Today I was late, I unknowingly flashed my boob at a total stranger, grabbed the body wash instead of shampoo, fell on my ass in public, and cleaned up poop.
Aaaad, we're back.
I'm going to narrow in on the poop. Every mom has to clean up poop. It's a part of being a mom for babies and toddlers. I read about those exploding diaper stories and laugh hysterically because I have been there and done that. Now that I have older kids I am happily dealing with other problems like sarcasm and smart ass little boys who think they know everything. I don't miss poop cleanup at all.
My dog had a date with the vet on Tuesday. I went in to get her pre-op meds, toting two little boys in the car. Brooks and his pal Sam decided to stay in the car rather than get out and brave walking in the cold for ten feet to the clinic door. Woosies.
I like the clinic. They have nice folks who make me laugh and are kind to me no matter how many times I show up in one week (I have one of THOSE dogs). I was in for five minutes, tops. I swear it was only long enough to swipe my card, take my money and chit chat. What I came back to made me wish I'd forced the boys out of the car and marched them in barking commands like a Drill Sargent.
Brooks (oh that boy wonder and his pea brain) and Sam had a farting contest. And despite the fact that they are EIGHT FREAKING YEARS OLD, the contest ended with a bang and they pooped their pants. Eight years old. EIGHT! They've had six full years to perfect the art of potty training. SIX! The last time I checked, it takes two weeks to form a habit. Not six years!
They may have thought it was too cold to get out of the car, but as I drove the painstaking mile home with all windows down and a brusk 30 mile an hour wind blowing, they were wishing they'd never thought of fart contests. Now they are playing sheepishly in the other room, girded in tatty spider-man underwear (heaven forbid) and the soiled stuff is in the garbage can. Do I care that I chucked good underwear? Heck no. I've been out of the poop game too long and I am NOT going back!
As for my moment of indecent exposure... Well, let's just say that it is not a good idea to get the mail in a bathrobe straight out of the shower. I thought I was covered, but I was soooo terribly wrong.
*ADDED FACT: Sam taught Brooks the meaning of bitch today. Apparently his older sister gets it once a month and it is a disease. When I stop laughing, I'll correct him.