Thursday, May 24, 2012

The Poop Chronicles

The music is blasting, I've got tube socks on up to my elbows covered in stain; I am busy refinishing all the kitchen cabinets at the new house when I hear the dreaded call from the bathroom.

"Mom!!!  I need help wiping!"

Really?  You JUST went.  I walk into the bathroom with my hands in the air like a surgeon who just got done prepping for surgery.  

It's a blowout.  How does a 6 year old have a blowout?!  There's poop everywhere!  She looks at me in a panic.  Because I haven't slept more than 4 hours each night for the last 3 nights, I am in no mood to deal with poop.  Especially in the middle of a time crunch.  Now the logical thing to do is take off the gloves and tube socks and help her.  My brain on vapors is not logical.  My hands are still up in the air as I try to walk her through how to clean this up.  

First of all, this girl is my clogger.  She can clog a toilet like a hungover frat boy.  So I give her a lesson in courtesy flushing.  

"When you have this much going on, its polite to turn around and flush the toilet.  It helps get rid of the smell and makes room for the clean up."  

"But it will get my butt wet!" 

"Um - how much worse is a wet butt than what you have going on here?!"

She does what I ask and slides off the toilet, leaving a trail.  At this point, I'm really glad for the vapors from the stain.  They have put a damper on the effects of what I'm looking at.

"Now you need to clean yourself up."  I leave her to wipe and go back to staining.

Three minutes later... "Mom!  It's not coming off!"  I yell back, "How does this even happen?"  Meant to be rhetorical of course, but she yells back "I think I ate too much and it pushed my poop out".  

Our windows and doors are open.  In a new neighborhood. With people who don't know us yet.  And we're talking about poop.  From three rooms away.  Of course, it STILL doesn't dawn on me to take my gloves off and help or to even walk into the bathroom to have this conversation.  That's what sleep deprivation does to you.   

Let me mention at this point, the first time she was in the bathroom, she was screaming for toilet paper in that blood-curling high pitch yell as I was introducing myself to the new neighbors.  I had to apologize and excuse myself to bring her a roll.

The thought to turn down the music and have this conversation in the same room finally creeps into the foggy grey mass in my head.  Yup.  The caffeine has done its job.  Emma looks up at me.  "The toilet's stuck."  What?  I look.  Sure enough.  The girl has christened the toilet.  It wouldn't be a home if she can't managed to clog it.  

Of course we don't have a plunger.  While that thought is slowly rolling around in my noggin, she interrupts and points her butt in my direction.  I'm still dirty.  WHOA.  You're telling me!  Plan B - since toilet paper isn't doing the job (and since we have none left thanks to Ms. Smears-a-lot), get in the tub.  With my hands in the air still, being careful not to touch anything.  I direct her to put the plug down.  Wait - that'd be nasty.  Put the plug back up.  We want the water to drain out.   Now turn on the water.  If its too hot, turn that knob.  No!  Not that one.  That's how you turn it on and off.  Yup, that one....No...the other way, towards the blue.  There you go.  Now turn around and put your booty in it.  

I glance at the progress.  The water isn't doing its job.  Dang it.  Ok - you're going to have to use your hands to help.   She looks at me HORRIFIED!  What?  I have to touch poop?!  Well, little one.  Shit happens.  (No, I didn't say that...I don't even think I thought that. )  I said, it will be ok - I do have soap here.  

Which triggers another thought.  Yes, we have soap, but no towels.  Not even paper towels.  Awesome.  I turn back to her.  Um...yeah - You're going to have to drip dry.  When the booty is clean, hop out of the tub and get dressed.  I go back to staining.

I hear her turn the water off.  "MOM?!"  

"Yes, dear?"  "Do I have to put my poopy underwear back on?"

"No.  Just put your pants on.  No one will know."

(Still yelling 3 rooms away with the windows open.)  "Don't tell anyone, ok? I don't want the other kids knowing."


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