"I am not perfect, and sometimes my kids are assholes."
I love that quote. It sums up my daily life. A lot. The hubby & I are not perfect parents. We try. We really do. But we are really often 2 adults who feel like overgrown teenagers.
"Poop is funny."
Those brilliant words are from my Annabelle. And both of these quotes tie into this post perfectly.
Much to my dismay, my girls are quite familiar with poop and farts and how funny they are. Courtesy of their dad. I do not understand why men are so fascinated with poop and how funny it is. Maybe it's a psychological connection to how much they love butts? I love a good joke as much as the next guy. Hell, humor is one of the few things that helps me make it through each day. But I usually don't get the delightfulness of poop as much as my husband does. How is crop dusting your 32lb 3yr old enough to make you wet yourself because "she, she, she is the perfect height! I mean, did you see that" all fragmented by belly laughs and cracking up so hard he can't speak, that funny? My Mia cracks herself up when she toots, and both Annabelle & Tess are familiar with "sharting" and needing "blow mud". Sigh....what's a mama to do?
Tuesday evening was a busy one for us. AB had her 1st day of school, and Greg & I went to work late after getting her all settled in her new classroom. I left work to meet her at her bus stop, we went for ice cream to talk about her 1st day, then headed to cheer practice. Greg went home and tackled the babies and then Grandpa came over to help him assemble our new playhouse. By the time Annabelle and I arrived home, they were all outside, the minis "helping" as much as the adults could tolerate.
I herded the littles upstairs and into the bath tub to get them out of the way and to be honest, hose the little bastards down. How can a person get so dirty? Annabelle was instructed to play her DSi quietly while I attempted to bathe the slippery little eggs. If you haven't bathed 2 small children at the same time, or in a while, you really should experience it. It's amazing how little personal space boundaries they have. Take your sister's cup that she is drinking pee/bath water out of? No problem, she will just grab you by the hair and take it back. Try and sit under the running water by yourself? Not gonna happen. Want to impress mommy by swimming with your face in the water? A little more difficult with a 30 pounder on your back.
After most of the bath water was on the floor and Mia had successfully emptied half of an $18 bottle of baby wash into the tub, I cut my losses. I argued twice with Tessa about whether or not she could use Mimi's duck towel before I caved, and then silently complimented myself about picking my battles. I told Mia to pull the plug for the 50th time, and for the 51st time she pulled it and then quickly shut it again. I hoisted Tessie out and sent her into Mia's room to find her nightgown. "
Let's get out now Meemers" I said.
"Okay, well I am going to clean up and then it's time to get out."
Followed by a ridiculous fart. And furious giggles. Clearly her father's daughter. "Mims, let's hurry before you go potty" I tell her.
Reminding myself that trying to argue with an almost 2 yr old is about as effective as our current congress, I moved on. "Mia, I am going to put these clothes in the washer and when I come back it's time to get out." She smiled at me as she slid up and down the bathtub, living life on the edge and narrowly avoiding head injuries. I hurried the laundry to the washer, and checked on Tess who was sitting naked on the floor checking out her girly parts, all the while worrying that my stubborn ass toddler was probably drowning in what was likely 2 ounces of bath water left in the tub.
When I made it back into the bathroom, I was greeted by my sweet, innocent baby, her face usually that one of a cherub, grinning with delight. And holding suspiciously still. My gaze followed her body down to between her legs. "Mia! You didn't!" She started laughing. "Bella, go tell Daddy that I need his help right now! It's an emergency" I yelled. She came running. "What happened?" she asked. "Your sister," I said, now doubling over myself, "Has pooped a penis." "What?" she looks at me, confused. "Daddy, now," was all I could muster.
Since I certainly wasn't going to be able to clean up the offending doo, I laughed my way all the way to the bedroom to help get my other, poop free, child dressed. Greg came huffing up the stairs. I re entered the bathroom, preparing myself to get yelled at for interrupting hard work with my inability to clean up poop. Instead, I see my 36 yr old husband leaning over the bathtub taking a picture of the miraculous poo with his iphone.
"Poo Poo!" his spawn spouted to him proudly. "Mia poo poo bath!"
"You sure did Meemers," he congratulated her, practically slapping her on the back. I half expected him to hoist her up onto his shoulder and do a victory lap around the house. And really, who wouldn't be proud? Can your toddler poop phallic images? Can she also do it without peeing? One of nature's great mysteries I tell ya.
That was when my "aha" moment hit me. I suddenly realized that somehow in my house liking poop humor = being able to clean up poop without gagging. I quickly made peace with my husband's love of poop, his routine rectal honks and constant reminders that he "is turtling."
Heck, if it keeps me from having to clean up any of that nastiness, go to town with your grossness honey. Go to town.