Disclaimer: this post is not for the faint of heart. There is poop involved. But not food. I’m trying to keep those things separate in my life.
It’s been a doozy of a day. The kind where Murphy’s Law prevails and you either roll with it or get steamrolled by it.
People often ask me how I do it. I work full-time, have the busiest toddler ever to walk the earth, and write and bake as much as possible while trying to keep the house a home and everyone’s tummies full. Not going to lie, it’s a lot. I don’t sleep much and I don’t always handle it with grace. Case in point, my day. I wish I could say that these kinds of shenanigans were unusual but this is a pretty accurate snapshot of my life. On the days I don’t work, that is. Those days aren’t much different except that there is less time for shenanigans.
My first mistake was wearing a white shirt. My second mistake was not packing a back-up. My third mistake was attempting to do anything that resembled productivity. We took the Saurus to go run errands and right there in the middle of Sam’s, he decided he needed a snack. No problem, I’m SuperMom and have applesauce in my pocket. (Literally.) While never breaking stride and holding a squirming kid who is about as easy to hold on to as siamese twin donkeys on speed (and just about as subtle), I get it opened and passed on to the open mouth of the grumpy child. Hooray! Saurus takes two bites, gets excited about having a snack, and yells – forgetting that he was supposed to swallow the applesauce first. Which is not really an issue any longer since the applesauce is no longer in his mouth and is now covering my shirt. My white shirt. For which I had no back-up. And there were many more errands to go. This is even more exciting to the Saurus who hee-haws even louder and kicks his 8 donkey legs wildly. At this point, he notices that A) he is still hungry and B) his snack is covering my boobs. He lunges for the snack and starts eating the applesauce off of my shirt in a manner that can only be described as….indiscreet. And I cannot get him off. At all. He’s like a leech. An 8-legged donkey-leech. Needless to say, we made a scene and I proudly marched my applesauce-covered self and odd donkey-child directly to the car.
The next errand happened to be picking up our vacuum from the repair shop:
Me: I’m here to pick up a vacuum for Hunter
Clerk: Oh ya! The sock vacuum! That was hilarious!
Me: Say what now?
Clerk: Your vacuum was broken because there was a baby sock in it. See-here you go.
Me: Wow. You even washed the sock. That was impressive.
Clerk: It was the least I could do. We had a hard time figuring out what was wrong at first but it looks like your son probably stuck a sock in the wrong part of the vacuum and when you turned it on, the sock got sucked the wrong way and got stuck.
Me: Well, thanks for fixing it. I feel pretty dumb now.
Clerk: Nah, you’re good. It gave us a good laugh.
Me: You can definitely count on us for that.
My next mistake was thinking I could redeem myself. Tonight, after the Saurus got out of the pool, I thought I’d be a great mother and let him dry off in his birthday suit (one of the great benefits of living in the country). Saurus decided he’d be a great kid and enjoy the freedom. And enjoy he did. So much so that he felt free enough to….ummm…let it ALL out. Like everything he’d apparently been holding in all day. Or lifetime based on the amount. Amounts. Directly on the porch. In the time it took for me process what was happening and to grab the hose, the dog decided to help out and cleaned Saurus himself. I’m not really one for poop to begin with so at this point I’m about to lose it. There is a lot of gagging, and yelling, and water, and a scared, screaming toddler and a howling dog. And very confused neighbors, I’m sure. Ew. This charade was bad enough to begin with, but then it happened THREE TIMES. In 15 minutes. Where had that kid been hiding all of the poop?! I kept thinking that surely he was finished and the worst was over and then it KEPT HAPPENING. I’m going to have nightmares about this. There is an exact term for the kind of show at my house tonight but I’m not allowed to say it since my mother reads this. But, you know, THAT kind of show. It was literally THAT.
Oh, and then I dropped a knife on my foot and broke a vase which shattered all over the kitchen floor and just basically tried not to die today. So how do you win at mothering? Don’t die. Some days, that’s really the only rule.
And then, when everyone has been showered and the day has been lysol-ed away, the Siamese-Twin-Donkey turns back into a little cherub baby and snores sweetly in his bed and all is right with the world and being a mother seems like something you could do again tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that. Applesauce, baby socks, poop, and all.