My peripheral vision caught movement as my daughter gasped.
“MOM, one of them is coming!”
I looked up at her and spoke in a hushed tone. “Car salesmen are approaching us like walkers from the Walking Dead.”
I know it is a business but I really would love to just buy a car without having to haggle for the right price.
I gaped in awe at the fattest turd I have ever seen. Who even did that?? Their poor butt hole, I can’t even fathom how that thing exited the sphincter.
The blob sat at the edge of the hole in the bottom, threatening to plug it up. My eyes were bulging in amazement. I double-gloved my right hand and prepared to snatch that atrocity out of the toilet bowl with a strong plastic bag.
My hand posied above the bowl, I flushed the toilet to make the water level drop and let me have a go at grabbing the poop. Quick as a flash, it swooshed into the hole and visibly clogged it.
I readied the plunger. Floop, floop, floop. Nothing. Flush. Floop, floop, floop.
Still nothing. Floop.
Eons later, I admitted defeat. My pinky was burning. I took off the gloves and discoveres a blister. A stinkin’ toilet plunger pinky blister.
Oyiee. That sucker hurts.
My kids immediately began complaining about hunger pains the second I emerged from the bathroom. Fine. I santized and fought to open a can of refried beans. My hand slipped and sliced pieces of skin from my knuckles.
Bloody beans, anyone?
It is midnight. I am pacing around the house, trying to stay awake while I wait for these eggs to boil.
My kid needs to bring in 2 boiled eggs to dye at school tomorrow. But I forgot to do it earlier, of course! I forced myself to roll out of bed as soon as I realized I was about to epically fail again.
So, here I am. Pacing around. Pausing to stare at these eggs in a pot. Basically feeling like a zombie trying to impersonate a human.
Igghhhhhhj aaaaggahahaha I am exhausted!
My mom-van finally glistened in the growing darkness. I dropped the dirty blue cloth into my washing supplies and put one hand on my hip with pride. Evening is the only time I am free long enough to clean my vehicle.
My brother pulled up in the driveway at that exact moment. He gave me the usual cursory glance and informed me that I should be doing waterless car washes.
This was my moment to shine. “I just did!” I called out to make sure he heard my accomplishment.
His only reaction was a side glance as he walked into the house.
I huffed to myself. “Pfffft. Whatever.”
He came back out a few minutes later and mumbled, “What are you using, anyway?”
Pushing the bottle into his hand, I took a step back and watched him read it carefully.
“This isn’t a waterless car wash,” he stated grimly. “It’s a detail spray. What you use after your car is clean.”
A look of horror froze onto my face. No way. No no no. I snatched the bottle from him and stared at the words written plainly across the top: “Spray Detail.”
Oh. My. Goodness. Can I please just crawl into the heap of unfolded laundry on my bed and go to sleep? You know what? I still don’t even understand Spray Detail. What I DO know is that I let my kids starve so I could detail my dirty mom-van. All for nothing. Pffffft.
I simply cannot remember. Did I poop yesterday? Or am I constipated? Umm. I was really busy. Every time I had to go, I remember getting interrupted. I think. Or not. Wouldn’t I be extra gassy?
The short path from the kitchen to the bathroom was an endless loop of obstacles. “MOM! She was looking at me!” Or “My neck is dry. I need water. I need water. Mommy. I need water, Mommy!” What was that blob on the wall? A booger? No one confesses.
Midnight arrived. Kids were in bed. Home lunches prepared, kitchen and living room cleaned, paperwork completed and I took advantage of showering with hot water. (Who likes to shower after water hogs?) Brushed my teeth, quickly decided against worrying about tomorrow’s outfit, and sank into bed.
Shit. I forgot to poop.
1. Instead of sitting back in contentment after a beer, you feel satisfaction after finding time to poop.
2. In the battle between sleep and a beer, sleep always wins.
3. You can’t think of a single hobby unrelated to your kids.
4. You automatically sing a long to Five Little Monkeys with great enthusiasm for at least a minute before you realize none of the kids are in the car.
5. While standing in line at the grocery market, you cradle bread close to your chest and sway your body back and forth to keep it calm.
6. You leave adults standing there with half finished sentences as you abruptly run into the next room to handle a kid fight… and forget to return.
7. Watching anything rated higher than PG-13 makes you feel naughty. You constantly glance around to see if the kids might catch you watching swear words, violence.. or worse…
8. Your potty mouth is a sugar mouth around other adults. “Fudge it. Fudge-meister. Fudge Noodles.”
9. You eat on plastic kid plates, even when they are at school.
10. Laundry is a daily torturous event.
Four girls generate an impossible amount of laundry. Wishing doesn’t make it go away. No one listens to my requests to stop wearing clothes. I personally thought it was a novel idea.
At least four baskets of clean rumpled clothing inhabit floor space at any given time. I guess it’s a reasonable ratio for the number of girls.
My enemy (Time) challenges me daily with dirty laundry. We share a washer and dryer with a number of family members (mostly girls). While I am thankful a laundromat isn’t on the top of my Places to Visit list, it still feels like one. Everyone is nice. On the outside.
There is a silent battle for the machines. I grimace when someone holds the next spot by placing a dirty bin next to the washer. My insides twist as images of laundry mountains haunt me. “Noooooooooo! You were home all day yesterday! I saw you!!! Ahhhh!” If my thoughts are transmitted telepathically, I am screwed.
Inside my head, I have fallen to my knees in defeat. There’s no negotiation. I don’t just pretend to be Supermom. I am Superwoman, She-ra and Wonder Woman all rolled up into one bad-a$$ b–… Aww, who am I kidding? Everyone is nice on the outside, remember? I will just look crazy if I argue over a load of laundry.
Even if it took this person ALL day to do two loads. I know, because I did a stake out on the machines.
I am the Laundry Lord. I will be watching.