>Poopsicles

26 Jan

>We somehow survived a full Monday at home being housebound. Despite the dog pooping all over herself to the point that I had to leave her outside in the 15 degree weather. Once I figured out a gameplan, she had poop icicles hanging from her butt. So I ushered her into the garage for some warmth and it was only a matter of minutes before I heard the recycling being pulled over. So now I had poop icicles and minute pieces of tinfoil and milk carton to contend with. All while I was trying to bake my sad, lop-sided cake. (Ah-ha! I have an out in regards to my cooking inadequacies! I can’t be expected to bake a cake that stands proud with all of these distractions!) I decided to finish gluing the cake back together with icing before diving into poop and particles. Much more sanitary. And I kept hoping that the hubby would show up from work early before I had to deal. No dice. He was an hour late getting home (as usual☺).

The week then went forth and conquered. Work is starting to pick up a bit so I have meeting after meeting after con call for the various project launches. And estimates out the wazoo. Those estimates take for-frickin’-ever too. And there’s no guarantee that they’ll all miraculously turn into a check in my pocket. Such is life.

There were the little things like the hubby having a surprise trip to Arizona crop up for this Monday. And the various scheduling snafus that arise from that. Then there was the mountain lion scare. An article in the paper was very vague about “some neighborhood sightings around town.” The following day’s paper detailed an interaction that occurred in a yard a block off of my running route and a block from Miss 6’s school. Uh-huh. Then came the e-mail from the school:

“I have heard from several of you about recent mountain lion sightings in our area. Now might be a good time to review with your children the safest ways to travel to and from school, as well as safety when outside around your home. The information below as well as the link comes from the Department of Wildlife website…”

Oh joy. And there’s me with my wild imagination and neurotic fear of large, predatory animals. So now I think I need to buy the spray and the horn just to check the mail at dusk. And being so sure that Miss 6 will just be carted off from the playground at any moment. Love it. My friend, LG, said, “Just don’t eat bacon while you’re running.” I made a note. I also think I’ll leave the raw meat belt at home too.

And I really can’t go further without mentioning the tragic passing of Heath. Now I am not a star fanatic. On the occasions I’ve run smack into one, I’ve merely nodded or hurried away. I’d never ask for an autograph or even gush, “I loved you in [fill in the blank]” I’d rather go on stage with broccoli in my teeth. But Heath. It was an entirely different matter. I always tell myself that I’m obsessed over a star’s passing because of a kinship. With Anna Nicole it was that our babies were close in age. With Heath it’s…we had sex. Yes. I was pregnant with Miss 6, hormones raging and I entered that weird stage of vivid dreams. I must have just seen The Patriot or something, but next thing I know, I am en flagrant with Heath and I wake up blushing. I spill it all to the bemused hubby, but from then on I really feel that I know him. The thing is that in my dream, he was a ghost. That’s the part that has me really freaked out. Willies. So it’s not your usual star-dying-way-too-young thing for me. And it makes me sad. So even if I did have to go to The Viper Room after River died there…that’s just me.

The week progressed from trauma to more poop. With an entry of dinner out. The hubby has a colleague who was in town that invited me to tag along for dinner. It was really nice and…free. So I was happy. And for once I got to go versus being left behind to fend. We even went a little early to have some ‘date time’ before the dinner. It was good.

Then today I am thinking that I have an easy day. No work. Just blogging, blog surfing and maybe a nap. But Bean picks today to let loose. And I mean loose in terms of Vesuvius. Before that, the hubby runs off to an early meeting and leaves me to deal with trash day. Of course it is also winds from hell day. Those winds lay in wait for trash day. I’m serious. And today was no diff. I haul it all out only to be blown to bits, knocked over and waylaid. I have Bean on my hip picking up dirty diapers and bits of tile from the remodel that clutter the curb where the can blew over. She says, “Woooooo!” Then, as I’m panting and heading back for the house she says, “Uh. Uh. Uh.” Mocking me in my breathlessness. I head inside, try to salvage my cold coffee by transferring it to a insulated vessel – then proceed to spill it all over the floor.

But. She naps late and eats late. And as she is finishing up her marathon lunch, I smell something. And after picking her up, I realize. She is totally covered in sh**. I am so not kidding. She is covered bum to brain and out again. So as soon as I free her from the highchair, it hits me. I too am now covered in sh**. I panic. Then decide to take her straight to the bathtub. I plop her down, clothes and all and she says, “Ma-Ma?” I grab two plastic bags and begin the peeling off process. It’s tedious. Especially since it’s erupted into her hair as well. Then I start the rinsing and watch as my newly cleaned tub fills up with baby poo. It’s swirling around her feet now and I am trying so hard not to gag. She looks at me again, “Ma-Ma?” “Yes. Ma-Ma, dammit.” But no. I don’t cuss. I just reassure her with a quick soapy swipe of the bum. And I notice that a pool of water has gathered at my feet as well. On the bathroom floor. It feels like hours before I scoop her up and head for the changing table. Clean and poop-free.

Not too many minutes later the b-partner shows up with our newly arrived client gifts. She hates the result so I’ve already harangued the vendor on her behalf. But they are actually lovely. So I send her on her way, making sure she is thankful for not arriving a few minutes earlier in the midst of the poopfest. Call the vendor back. Explain the artist temperament and the weekend begins.

Then Nanner’s mom calls and requests the presence of Miss 6 for the afternoon. I agree and call carpool to change plans. A bit later, Nanner’s mom calls back and asks if I need some wine. “Uh, Yes!” I had just changed into a newly arrived t-shirt from the freshly assaulted vendor. One that was blissfully free of poop. So I’m feeling lively again. She then tells me that Nanner’s day wasn’t so good. “Well, it seems that G was pulling her coat. She asked him to stop. He said no. She asked again. And it continued until she socked him. Pow. In the kisser.” So Nanner had spent the day, post-girl-power, in the principal’s office and really needed a pal. When I arrived, the girls were watching The Dog Whisperer – or at least Miss 6 was. Nanners had fallen sound asleep. Spent from her day of fisticuffs.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Explode. Nelly Furtado. Then count the stars and the ten million woes. Just you and the universe judging each other.

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One Response to “>Poopsicles”

  1. shandreamer January 30, 2008 at 10:31 pm #

    >Hey! I just remembered this blogger thing. Crazy. Anyway, I’ve decided to try it all again and I’ve been loving reading your stories.See you soon, I hope.S

    Like

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