Nothing funny happened today, unless you count the moment when I had to leave my dinner-trashed kitchen to go outside and break up a fight between Miss A and G; and Hanes followed me outside in her t-shirt and diaper and bare feet, crying because that's what she does; and Miss A was screeching because G wanted to drive her Barbie car, and I said the Barbie car was in time out, whereupon G commenced screeching and shrieking at the injustice of him not getting to drive the Barbie car;
...so I grabbed the mfing Barbie car and tried to wrestle the damn thing back to the garage, but it's really heavy and I can't pick it up, and I can't press the accelerator without falling headfirst into it, so I had to use my whole body weight to just sort of slide it up the driveway, plastic wheels scraping the entire way...
(this is The Walk of Shame, age 35)
...and my neighbors were in their driveway (which is a foot away from my driveway) putting air in their bike tires, looking cute, preparing for a leisurely evening ride, and my four kids plus one neighbor kid are screaming like hooligans and turning on the sprinkler, causing it to rain inside my house, and I am trying to tell them that if they touch the spigot again I'll lop off their hands with my hedge shears, but I have to convey the same meaning in an upbeat, kind way so as not to traumatize the neighbor boy...
...and another neighbor's elderly father came over and wanted to talk about how lovely my children are, making it clear he suffers from dementia; and he shared that he raised 10 children and "even took in a black boy," and I am sort of out of the loop as to how one properly responds to backhanded racism in the elderly and demented population so I nod and say, "Oh! Yes..."
...and P cried because he had a cold and also because he skinned his knee yesterday and it still hurts, and everyone got wet at least three times and then came in and dropped their wet clothes on the floor and put on dry clothes, only to go outside and get wet again; everyone except for me, that is -- I stayed in my wet clothes all day because I'm a mom. I'm used to being vaguely uncomfortable due to wetness of unknown origins...
...and I composed a fantastic little ditty about how pee and poopoo go in the potty, then forgot the tune and now I feel as though my one shot at fame and fortune has been flushed down the same potty that pee and poopoo are in fact *not* going in, if you are my toddler...
But otherwise, I have nothing to report.
Lyrics are as follows:
Pee and poopoo go in the potty
Pee and poopoo go in the potty
(high voice) First you put your peepee in the potty and you flush it
(low voice) Then you put your poopoo in the potty and you flush it
Pee and poopoo go in the potty
Pee and poopoo go in the potty
Copyright 2009, Diagnosis: Urine. All rights reserved.
It's a really amazing song. That's what a Bachelor of Arts degree in English with a minor in writing will get you -- really incredible songs about the nitty gritty of using a toilet.
Mommy Break
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When it comes to children and pets, I can be extremely patient, and I
confess to being rather proud of this trait. A lot of people tire of my
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Very fun post, and wow, the song is, like, so moving. It's perfect for my house, where pee and poopoo are in fact NOT going in our toddler potty either. I am so ready for her to jump this hurdle so I can be done with diapers...it's been 11 years of cleaning shitty bottoms. I am ready for a new challenge.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I loved the entire picture you painted here.
This is even funnier than the last post. This kills me that you're not able to make a Harry Potter size living on your writing. You are freaking hilarious!
ReplyDeleteOh, I can always count on you for a good laugh at mommy-hood! Thanks for your comment last night...so sorry to send you to such a sad blog due to my mysterious identity!
ReplyDeleteHuh. Maybe I am not ready to have another baby. ;)
ReplyDeleteIf you can carry a tune, record it. I'll buy it. Just as I have done every damn thing else BECAUSE pee and poopoo aren't going in the potty here either.
ReplyDeleteThe man is old, and he meant well; so thank you for not trying to correct his terminology.
ReplyDeleteMy husband used to hate watching our childless neighbor hopping on his bicycle for a leisurely weekend ride. "How cute!" we'd say. "He's obviously bored."