Handful of Failure

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.

DAMN.

I readied the plunger. Floop, floop, floop. Nothing. Flush. Floop, floop, floop.

Still nothing. Floop.

Floop.

Eons later, I admitted defeat. My pinky was burning. I took off the gloves and discovered 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 sanitized and fought to open a can of refried beans. My hand slipped and sliced pieces of skin from my knuckles.

Bloody beans, anyone?

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My legs quivered as I suspended myself above the toilet bowl. No touching the seat! Just a careful pee session.

Then it happened.  Gas slipped out. 

Why. Do. I. Have. This. Problem. 

I wiped myself and went through the motions of zipping, buttoning, adjusting and flushing. All that time passed and the putrid fart odor remained trapped in the stall.  

Damn. 

The door swooshed open to announce the arrival of two co-workers.  I stood exposed at the sink, obviously the only culprit. 

One of them entered my stinky stall. 

My stomach flipped. There was only one thing I could do.

Run!

Elbow Grease

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.

Mom, what’s this red thing?

My kids like home lunch. I’m not very good at including a desirable variety of items. It’s not usually a surprise to them about what I might include.

I was caught off guard when my brother noisily searched the remains of my kindergartener’s lunch bag and asked me what the red thing was. He likes to tease me about the “junk lunch” I provide, so I wasn’t paying very much attention… until my daughter asked, “Mom, what’s this red thing?”

My head jerked up and I looked for the alleged red thing. I have no idea what it could be. My brother held up a ziplock bag full of what appeared to be red salsa. But I never ever give my kids salsa. What the heck was that?

I reached for the bag and sniffed at the contents from the outside of the ziplock bag. I nearly retched all over the floor from the horrid odor.

The mystery bag was quickly thrown into the trash as I puzzled over the contents.

Ah hah. I switch out the lunch bags periodically to match the backpack. Sometimes I just can’t find the lunch bag so I use a new one. I apparently neglected to empty the bottom compartment of this particular lunch bag for weeks. The original items in the ziplock bag were tiny wheels of cheese covered in red wax. They must have melted over time.

I felt so badly for my child having brought out the Red Food bag at lunch time, wondering if she had tried to eat that gross thing in front of her friends. Sometimes, I am absolutely mortified at my horrible mothering skills.

When Was the Last Time…

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. 

Free Bird

I recently had a boyfriend. It sounds weird to me. Boyieeeeee freeeeend. 

I am a grown-ass woman saying I had a boyfriend.  I felt like I was either 15 years old or married most of the time.  

He wants to know what he did to push me away.  He misses me.  

What can I really say? You’re a swell guy, but I need to be independent.  I cannot really explain it. I am a free bird.

Stupid Things I Do

  1. Stay up ridiculously late just because my kids went to sleep and I can because I am an adult, darn it!
  2. Auto-answer kids when I am distracted and have to rescind my permission.
  3. Tell other people’s kids their brains will leak out of their ears if they keep doing whatever naughty thing they were doing.
  4. Tell my kids they cannot have candy because I am secretly saving it for myself to eat after they go to bed.
  5. Keep the kids current with all the office gossip.
  6. Wait 10 minutes in the drive through line at McDonalds to get one large coke to go with a meal from some place else. 
  7. Stand 2 feet in front of the TV with the remote control in my hand for 20 minutes. No, wait-just five more minutes. Uh, no… umm it’s almost over. I’ll turn it off and do my chores after that. 
  8. Forget laundry in the washer for 2 days. Ugh, so stink. 
  9. Insert a contact in my eye on top of another contact.
  10. Stare at my children blankly as I forget what I was saying … mid-sentence.
  11. Bang my head on the car door frame 4 times in one day while reaching in to get my kid and out five hundred thousand things out.
  12. Forget my kid sitting on the toilet.
  13. Forget to search for the last kid in Hide ‘n Seek.
  14. Fart right before someone comes in the room.
  15. Trip when I walk past any group of people.

The Rumbling

Grrrroooowwwl. 

My eyes flicked toward my coworker in the cubicle to my right.  I mentally forced myself to not turn and look straight at his belly.  

It was the embarrassing tummy grumble we all experience whenever it is dead quiet in a room full of non-family members. I insist on pretending I do not hear tummy growls.

He stood up and walked away. I went back to work, quickly forgetting him… and his awkward belly music.

Immersed in my lively data entry, I heard a voice and then noticed his head turned in my direction.  He asked quietly, “What did you eat for lunch?”

My face twisted. “Nothing. I think I should punish myself since I forgot my lunch at home again. What did you eat?”

“Oh, I didn’t eat lunch. My stomach is bothering me. Could it be the milk? My stomach feels…” he lowered his voice to just below a whisper. “Shitty,” he mouthed. “All morning since I had cereal and milk. Going to the bathroom.” He rubbed his stomach soothingly for emphasis.

I looked at him thoughtfully. “Did you check the expiration date on the milk?”

“No, I bought it from the cafe downstairs.” He continued when my puzzled look remained frozen, “They pour milk into the bowl for you.”

“I see. So it is possible they left the milk out for too long. Yeah, you could be feeling yucky from the milk.” 

Since he looked a little doubtful, I sought to reassure him that it was entirely possible. “Places give out expired or bad milk all the time. I cannot tell you how many times kid meals come with expired milk. It depends on the person checking the inventory and it often goes unnoticed.”

My coworker nodded. “Yeah. I am not going back for cereal and milk from there for a long time! Sorry that was so TMI.”

I scoffed. “Nothing is TMI. I am a MOM.”