Our family enemas were more regimented than occasional. With only one spigot in our home from an overhead tank and no hot water heater, family bathing moments were a great commotion and dad got an enema. He had his guts spilled in WW-2 and should have died. Ordinary people washed them and put them back, closing him with a cloth gum tape heated over a flame. Lingering near death for 6 months, he was a year in recovery. His enemas were vital and mom was greatly honored to serve him.
We were given ours after he left our farm for a job in town, 20 miles away. "We get enemas today,,," was lovingly announced. She would coach each of us into receiving a comforting enema, and encourage each not to make a mess of it, especially in colder weather when we had to do them indoors. Eventually i had enema dreams and learned to take them as the fine meal it was intended to be. Some Saturdays, we were told to stay outside and play till called. We learned to play farm family, making soup of weeds, water and dirt. My little brother was the smartest and often told us how the family was to live and do things, while we played. His enema invention for us, brought on an anticipation for the special Saturdays. There was never a real enema given, but a lot of touchy feally with greased fingers.
Summers usually had at least one great enema party out by the cow tank. One was memorialized with a photo, i think my brother's wife has it somewhere. He died of Agent Orange contamination at 63yrs old. Dad got loaded with beer and enema. With a bulging tummy, he posed with mom's bra and panties on. Believe it or not, i never connected a water pregnancy to his black and white Brownie camera photo until i was married with children of our own. We never saw or read anything unusual into our lifestyle, it was just us. I married a city girl from Orange Texas and she will ask me to tell her and others a farm story for entertainment. It is funny how we could be so close, yet so far as we were.