I had a pain in my side, Dr. Colby said that I needed 2 enemas when I got home from school, one hour apart. I told her the pain in my side was gone, but she said that didn't matter. I went into my "zone", excited about the prospect of getting an enema but somewhat embarrassed and afraid at the same time. So, when I got home, they told me to get my clothes off and put on my bathing suit. Then my aunt prepared the enema and called me into the bathroom. It was the first enema I got from her. I had an erection and obviously when I took my bathing suit off it showed. She asked me how my other aunt had given me an enema at the beach, and I told her I was on the floor on my side. So that's where I went and she gave me the enema. It was really small...not much water...from the bag. I expelled and went about my business around the house. An hour later the doctor drove up in front of our house. She rushed me into the bathroom for the second enema. When I came out the doctor was in the bedroom waiting for me. He told me to get up on my bed so he could examine me, which I did. He commenced to lower my bathing suit to my knees. I was horrified. The room was "full" of people...my grandmother and grandfather, my aunt and someone else I can't remember. He probed and poked for what seemed like an eternity...myself exposed for the world to see. Then he prescribed a third enema and left. An hour later I got my third enema. It was a surprise that I had to take 3 in one day, but I loved it. I was off and "running" after that.

In my home, the ritual began with my mother's words: I'll make you an enema. Then there were the preparations: my mother warmed and cooled the water. When the water was at the right temperature I had a chance to defecate (in situations when I had constipation).

Then my mother brewed the enema pear with boiling water. She took a pear, a jar of water, petroleum jelly and rubber gloves on a tray and walked to my room. In front of my eyes, my mother filled the pear with water, lubricated the tip with vaseline, and then put on gloves. Then she told me to prepare - remove my pants and panties. I always delayed taking off my pants and my mother urged me on. Then I had to lie on the couch on a bath towel. There was a pillow under my towel at my hips so that my bottom was higher.

Mum parted my buttocks and lubricated my anus with petroleum jelly. Then she inserted the tip into my rectum. She was slowly squeezing the pear. She always told me to breathe deeply. When I was older, she repeated the procedure 2-3 times (filling the pear again). Then I had to lie for about 5 minutes and only then could I go to the toilet.

In my home everyday it was routine that I'd check my rectal temp. But if we talk about other procedures always they was make without warining. I've remember that in firstly going rectal, glass thermometer which going to my butthole very long, with twirling, often without petroleum jelly but smacked with aggressive liquid soap or shampoo. I've remember when I was 5, my mother told me that it was good methods from the hospital used by my nurses. Of course I've got few glycerine or soap sticks, or if i got longer constipation-enemas made inside my room in the evening with pear and chamomile essential water. I've remember also one situation when I didn't poo more than a week and nurses made me do a rectal temp with an anal exam and painful massage finished with a few very soapy enemas.

The enemas for constipation were given when mom noticed I had not gone for a few days. The enema was prepared before hand. When ready she would simply come get me and take me to the bathroom. I’d be undressed, protests ignored, put over her lap and given the enema from her old latex bag.

When sick I learned to expect enemas while “down with something”. Usually the first enema began after a telephone consultation with the pediatrician. House calls only happened if there was fever. I could expect an enema after the doctor left, the only times I got an enema in the evenings.

Around the fifth and sixth grade there were in between times when I got an enema because mom thought I could use “a good cleaning out”. These enemas occurred when her enema bag was already out from her use. At bath time, with the bag and hose hanging above the tub, she would tell me something along the lines of, “It’s been a while since you’ve had a good cleaning out. After your bath you are getting a good enema.” By this age I secretly enjoyed enemas so I did not protest this pronouncement. Part of her thinking was not letting the interval between enemas get too long least when I did require one, I would not cooperate due to reluctance.

I had another childhood experience which I haven’t written about here yet. It fits with others I have shared.

When I was 11 or 12 I spent most summer days at our local YMCA. The men, boys and the counselors always swam naked…the custom in those days. The massage room was just off the swimming pool area. I would see men go in there naked from time to time. One afternoon as I was leaving the director asked me if I would like to get a massage. I said, “Sure”. He told me to come before the activities started the next day. So I showed up early. He accompanied me to the locker room area and told me to strip there and we would walk over to the massage room. I walked, naked, with him past the swimming pool to the massage room. The massage therapist was there waiting and greeted me and told me to get up on the table on my back. Both of them proceeded to give me my massage, one working on my legs and the other my head, face and torso. When one got to my groin area, he noticed the rash that had been spreading between my legs. He spread my legs apart and inspected the area. Commenting that this was not good, he proceeded to cover my groin area, testicles and penis with a cream of some sort. I felt a slight tingle, not knowing yet what an erection was really for. I had them when I took enemas, but I thought they were just about being embarrassed. He then palpitated my tummy like a doctor would during an exam. I winced a couple of times. He asked me, “When was the last time you went to the bathroom?” I told him I couldn’t remember, maybe 2 or 3 days ago. He said something to the director I couldn’t hear. Then he told me to turn on my stomach. They continued the massage on my back and legs and buttocks and between my legs. When they were finished, they again said something to each other which I didn’t hear. I could hear water running in the adjacent bathroom. I had no idea what was happening. Before long, the director said, “You need to lie still now.” He then spread my buttocks open. The other man put something on my anus, then inserted his finger inside me for awhile. Then I felt a tube going inside me. It was then that I realized I was getting an enema. One of them said, “Lie still now and this will be over before you know it.” I felt my erection growing under me. As the tube went further in, the water started running. This was so different from the enemas my aunt who was raising me had given me. It started burning right away. And he kept pushing the tube higher and higher into me. I started whimpering and one of them rubbed the back of my head and my back. “Just take some deep breaths” he said. The water kept coming, slowly. I thought it would never end. I kept getting fuller and fuller. It went on forever. I had never been given this much water before. Finally they were finished and slowly pulled the tube out of me. They helped me up and led me to the toilet to expel. Lot’s of soapsuds came out so it must have been really soapy. “Good Boy! You will feel much better now.” I was led back to dress and go to the activities of the day. We never talked about that experience again. Some years later I discovered that they offered colonic irrigations…large high enemas…for detox to the men along with a massage. Apparently that’s what I got.

Today when I think about it I still get an erection. Amazing.

When I was very little the enema ritual was of mom preparing the table with towels and fixing the enema bag. mostly given at night or at bedtime. my daughter was given a lot of enemas after school from her mom or sometimes first thing in the morning. Usually she would strip naked in her room and walk to the bathroom with her pillow in one hand and her "enema duckie" in the other. Sometimes she needed an enema in the evening before bed and daddy usually gave it to her then because my wife worked most evenings. she is now 47 and still has her enema duckie from childhood. I still have the Pyrex measuring cup mom used the measure out our enema water when little.

It was a reg ritual of being told to get ready which meant getting in my pj's, sitting on the sofa until I will called into the bathroom.

I so do agree with Enema Daddy. There should be more Enema Daddies today. Not many around that have that kind of experience which is to bad.

I usually took something to read with me on the toilet. That's why it always took a little longer. If it took too long again, my mother looked into the bathroom and asked ... "any problems?" My answer has always been "no." "I do not believe you ..." and, before I knew it, the first enema bulb was filled ...............

Interesting to read and compare to my experiences.... If I spent too long on the toilet, my mom would call out "any luck yet?" I honestly can't remember now what I'd answer was back then, but I sure I wouldn't admit to having no luck, as it were. I learned that should I say that I had just gone - I'd be told not to flush, as the results had to be verified. One time I thought if I placed allot to toilet paper in the bowl I could fake it; but that didn't work.

Once the "any-luck" question was asked, my answer didn't matter, as I soon hear the clanking sounds of the white metal pot being filled with water and placed on the stove. Allot of Ivory Snow would then be dissolved into the hot water - making for a super strong bulb enema(s) as soon as the mixture cooled.

The ritual was always pretty much the same. Most of the time the towel was placed in the bathtub, the bag hanging off the shower rod, vaseline on the counter top. I would be in a large tshirt only called into the bathroom to see the whole set up. Told to get into the tub on my knees with my bottom high up in the air, elbows flat at the bottom of the tub.

The routine was standard for me. I would be given Castoria if I had not had a bowel movement in a couple of days I would be given 24 hours for the Castoria to work. If no results, I would be told that I was going to get an enema. I would be instructed to go to my Moms bathroom. That was the longest walk because I knew what was in store. The pink fountain syringe would be hanging, empty, on a hook beside the toilet. My Mom would come in and tell me to take off all my clothes and have a seat on the toilet. She would then fill the enema bag with the soapy solution she has heated on the stove. The douche nozzle would be lubricated with Vaseline and I would be instructed to lean forward. The nozzle would be inserted and Mom would ask if I was ready. Heck no I wasn’t ready. Then I would hear the click and the warm water would begin filling me. Once the bag was empty I would be told to hold it as long as I could before expelling. Only got one enema at a time. I guess Mom was satisfied that one cleaned me out.

Ritual becomes self-sustaining, and important in and of itself, Pointless otherwise.

Routine is simply the way you ordinarily do things, not a self-justifying thing that you do whether it accomplishes anything or not!

Routine is “the way things are usually done around here.” There is always that willingness to change it when there is a valid reason to do so.

Ritual is “Because we've always done it that way” No consideration is given to dropping the ritual when other, better options are available.

Routine is what we must establish to get everyone to school/work on time, with everything they need, and nothing they don't need and be organized there to accomplish what needs to be accomplished in a day.

Ritual is just a procedure we go through without being able to explain WHY!

Seems many write that they were allowed to go days without a BM before something was done about it. Cannot imagine that, even today, I have to go every morning else I feel uncomfortable.

When my siblings an I were kids, before age ten, mom gave us enemas together and spanked us in private with an exception or two. Grandma on the other hand, gave us enemas and spanked us in private, again with an exception or two. Once grandma taught us personal hygiene as preteens, enemas became our responsibility. After school started that fall, it didn’t take long before my sister an I started given each other enemas after school in the afternoon. A few weeks later, our brother joined us. In the years from Junior High to the end of High School, it became a ritual for us to do enemas together two or three times a week. We made it a point however, not engage in that activity when our parents were around.

When I was sick in bed, my mom would come in to check on me. She always asked a lot of questions, included the one I dreaded most, “Have you had a BM today?" If I said no, that meant I was getting an enema for sure. Even if I'd had a BM, or lied about having one, that didn't mean I'd be spared. She'd take my temperature, and if I had a fever, that also meant I'd be getting an enema.

If she decided I needed an enema--for constipation, fever, or any other reason--she'd tell me that I'd be getting one. She'd have me stay in bed while she got the enema ready. A few minutes later, she'd call me into the bathroom. I hated seeing the big red enema bag hanging from the shower curtain rod. Mom would tell me to take off my pajama bottoms and kneel on a towel on the floor. Moments later, I'd have a Vaseline-coated nozzle up my rear, and a quart or more of soapy water would be rushing into my bowels.