There are a few things that suck worse than Monday mornings…like an early Tuesday morning after a holiday, unloading groceries and a toddler in pouring rain, and ah…the joys of early morning, wet piss-covered sheets…
Rise and shine! This morning not awaking to smells of coffee, or sounds of birds, but rather the aroma of urine drenched beds, with whines and screams of hissing children, similar to that moment; when cat hits dryer!
Hadn’t I loved to pretend, I was done with buying giant packs of night time Pull-ups, no more slathering lotion on dry chapped buns, and through with sheets that sound like the wrestling of last crumbs from a chip bag.
Relapse!
Double header, or double wetter; This morning not one little pissy pants, but two…
My two year-old’s started with whines and whimpers at 2:00am, and the only way to omit those sounds from carrying into third and forth hours, was drowning him with a drink of water. Naturally, that giant overnight necessity, slurped from a soapy cup at the bottom of the tub, would end up recycled onto his bed sheets hours later...but at least he slept!
My daughter’s nightly mayhem however, was not as easily pinpointed; More of-- 10:00pm an itchy foot, 11:00pm spotting of a shadow, 11:05pm then the noise 12:00am the Velcro of her pillow-pet grazed her skin, with 12:02am meaning a band aide was necessary for her nonexistent injury (Yet, I Hello-kitty covered a freckle and kissed it anyhow) 1:00am I was summoned to lay with her, again, and it topped with the 2:00am bad dream…of a bug, that bites…(First taking her potty! I swear) now she comes into my bed…
Nearly 6:00am (much too early for our traditional missed the bus day) there it was; the tap,tap,tap, simultaneously felt with warmth on my back…
“Mama, I peed…”
She meant to say, “I pissed every where, like 30 gallons, and nailed both sheets, dad’s pillow, my blankie, your down-filled comforter, and sopped right through your memory foam mattress topper…please except this gift of three extra loads of laundry and join me for an early morning bath!”
She was so drenched, her bottom inches of hair dripped. Possibly how could such a small child, who went to the bathroom hours before, have nearly freed Willy with a giant aquarium sized blowout…not a clue. I even searched for the missing end of the garden hose—not in my bed! Hum?
Through 5 inches of memory foam, numerous blankets, and still a puddle soaked on my mattress top. Spray, dab, Lysol, blot…no, not going to resolve this one. Fire up the barn fan, sprinkle with the Nascar speedy dry, or just hand me a match…
And attempting to strip her piss-glued clothing off, while growling and squirming, is as easily done as peeling an orange while wearing wool mittens! I needed a crowbar to pry her bottoms down off her thighs. Shimmy down, a tiny movement left, then right, and when it finally rolled down to her feet, what you had left was looking like a rolled purple pony condom for a dinosaur.
If it wasn’t bad enough turning the kid’s dirty socks right side out, now I’d have to reach my arms down each of the leg holes and try to disassemble pissy underwear and p.j.’s rolled together tighter than a cigar.
Yet, wouldn’t it be only after the tub was drained, and the floor dried, that soaked contestant number two would come on down. Walking like on stilts, tottering side to side, not to bend the cold wet against him, “Me not pee, Mama…just wet!” …okay
His bed just washed yesterday, four blankets, along with 19 stuffed animal friends, soaked! I didn’t know if I was ready to burst into tears by now, or if the morning’s overwhelming ammonia was simply burning my eyes…either way, I was starting the day wanting to hang myself with soaked bed sheets!
Dragging a mound of laundry, he was abnormally clingy and ornery this morning, “Uppie! Want you!” Of coarse, because I had chased behind a swinging weed eater for continuous hours the day before and my arms worked as well as using chopsticks …so, if wrestling a wet king-sized, down-filled comforter, and two bed changes down the stairs was not enough, I was doing it with a 32lb. parasite attached.
The washing machine door shut only with a bit extra force, thrusts and a few hip checks, nearly through the wall. And it sounded in cycle like boulders going down a playground curly slide, and a boat propeller with half of a whale caught in it. It made so much racket, the dog thought someone was at the door, and barked each time it spun. Shut-up!!
Anyone who attempted this over-sized garment duty knows; the
harder part of the process is the drying… Certainly raining, so it
couldn’t be hung on the line, and the dryer quickly wadded it into a
giant fruit roll up.
Stopping the dryer, I strenuously yank it back out, as pulling off a pool liner, while hog-tying then flipping, a wild bird on its back. Then I'd beg it wouldn’t stall when re-started again. Blowing giant bird gobs and feathers from the vent, anyone passing would surely assume I was attempting to collect a urine sample from an ostrich.
Then the dryer would shriek loud beeps and the lint filter light would flash again…so I’d pull out more gobs and beat the filter against the side of the garbage can. Choking and spitting feathers, I’d brace my foot against the dryer front, tug and pry, trying to flip the ostrich roll so the inside could dry. My laundry room looked like I’d been butchering meat chickens, and the intense yanks were like I was trying to teach that damn ostrich to lead…
My plan for the day was to accomplish something, anything from
my “to do” list. So, I brushed the feathers off, and the tot and I
headed for groceries. What better was there to do on a rainy day,
while the ostrich flailed through the laundry room wall and the dog went nuts?
He insisted on a pack of gummy worms and chocolate milk, but the worms ending up tucked into the check-out magazines, and the milk dumped into his car seat before we left the store. If only he would just sit down and patiently get buckled, instead of making me hit my head, and drag him over the backseat, while mooning all the nearby vehicles.
Cleaning yet, another soaking mess using a few drive thru napkins and my sweatshirt to sop the puddle under his seat, then loading grocery bags while rain poured from buckets…I obviously hadn’t seen the shopping cart in front of my car, as I slammed it into gear the cart spit out compressed like a tuna fish can.
Ooops!
Next stop was preschool to pick up the darling little angel…the one who didn’t sleep much that night before…
“Ugh! He got Chocolate milk?”
sobbing
“I want strawberry then! Why did you go to the store?”
Kicking and pouting!
“You said you would paint my nails, and no one wanted to play with me today…I’m not eating any lunch, so there…”
It was a ride of furry! Frankly, the child talked so fast and was so
intensely hating the world, it wasn’t even necessary I respond to any of
her hisses.
I scrubbed and fired up every fan in the house to blow on
my mattress, and suddenly it was the best thing ever happening in the
day…I couldn’t hear a thing over top of all the motors spinning and
humming. It muffled out all the whines and cries, and was as lovely as
hearing waterfalls flow. Then it happened…ah, sleep little child! Both
sound asleep, and quiet! Thank you, Peppa Pig!
Please, just don’t pee all over my couch…
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