Talking Poop Yo!

We’ve all done it — talked about someone or something in disparaging terms. Call it “venting” or “going stabbity” or whatever, there are times when airing our feelings, perhaps in even a less than favorable gossip-like way, feels like the right thing to do. But how comfortable are you to talk about actual poop? As in your own?

Me, not so much.

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Potty Woes

With three children, that means I have changed a very large number of diapers.  Poopy diapers, potty diapers, you name it.  I’ve had to count the number of each per hour, and I’ve dutifully noted consistency, color, odor, you name it.  Somehow, this part of parenting never makes much of an entrance in the “what to expect” books.

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Kids, Shovels, Rocks and Dirt

All I have to say about home ownership is this:  sometimes, it really stinks.  Like when you’re the one cleaning up the dog poop.  Literally and figuratively.  So the hubby, kiddos, and I spent the day working on grading the side yard.  This meant moving the 4 yards of dirt from the excavation of our new foundation from the side yard to other places.   I’m not sure who got more dirty, but the tub had mud in it.  Seriously.

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Okay, Okay. Things Have Been Nutty.

You know how there are good times and not so good times in your life?  Well, things have been in a trough around here.  Rather than go into the sordid details that are really not all that exciting, suffice it to say, I’ve got three kids, an assortment of pets, a major home renovation project, a job, and a variety of sniffles and sneezes.

After the birth of my third child, I had to accept that sometimes, mama finishes last.  And that showers are only on a “desperately needed” basis.  So, this little moment of “me time” that I like to call my blog, has fallen by the wayside.  I am hopeful that this dry spell will have less staying power than my libido’s dry spell, and I can get my blog rolling along again.  But then, I’m not REAL sure that anyone noticed my silence.  Hey, there’s an idea.  If you came, saw that nothing was new, and were sad, let me know.  What with the way my hair looks these days (a girl can really only go 4 days without a shower before all hell breaks loose), I could use some positive attention.

However, while my cyber voice may have been silent, I HAVE been thinking little things to myself.  Such as:

What possesses some women to wear pink cotton capri pants with a black thong?  And I’m not talking about flip-flop thongs either, for those of you (who like myself) grew up in a time when a thong was something grasped between your toes rather than your buttocks.  You know, like what Jimmy B. blew out on a bottle cap?

Also, why is it that the doctor’s office always calls just before leaving for the day, so that there is no possible way for an anguished mother to actually find out what the cryptic message really means?  Oh, and just for the record, if you ever need an “EEG” for your child, don’t be too terribly distressed when you finally get a referral for an “EKG.”  The alphabet is such a slippery thing.

Here’s another thought that arrives in my cranium more times than it ever should.  Why can a dog sniff out a bone buried by Lassie before seatbelts were invented, but cannot manage to avoid stepping in its own poop?  And, of course, why is it I never notice this until the damn dog is walking across my carpet?

And to round out my little moment of drivel, why do my kids always get really interested in bickering at the precise time that all my morning coffee has completely worn off and I could really use a nap?

Stay tuned.  I promise I’ll come back.  I am really hoping I can get a shower first though.