I Shit You Not

When Eric and I first moved in together, I would not even take a shit if he was in the apartment at the same time as me.

I was 19, thin and sexy. I had long blond hair and perky breasts. I was cute and funny and I most certainly did not want my boyfriend to know that I did anything as unattractive as move my bowels.

No crapping for this gal!

Luckily, when Eric and I first starting shacking up I was working days and he was working nights, so I was usually able to have my privacy and ensure the bathroom was smelling lilac fresh before my beloved arrived back home….

But man…Oh man….there were some days my eyeballs would be brown and shit would practically be coming out my ears as I waited for him to leave for work….

And then oh…the sweet sweet release…better than the newly uninterrupted have sex anytime you want sex…

And you all know how awesome that sex is…mmmm yeah….

Anyway…

Shitting…

As you’re probably thinking, I couldn’t keep that up…and not for lack of trying to pretend that nothing foul ever passed out of my ass, but really, because we started working together…and when you work together and live together there is no privacy to be had…ever.

And so Eric eventually discovered that his sexy girlfriend pooped…

And though I was a bit upset and having been discovered, I daresay my ass was thanking me…

Since it was finally able to unclench….

Digging it Out

After I left college and the whole club scene, I figured I was through seeing that many naked asses in a single setting…

I was wrong….enter motherhood…

I have wiped more asses and seen more naked butts running through the house than I’d ever seen before…

But as the children have gotten older and more independent in the bathroom, I’ve been assuming that my ass wiping responsibilities were waning, that Brooke was the only one waiting for a wet wipe to swiped across her bottom…

And then I hear, Mo-om! I need help in here! Seriously, I do!

Wow, coming from Jack*, that can’t be good. I was cringing as I was walking toward the bathroom…

And rightfully so, because this is what I walked into…

Yup…that’s shit stuck in his butt.

Shit. Stuck. In. His. Butt.

Shit that he couldn’t get out…

Shit that I had to dig out! I had to dig poop out of my five year old’s ass, while he laughed at me. He thought it was funny that he couldn’t poop it out…

He called me Super Pooper Mommy.

This is totally one of those things you do as a mommy that no one told you about before kids**…

*because Jack? shits like a man. Like a big man who makes really stinky shit…he must get it from his dad…

**those fucking bastards…they also didn’t tell me that I’d pee on myself when I sneeze, or cough, or walk too fast…

***don’t forget to subscribe to my feed here

Family Dinners, or Gross Times?

I know how important family dinners are.  I get it.  The research all says that if you don’t eat together then your kids are at risk for becoming sociopaths and they’ll get bad grades and drop out of school.  Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but you all know what I’m saying, that if we don’t eat with our kids every night we’re doing irreversible damage…

But eating with the kids is highly unappetizing…and here’s why…

1. Mashed Potato Towers.  Hope is a master in this lost art…and watching her sculpt is thoroughly unappetizing…even with the peas added as embellishment…

2. Snorted Milk.  You know what I’m talking about, the milk out of the nose.  One kid makes a fart joke or says the magic word: poop, and that’s enough to send off gales of laughter causing the milk to come right out the nose….nice!

3. The Announcement.  We get the announcement during dinner every night from Jack. Don’t anyone eat my dinner, I have to go make a big poop!  Wow, that’s great.  And inevitably I have to smell his hands when he comes back to determine that he didn’t wash them and send him back.  Yum, pass the corn please.

4. Dogs.  No, we don’t have any, but I do have children that like to eat like animals.  I have to routinely remind them to eat like people, but when they pick up their faces from their plates and they’re covered in rice and the juices from the meat, that’s enough to kill my appetite.

5. The Spray.  You all know what I mean.  The food spray.  The disgusting chewed up food spray.  The laugh out loud looking straight at you food spray.  If I’m really lucky the food gets sprayed onto my face, but more often than not it ends up as a film covering my own meal.  Yum, it’s like a special seasoning, only it’s disgusting as hell…

But we’ll continue to eat with these little monsters anyway…

Besides, I can almost always eat with my eyes closed now anyway…

*today I’m guesting over at Julie’s place, 3 Moms in 1, so make sure you go check out yet another reason why I’m not that perfect mom…

Like I Don’t Do Enough

Everyone knows that the stay at home has many jobs. To prove this I will now tell you that I am the chauffeur, chef, maid (kinda, sorta), launderer, lunch packer, boo boo kisser, teeth brusher….you get the idea…

However, I never thought I’d be on the police squad. Not the normal break up fights between the kids police squad, oh no, this is a whole new unit.

I am now an unhappy member of the poop police. Yes, I’m serious. There is not a person in this house that poops without my involvement…

Let’s go down the list, shall we?

My Loving Husband. What the hell is up with him? I would think that with his self prescribed high fiber diet his bowels would be able to take place without me knowing about it. I would think wrong. Eric takes so long to go that he jokes about taking an unscheduled shit if I don’t know about it and make a fuss. But in my defense, if I’m in a rush to get somewhere and all of a sudden he decides he has to go, my whole time frame is thrown off, then I get crabby, I yell at the kids, and I’m doing the work I had set aside for him to do (i.e.-brushing kids teeth) to get out the door on time. Seriously, Eric’s bowels stress me out, and since he knows he stresses me out, he’s probably more stressed out and causing Irritable Bowel Syndrome, it’s a catch 22. And I know you’re thinking I should let him go in peace….well, take those crazy thoughts elsewhere..

My First Born Son. Why won’t he wash his hands? Why? If Blake’s been in the bathroom for more than a minute I demand to know if he went pee or poop. He’s always honest with me, then pitches a fit when I demand to smell his hands. And guess what? They always smell like poop. Always. You would think by now he’d figure it out and just wash his damn hands…nope…so freaking gross.

My Jackie Jacks. Jack is almost five, and he has man poops. Seriously. He poops like his dad. But he always positions himself on the toilet so that the shit is never in the water. Nope, it hangs on the side of the bowl, stinking up the place. And no matter how many times I beg him, Jack refuses to flush. So if I don’t catch him going, it could be hours before that toilet gets flushed, and then I have to go in and scrub off the hanger onners. At least he washes his hands….

My Disgusting Diva. Need I remind you of the Poop Soup? Hope also is fond of scraping her butt across the toilet seat and leaving a trail of poop behind, kind of like a demented Gretal. Not that I use the kids bathroom if I can help it, but there have been times I’ve sat in her leftovers and visibly recoiled….and once in a while I come across her markings and Jack’s leavings at the same time…yes!

My Baby Girl. Corn. Need I say more?

And just for the record, I don’t poop. And if I did, it would obviously smell like lilacs and jasmine…just ask Eric…

*click here to enter an awesome raffle, $10/ticket, prizes include a new Canon Rebel, and so many other crazily amazing goodies I can’t even remember! It’s to benefit Kirill, a Russian orphan whose adoption was denied simply because he has Down Syndrome. His family is appealing, but the costs are great…please help for a great cause!