Poop for Peace (and crazy cats)

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Why. Why am I always the blogress of poop? Why is it my lot? I don’t know. I just CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP and it is SO DUMBFOUNDING to me, that I feel obligated to share it with all of you. Because I’m just that speechless half the time.

So wait ’till you hear this one.

Oh, you’re never going to to believe my Monday.

Some of you follow me on Facebook where you may have chanced upon my sad, desperate rant. Where my Monday morning felt like a trazillion years long. Because I was sitting, reading ONE PAGE on the back deck (ONE PAGE!) and the kids were blissfully playing on the new (12 hours new) swingset. Ah, peace. Serenity. Literatu— wha?

Charlie excused himself and stepped into the bathroom. And within 10 minutes, and one very strong stench later I discovered he had done some experimenting with ‘fingerpainting’.  Anybody else deal with this? What exactly are the thoughts/words that fumble through your brain because mine aren’t so funny.  If there is anything I can’t stand, it’s poop. It’s smelly, it’s messy, it’s always everywhere… it’s E.COLI!!!!! AHHHHHHH!

I was not particularly thrilled.

I was not particularly thrilled.

I end up throwing away clothes, towels, the car,  whatever I use to clean, or that has been touched by it because I’m deathly afraid of it. Burn the underwear! Rip out the carpet! Pour Clorox EVERYWHERE! (sorry Norwex)

That’s what happened. And after I ended up showering him, cleaning the bathroom, the dryer, the smears off the bathmat, the toilet— I still smelled it. I hate smelling it, and not finding it. Then I saw ‘tracks’ throughout the kitchen and dining room.  I spent another half hour on my hands and knees scrubbing the life out of my floor and dousing it in tea tree oil until I realized I KEPT FINDING TRACKS.

This had to be some sick joke. Then, I looked down at my own foot and lo and behold, wedged in between my chubby ubby pinky toe was a nice little brown dumpling.

Unbelievable.

Even more ticked off, reminiscent of Harry and Marv, I muttered my entire way back UP TO THE TUB and drowned my toe in soap and water.

Pretty much.

Pretty much.

The afternoon seemed to resume some amount of normalcy  and stepped out to run some errands/ have a sister date with my youngest sister.

We were giddy on our way to a trendy NYC hair stylist, I deserved this haircut. To get spruced up, especially after a long day. Ah, what a treat. How relaxing it would be…butterflies..rainbows…lollypops..chocolate.. coffee…all those deliriously wonderful places your tired Mommy brain goes to when you think you’re getting a break. Then I glanced down in the Jeep and to my utter horror, yes. You guessed it.

Poop.

On my toe.

On my other foot.

I was horrified. Shocked. I had cleaned up that debacle HOURS AGO!! WHY??

I poured a bottle of hand sanitizer on my whole foot and scrubbed the life out of it. I can’t walk into Mark Ferraro’s hair studio,

“Um hi. I’d like a trendy hair style, sorry I didn’t shave my legs. Don’t mind my little ol’ poop toe. Do you also sell Hot Pockets?”

Please help me.  Please. No! Why are you walking away? I'm sorry I smell!!

Please help me. Please. No! Why are you walking away? I’m sorry I smell!!

Motherhood is so stinking humbling. (see what I did there?)

Fast forward to bedtime. I’m getting all four kids showered and tucked in, Tom’s out of town on business so I’m flying solo for the bedtime routine (Do the wave all you parents out there who know how much fun that is!)

 

We’re just about to get everyone down for the count when the power goes out.

And that is really not cool when you survive on sound machines. Or when you only have ceiling fans in the middle of August.

download (16)

Sidenote: It was at this point that I found it profoundly hilarious (not really?) that the book I read one page of was the “Writings of Mother Teresa” all one page about serving the poorest of poor in the blistering heat of India. Ah, God truly has quite the sense of humor with me.  Just keep telling me that’s what this is.

 

(It’s still Monday, lest we all forget! Stay with me folks, I did survive to tell the tale)

OOOO so it gets better. I get them asleep. We have lift off. And guess what?

No really, guess.

Hee hee.

I’ll give you a clue.

It starts with a P…..

and ends with lots of tears, laundry detergent and disinfectant. Oh, and candles. Because you know, what better time to crap your pants and step in it all over your comforter, pillowcase and rug than in the MIDDLE OF A BLACKOUT right after Mommy’s cell phone died?

angry-cat-3

This actually wasn’t found on Google. This is a selfie I took when all this went down.

PERFECT. JUST PERFECT.

Ladies, if you’ve never cleaned up diarrhea on a Berber rug by candlelight…. Let me tell you what you’re missing. In case you’ve ever wanted to know why wine was invented… Well, now you know.

Nothing. Nothing in my life has come quite this close to the terror of stepping on a morsel, missing a morsel in the dark, showering a kid by the light of a billion Sacred Heart of Jesus supermarket candles….just.

Wow.

Oh and you better believe I got out my exorcised salt, baby. Ain’t nobody got time for that. I called down just about every saint in the book, and then some new ones.

#boom

#boom

As it would turn out, as it is with every trial in life…about an hour after it was all cleaned up, I went with my Jesus candle in search of a glass of wine and reasoned that oh well. I’m going to sit outside with my neighbors and enjoy the rest of this night. Hmph.

Not even joking, after the first sip everything turned back on.

I guess the moral of the story is, resignation is the key to peace. And sometimes poop forces you into it.

Also, the moral is to have batteries in your house. And exorcised salt.

Also crazy cat pictures do really help.

Also crazy cat pictures do really help.

If anyone would like to contribute to my PERSONAL/ SILENT ‘BOWEL – MOVEMENT- FREE’ VACATION that I am taking for the next 6 MONTHS you may do so now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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3 thoughts on “Poop for Peace (and crazy cats)

  1. Amazing, Annemarie! Try, 7 kids with puking/diarrhea flu, in the dead of winter and I’m the ONLY one who doesn’t have it. AND—–washing machine breaks!!!! Of course, sick hubby can’t fix it until he can crawl out of bed! I packed up black trash bags FULL of stenchy sheets, blankets, clothes. THEN have to sit in the car with it all for the 20 min. drive to a laundromat where I won’t be recognized by ANYONE I know. I laughed out loud when the attendant asked why I was wearing rubber gloves to do my laundry!?? Dare I say???!!!! Are you kidding?????!!!!

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