7 Days of Bad Luck!

Its been a less than calm week in this house hold, and I'm not sure I dare to stick around and see what kind of grand finale is in store for ending it. And need I remind myself, today is only the first day of the kids' school vacation...

Anything that is breakable, is now broke...and even some things I would consider indestructible or never imagined could occur... they did!

For instance, you would think with my husband at the grill just around the corner of our hose faucet, a toddler playing in the water could not accomplish too much harm...wrong again!

In the time it takes a man to cook four strip steaks to medium-rare, fish out the tongs from below the grill grates, twice, and leave his empty beer can on the grill, a two year-old can flood an entire living room.  Fact!

Intelligently, our outside water faucet is directly below our living room window, (I know...hasn't a contractor a single child?) and at the perfect reach for a toddler pretending to be a fireman. Pressing the hose end against the screen apparently makes just enough friction to force a stream all the way over to the furthest wall, and soak everything in between. 

We weren't talking about an "ooops" someone smashed another water balloon in the house, or a toddler wet on the couch again... I could have more efficiently scooped out Lake Erie with a cracked sandbox pail, and attempted house breaking a baby dinosaur with less damage to my carpet.  

Select a size...don't mind if I do...perhaps sized to damn a creek, and absorbency enough to sponge up a large pool. Hospital postpartum sanitary pads weren't even a match...

Quilted Quicker Picker Upper not so much! An entire Amish community's bed quilts weren't going to sop this monsoon. Pictures on my walls were splattered, my ceiling dripped like the one in my first apartment, and my couch was so waterlogged, it sank in the middle like a horse had spent the night on it. The kids' beanbag chairs were now heavy enough to stop a train and the dog was able to slurp a drink from my coffee tabletop.

Haha...to think the day we were eager to set up the snow-filled Christmas tree, or when my kids tried constructing a Barbie pool out of the dog dish and my recyclables, were bad days for my rug!  If only...

Now, I have my carpet pad ripped up, half of my living room rug lifted to dry, and fans humming all hours of the night to continue drying my basement ceiling. That wasn't even the hardest task...just try teaching a toddler he's done something terrible, when in his eyes he sees the coolest thing ever happening to the house.

Who needed blanket forts, that were tiny and always caved in, when you could just lift up the entire carpet and produce bear cave sized excitement!

The day before, that very same mischievous boy attempted burning my house down preparing his own breakfast, as I showered. So after all, maybe it was a good thing he decided practicing his hose handling and fire fighting...

There it was...a perfect smiley face in the pan. Only one broken yolk, no shells, and smells of propane! The kid had the talent of a chef, in the speed of fast food...it was a 7min. shower!!!  C'mon!

When we remodeled our kitchen, there was two things I was quite excited about... (1) the new cabinets, including my spinning lazy susan in the corner cupboard and (2) the stainless steel dishwasher finally arriving, as it was promised for four Mother's day's and three different Christmas gifts...what can I say he's a procrastinator and a romantic, that guy of mine!

Well, that lazy susan can kiss my lazy ass... It is nothing more than an area for my children to hide and scare the shit out of me, and a silent toddler ladder simply unfolding with the gentle spin of the cabinet front. At least before the screech of the chair sliding across the tiled floor or the sound of my stock pot being flipped upside down for a stool, gave warning sounds of small hands approaching the counter tops.

And the new dishwasher destruction...nailed it! We've managed to ruin that sucker in only months... My children  melt crayons in the soap dispenser, bob on the opened door like preparing for a somersault from the diving board, and push buttons on the front like they're hacking into a bank vault, yet no one knows why "Error. Error" and dried egg yolk is all that displays on the front panel.

I could try to evaluate what some possible ruining causes were-- but if it wasn't from the Bat Man cape getting wrapped around the spray propeller or from the child who plated their dishes with a wad of gum still on them, I haven't a clue!


Earlier in this week:
Our well water pump burnt up... hum...too much of the kids in the garden hose???

And guess who was the only one around to help the guy fixing it...Mama!

Forget Zomba, this was the most strenuously awkward workout ever encountered, and without a running shower afterward.

"Just take this and pull," he says!

"No problem!"
I hadn't a clue I was going to be dragging and fighting an 80 foot, rust and dirt-covered, Python around my basement. I was mauled against the basement shelves, and tried to coil it while circling the wall limits. It bitch slapped me in the face, spit rusty water, and I wrestled it around like aiding two dinosaurs in breeding.

"Keep going!" 

I had never seen the wienie of an erect dinosaur or artificially inseminated a rusty whale before, but I would imagine it involved similar motions...and naturally, I needed a snack and the plumber needed a smoke afterward.

My new car is flashing a  service air bag light, again! Whether that sucker's gonna blow at any driving moment, or fail me when I smash'er up reaching for another rolling sippy cup... not sure! But, I've seemed to temporarily solve it by running it on only fumes, as the Low Fuel light tends to over rank its service flashing.

...and my dearest little 'einer dog has turned up operating on three legs. Lord only knows, weather it was another tangle with a chipmunk, or simply a Lego causing lacerations to the toe pad... or maybe something too incredibly rare has happen a second time-- like a small child hunched over a Tonka truck, intoxicated by kool-aide, and speeding at 11mph with failure to yield to the little 6 lb darling!  yippppp!

Either way, speedy recovery my 'einer, speedy...those kids will catch you on three legs girl, Run!


So my husband and I have been desperately trying to figure out... who broke the mirror, killed the black cat, stepped on a crack, or drank the bad luck potion... 

And clearly it was him...because he was the one who woke up this morning with the giant wad of gum stuck to his leg.

Although it looks like an awesome battle wound...no, it's just the Cherry-Berry bazooka, carelessly left behind in our bed...on his side, hahaha!



Easy ladies...those hairy legs are off limits!

 

Um! Put it on the head of the bed and save it for tomorrow...

No, no don't take it off! (light bulb on) Just maybe the kids wouldn't hang around my ankles all day if they're stuck to his with bubble gum!

While some wake up on the wrong side of the bed... I wake up to the annoying lick sounds of a small dog with a sore paw, a toddler crammed so tightly against my ass you'd think he wished to return to the enclosure of my uterus, and a husband sleeping in the comfort of fruit loops and covered in bubble gum! 

He asks, as he shakes his head again today, "What have I done so bad to deserve such torture?"

"Well... you had kids, dear...and they're sticking around like gum smeared in hairy legs!"



A Little Wednesday Culture...

If you drink your daily orange juice, or have a strong immunity, and had a recent tetanus shot, its the place to be on a Wednesday! Traditional farmer's market day... in our area, the grand ol' Springville Action is always a summer favorite for my kids. A gathering were the fanny-pack and tie-dye shirts never left the wardrobes, and not a single itch on the body is ever off limits for scratching! Dry skin, bug bite to the untouchables...not a problem- dig like a dog and no one cares!
A come as you are, kind of good time for sure! Generally a 50/50 split- women in bra, to nope no bother cinching up today...
Teeth rotten and stained, to not even visible in the smile, was more of a 60/40 split, and
...deodorant or not here they came!

Huffing a wagon or two wheeled cart like an ox, through hundreds of the finest un-showered bargainers, without getting down-wind in the stagnant swirling air current, was never an easy task. Try doing it with kids leaping in and out like grasshoppers...even harder!

Every Wednesday had the grandest smells of sickly farm animals, flea market filth, and many of un-groomed folk magnified by 90 degree heat.

I'd weave and jog, in and out of the retired wanderers and flea market extraordinaries, who clogged up the walkways. Trying to keep up with my kids, my head bobs up and around the crowds, like a chicken tugging at worms.

Just where the hell did that child go, now?          
Try to find one, without losing another... yeah, really just try it sometime!

Carefully searching, without smashing into other mothers, also frantically chasing their darting toddlers in each direction. Kids everywhere were ripping and shredding the vendor tables like Christmas morning.

"Don't touch that! Don't touch... OMG, don't eat that!"

Some mothers exhausted themselves hovering, others hadn't a clue what their children were doing.
A day at the auction was like a redneck scavenger hunt. It was full of filthy scavengers, the occasional good find, and I was always hunting for my rampaging children. They'd snatch things, then race through the crowds, with no place off limits- I'd find them hiding in stacks of rubble, peeking out of flower carts they'd tipped over, even tucked into dresses of the Amish woman, but never in the ground space I'd pointed to, and said, "Stay right there!"

Loads of junk camouflaged any small child enough to make a smooth get away. My four year-old daughter wandered away again, and this time I found her falling in love with... could it be, her very own Hello Kitty umbrella!

$4.00...what a bargain for a barley popping open, sure to leak through, China quality, and certain to be broken before leaving...kind of gem! And had I remembered to put sun screen on my children today, that beauty would still be laying in the box of shit, under the classy non-English speaking gentleman's sale tent.

 Nope, instead there I was digging for money to buy a ninth children's umbrella... and afterward, I noticed... a damn whistle attached on the handle???? 

Shoot me now, before I choke the child with the blasting whistle!
"Ohhh, wait... Exchange! Exchange! Lets find something else..."

"All sal fin-al, mam!" 

Oh now he could attempt some English...
Perhaps, next time I circle back past his tent, and the whistle has yet to silence, I shall demonstrate how umbrellas shoved up the rear are final as well!

If anyone ever thought, "like a kid in a candy shop" was dramatic...they obviously never took a child to the land of never ending garage sales, hills of flea markets, and vendors with heaps of intriguing cheap crap. Throw in a few hysterical old farmers, fruit displayed like an all-you-can eat buffet, and a mangy goat, and you've got a child who can't decide what to touch next.

The day was never complete until collecting a couple of lice infested chicken feathers for souvenirs. And then licking Amish woopie-pie frosting from those same dirty little fingers always seemed to follow.

Occasionally, I'd find them so intensely staring as they people watched, they would stand at a halt, and I could actually purchase some items. I noticed my littlest making friends with an apple farmer. He was standing at his pair of worn boots, looking up at the old man, and tracing the outline of the patch on his pant leg with his finger nail.

The little man was sharing a story and one of his apple with him... actually two apples. The first one hit the dirt, (like always) and the man insisted it was too dirty to eat. Reaching for the second apple, he pulled out his old soiled jackknife from a pocket, and peeled the entire apple with one long ribbon. Bostyn was fascinated...and I was fascinated that he felt the ground apple was too dirty, yet not the rusty colored jackknife cuts across the second. 

I knew, that old guy's knife probably had 50years of use, poking at infected slivers, scraping calluses, and cutting shit-balls from a heifer's tail. I'm sure he even used it to cut umbilical cords and dirty twine, then simply wiped the blade on his pant leg each time. But, it was okay, he was a cute little man and Bostyn liked him... and I just may need him and his knife later, to cut the whistle out of my child's throat. So, I let him eat the apple and keep the cool ribbon peel, and we went onward.  

I finally found some plants and flowers, as I located my two year-old dropping his pants and peeing everywhere-- including a flower pot in the wide open of the market...

My daughter's bathroom task was a bit more difficult...

"I gotta go potty, mommy!"  ...ugh, I'd rather hear "Can I have a friend over!" or "I hate you, mommy!"

Of coarse she had to go...she drank my entire bottle of water, and continued her skipping in the driveway when I told her, three times, to go potty before we left.

There wasn't enough fiber consuming possible to force my desire in using this particular Porty-potty, yet I had a child who wasn't willing to following... Rule #1: never use the bathrooms at the Springville Action  
As we stepped up into that Porty potty (wisely placed on the side of a hill) the floor gave, and that sucker swayed like stepping onto a boat. Oh, this was as risky as a Prom date insisting he would just pullout...

We covered the seat with half the roll of toilet paper, like we were building a giant bird nest, and I dangled her down like a crane. Anyone who has ever tried to dead lift a 43lb child, shackled at the ankles with tight fitting shorts, spraying piss in all directions, knows...perfecting this is the kind of skill that should be resume worthy!

Trying not to breath, in the incubator heat and stench, I answered all her questions, all 33 of them in my nasal clenched voice...
"I don't know why some is green and some brown"
"I'm not sure why it doesn't flush."
"No, I don't know who peed on there and didn't clean it up. Yes, I'm sure they will get in trouble for it."
"No, I would not eat that corn either..."

We finally busted out of that contaminated box, like horses smashing through the gate at the Kentucky Derby, and we choked for air. Similar to having chocolate milk bubbling from our noses, we gasped.
I gave a shimmy and jerking twitch, like a salamander had climbed up my back, followed by a "ughhhhh!" And the lady near with the homemade misspelled "Sanatizer $1.00"  sign, knew she had a sale! I didn't even care that I had a coupon at home for the same product, or that she wasn't wearing a bra, and was blowing smoke in my face like a diesel exhaust, it was the best dollar I'd ever surrendered!

 Next, trying to find some produce, I located the happiest little vegetable farmer in sight. And also in sight was his giant black booger, and it was the best babysitter I'd had in years! My kids were content... and QUITE!

He looked as if he'd snorted Oreo crumbs or chimney ashes, and both of my small children stood at attention like in a military lineup. With bugged-out eyes and suspense that left their mouths hinged open, they waited to see where that sucker was going to end up.

He told us of his passion for growing the best damn tomatoes in N.Y. and continued on, adding more expression by sharing about the drought in '68, and it whistled in and out of the nostril a little faster and much further, each time. My daughter knew it was coming, and each time he added more emotion or cleared his throat, her arms would quickly cover her face, like playing peek-a-boo! I simply tried to establish eye contact, yet not sure which of his eyes was the dominate, and which was the wanderer... maybe it was less confusing if I too kept my eyes on his booger instead. I reached down to my youngest, who's neck was cranked back for staring up, and shut his mouth from revealing a much too convenient landing.

I bought the tomatoes, and I surely will be washing and inspecting each one before slicing.
"He needed a tissue, hu mommy?"

It was just the next vendor table over were a hefty beauty waved my kids over...
"Cute kids! You want a banana?"

Well... he was currently gnawing on the apple peel ribbon, dragging behind him like a kite across the dirt, but what child has ever said no to a naner?

Then we approached the table and it was quite obvious why she'd offered a banana, and not the delicious looking berries... The bananas were as black as her husbands hands, and nearly as ripe as the pit stains on her snugly fitting shirt. He shooed away the flies, first from his wife's pits, and then from the sun burnt bananas. These bananas would have been rejected by the emaciated monkeys crammed on display at the zoo, yet the man insisted to Bostyn, "This one looks like a winner!"

Oh, oh... banana handle, please, I'll peel it...? oh, and there it was... the filthy man was not only peeling the sides down, he insisted removing the entire peel...yup, the only barrier between ol' soiled hands and my child's health, gone!

The black grease covered finger prints wrapped around that banana were more clear than those lifted from a police crime scene. And if that wasn't enough contamination, the man's saliva and breath smothered it as he pretended to sink in his rotten skoal covered teeth, and threatened stealing the first bite.

I would have felt a bit more at ease feeding my child the mystery corn from the Porty-pot, or the nice old man's booger, than that banana! And I think any mother would have flipped over that produce table or leaped over the wagon to intercept that banana hand off. Instead, I yanked it from his little hand as we turned our backs and whipped that sucker across the parking lot, like a dog Frisbee.

Luckily, I won that battle and without toddler tears, as I stole his lunch away...
he knew, "Was poopy, hu Mama? Uck! ...Get some cheese instead?"
"Yep, Bud! Lets get some cheese curd."
There was something more appropriate about cheese baking in the sun, and stacked in a cooler with no lid or ice, that seemed more satisfying than shit covering a banana.

 My kids then stood in the doorway of the barn, touching anything I told them not to. Smearing their cheese curd all over the walls before finally eating. They watched the livestock unloading and gaped in amazement as one little wooden crate held eleven goats. It was a show like a magician pulling rabbits from a hat. The man drug them by the horns, yanked them by the tails, and my kids enjoyed every exciting moment.

Especially this last image-- here he is either checking to see if this is a male or female, or trying to get his watch back...

After tormenting some baby pigs and trying to feed them his sucker stick, I decided it was time to go.

My kids hands were now as black as the banana man's. Their nails were packed as tightly as a cup of brown sugar, with dirt and probably boogers. And it was time for getting out of there before someone had to go to the bathroom again... Lord knows, there was plenty consumed today that their stomach was not going to agree with...

Don't forget to make summer copies!

I have made a master copy for all the mothers preparing for summer break...
That's right, 73 days without the magic school bus swooping into your rescue, to save your well-being... prevent the waiting at the road with flares, begging for a bus, a stopping vehicle, or even a mother baboon to take over, so you can simply shower...

Remember, by week two, Grandma will quit answering the phone, and the only things remaining in your fridge will be an opened curdled yogurt, and small muddy bootprints stamped on the shelving. Run, don't walk... that toddler your chasing has what's left of your sanity in his marker-covered hands and help is just a play-date away...

Photocopy, photocopy, print, paste...leave on bathroom walls, bulletin boards, handout the last day of school, and insert into the weekly Penny Saver...

Now booking July and August Play dates:
In YOUR non-smoking, sugar-free, pet friendly home, only...
Two nights, three days minimum stay;
Meals and one phone call home included.

Licensed Python handlers, lion tamers, and prison guards receive first booking option.
Offer not intended for anyone with illness, serious injury, heart condition, chemical imbalance, back problem, or future plans of starting a family.

Must be capable of lifting 43lbs, doing 18 things at once, and have 20/20 vision in the eyes on the back of your head.

Not responsible for any lost or damaged items;
Things flushed into your septic, fires, floods, loss of pets, shattered glass, belongings chewed by the lawnmower or my toddler, items left in the sandbox, valuables covered in pony stickers, purple marker, or Elmer's glue...

No cancellations!
Return Policy is as follows: Only recently fed, fully bathed, and happy, smiling children will be accepted between the hours of 10am and 7pm. Child is allowed only one small carry-on bag during exchange, and may not return with your old purses, McDonald's toys, "Look what I made" items, candy-filled pockets, or any "They said I could have it" crap! 

No compensation for pain and suffering!
Offer has no cash value. Your hair will grow back. All memories guaranteed priceless...
Hurry! Currently, still three children to choose from!

Third Graders, Please Step Forward...

The Second Grade emotional roller coaster is still jerking and circling down the tracks...

         Kindergarten registration in progress,

                 and Pre-School applications, yep, still empty...

I have no clue how I'm going to pull off making tonight's meal without heading to the store, or how to wrestle three kids into the tub and sedate a deep-sleep before 9:00pm, to somehow finish these last weeks of school, so who is already thinking about preparation for Third Grade in September? ...well, every mother with a child on the Second floor, that's who!

"Did you request a teacher?"

"What class is Coldyn going in next year?"

"Well...hopefully not in with your boy's demeanor, sour mouth, or within a clammy hand's reach of yours, and yes, we will again be busy whenever your child's birthday party is..." 

This time I say, I'm skipping the teacher requesting, and simply just let me hand pick the 18 children, influencing my child's behavior for the next 10 months. Straight to the source- let's set the tone I'm wishing upon my home after school days, skip waving steak knives at the dinner table, and the slamming of bedroom doors while my foot is still attached...  

Oh, how life could be a bit more joyous, if my 8 year-old boy sat with a sweet little pair of focused pigtails, instead of with Captain Star Wars, laser shooting everything, and adding a string of robot-talk swear words to every activity. And certainly my kid's day would be happier, thus making him much more enjoyable, without the tension of the kid who called his shirt, "girly crap," who instantly introducing himself to Mama's lengthy stay away from that brat list: 

Bias, naturally! But sure, I would be completely suitable for the third grade student placement. I could fairly pick and choose, and without all the stacks of paperwork or time wasted on lotto drawing...Nope, by the eye of Mama! Simply line 'em up, like selecting farmer's market fruit... smell, squeeze, check for the rotten, and one's leaving a bad taste in the mouth of my boy...and with their parents displayed, before friendships were established, a must.

As simple as Duck, Duck, Goose- No, No, Hell No, Aw she's cute, No, So sweet, Yes, your daddy is a hottie, but your mother is a dysfunctional basket case, so no, No, If only your tattletale was as cute as your curly ponytail... No!

Okay, girl who shared the hairy cookies last Christmas, you and your mystery kitchen, out. Instead, we'll trade for the boy who lives in the $400,000 estate, clearly his kitchen is extravagant, cleaned by a maid, or his mother will pay $4.50 a piece for beautifully decorated treats; fresh from a licenced bakery, and without the Ecoli, ruining my Mall day, by keeping my kid home puking on the couch.

Mother with giant van, who drives near my house! Greetings! Well, I just think, not only should our kids be in the same class, but they should be in the same sports, activities, and similar schedules as well... I'll even leave the porch light on for you!

Child who loves to read, uses the word "Please" more than "stupid," brushes his teeth after lunch, also goes to bed at 7:30pm, still watches Max and Ruby, and takes extra kids on family vacations; I think I speak for my son, when I say, "Let's be best of friends!"

Reagan, Jordan, Hannah... Perfect, the three smartest girls in the entire third grade, take the immediate seats closest circling my child. Write large and clear, keep your work free of all things obstructing his view, and complete the homework before it reaches home to the "Don't ask me!" mother! 
"I'll help you, Coldyn!" is already filling the air, and need for bribing good grades just went from $20 a piece, to a buck.

Chubby girl, knock-knees, boy who always forgets his sneakers, and kid who can't tie his shoes, all in... as I can already see victory and joy in my child's sweet face; yes, this year he will be the fastest kid in his gym class! Yeah, buddy!

Welcome, the boy who never has a birthday party and the girl embarrassed by her house, unfortunate for you indeed, however any less wasted Saturdays driving to children's parties, the better for me!

And you, I've seen your mother volunteer for every holiday, HSA, field trip, and even the damn dunk tank, Say no more... Welcome classroom mom!

Now, add a few kids with multiple younger siblings...as my child should never be alone with urine drenched homework, outrageously over-sharing stories, or purple marker covering his every project. Include, the little boy with the always happy and sweet mother (like so sweet, I need to get close enough to find out what's in her prescription) mother!

Okay, don't want the kid who never zips his coat, sneezes on the crayons, or the girl who skips the seasonal flu shot and has washable-marker on her hands for days. Certainly, I have enough crap shared by a toddler licking shopping carts and a Kindergartner insistent upon sharing grape chap stick.  

Perhaps the glue eater should pair up with the loud-mouthed obnoxious boy, and the booger picker with the boy who likes to poke things with paperclips, but happily in another classroom. 

Additionally, by the power vested in a pissed-off mother, the boy who busted my son's lunch box, and the other who punched him on the bus, you'll both be repeating the second grade...in another state, Amen!

What a successful year of school, so closely on the horizon...
A five star teacher recommendation unnecessary. Perhaps, the teacher won't even be hiding in the elevator for frequent smoke breaks, or storing a flask in the drawer with the stapler and confiscated toys. Her year could be as pleasant as mine!

After all, the real sculpting of my child, either loving school, or learning new ways to make farting noises and destroy things with pencil lead, is held in the germ-covered hands of his classmates, not the perfect teacher. Even a super-hero can not undo the works of a class full of dysfunctional behaviors, bad attitude rubbers, and peer pressure demands.   

So why bother picking the teacher? Save buying printer ink just to type the teacher request to the Principle, and printing it twice, as the first falls victim to grape jelly, and the second rides in the visor of your car for weeks after the deadline, anyhow... 

So Third grade, desired teacher or not, here we come! Probably ten minutes late, with shoes untied, breakfast still in the mouth, and a sibling squirming in peanut butter-covered p.j.s...but with passion, a fake smile, and the coolest damn sneakers, a weeks worth of groceries will buy!

I'm pretty confident, my children will still have that mother: the one, power reading last chapters out loud, the night before a book report is due, blocking bus lanes to sign agendas, and giving great advice like, "hit him back," or "I have no clue, ask the smart kid in the class!" No matter the grade, or the teacher, so lets just survive the summer first...   

      

But, who wouldn't want this cool dog in their class and on their dodge ball team, anyway? 



The boy in the Principle's Office...

The principle's office is always full of high-energy and naughty little boys, and won't it always be... 

yet, once upon a time that little boy was mine!

Second grade has been the same for centuries; little girl's mouths' run like diarrhea, and little boys mouths' speak of diarrhea... So wouldn't it be such talk, running from my child's mouth and thankfully not from his rear, landing him into a seat with the dear Mr. Principle. 

Yes, sobbing... as one of his third grade idols from the bus, once shared, "All you have to do is cry, they won't call your mom, and you don't even get in trouble..."

So, one child mixes all their school lunch contaminants and nutritional deficient sludge, together with a straw, and another states an observation of it simply resembling diarrhea... sounds like a normal cafeteria scene to me...

Yet, wouldn't little miss. sludge slopper walk over to the lunch lady, carefully not to trip on her tattletale, and say, "He called my lunch diarrhea!" 

Well, it was a school purchased lunch, so I properly state- it was one step up from diarrhea, like from insect to rodent! 

Still not convinced this was even talk that came from my child's mouth... He was much more expected to say something more farm child-like; looks like a shit pit, farm lagoon, ...liquid manure, something spread from Grandpa's shit-spreader, gutter soup, cow-pie?? Not formal diarrhea! And then, if the conversation didn't continue with... the make and model of Papa's shit spreader, what's broke on it, and which field he was currently spreading on... it wasn't words from my boy, anyway...

To the office for talking about diarrhea at the age of 8... really?

While some ignorant people may be proud when their child goes to the office, and some over-barring types are frantic when their child goes to the office... I, Thank God, they didn't waste a phone call on explaining this one to me, because the conversation would have probably started with; me pushing the talk button long before ready to answer ("SIT DOWN! YOU'RE SMEARING SHIT ALL OVER... NOW IT'S ON YOUR PANTS... WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EAT? ...AND YOU DON'T NEED THE WHOLE ROLL!" then sounds of a flushing toilet, followed by the phone, balanced on my shoulder, smacking the bathroom tile...) 

And then a simple throat clearing, on cue,  "Hello?"

Principle:  "Mrs. Hackett we have your son in the office over a disturbing case of diarrhea..." 

Mama: "Are you shittin' me? I told him a mixing bowl of Raisin Bran was not for school mornings! I even made him a waffle...So, I suppose he won't wear the Nurse's spear sweatpants, and now what... I gotta make another special trip for pants and he thinks he needs a Gatorade?"

Principle:  "No ma'am! He doesn't have diarrhea... He used poor language choices, like speaking of diarrhea... and inappropriately at a time of lunch.  

Mama: GET OVER HERE! GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH... SPIT IT OUT! NO WONDER YOU'RE SHITTING LIKE A GOOSE... QUIT EATING PLANT DIRT!

(Then, sound of phone hitting floor again, because my hand is instinctively held out to catch child number three's spitting debris)  "What? Did you say...he said the word, "diarrhea?"  Hu? Not the runs... squirts, or craps, ...shits? But, properly spoke no slander, no swearing? Yes I am proud..."  But, we gotta make this quick- I gotta cramp in my neck, another brewing in the gut, and I can't fold laundry one handed, while the other holds a mixture of toddler spit, plant dirt, and a half-chewed fruit snack... it looks like diarrhea!  But, really thanks for nothing..." 

Fortunately, no one called on this bad case of diarrhea... instead I received this letter home about it...

Whats that... oh, you can't read it?  Yes, that was the plan of my intelligent offspring...

Shear brilliance!

Cry in the office, snatch marker from teacher's desk, complete scribble mission tucked into bus seat! 

The boy doesn't need detention, he needs a certificate of achievement! 

It wasn't a case of diarrhea at all... looked more like my 8 year old boy had simply started his period, and no better explanation was found anywhere in his head for the massive red blotch to make me believe otherwise.  

"What's this, bud...?"

"Oh that... just a red dot!"



Yep a red dot... covering the entire teacher comments section of his agenda, and in the same color as her initials on the previous page... hu?

Further investigation found the teacher's red marker in his book bag, and his pants a bit squirmy when I threatened to call the teacher and ask about his period.

"What does this say, bud?"

"It doesn't say anything... see it's just red marker!"

"What did it say under all this, at one time, before you scribbled it out wit a red marker?

Then he caved... Reciting beautifully in full sentences, and closing with "I hope tomorrow will be a better day... A full paragraph of brilliant crap... sounded legit, and I bought it! 

It mentioned nothing of the real case; no principle's office, nor diarrhea...

It wasn't until the next day, the teacher shared the real writing... then I shared with him he soooo could have got out of this one easy... Going to the office over saying diarrhea...well, that's crap...like runny diarrhea crap, bud... Mom's not even worried, but lying to your mother about it- now, you went and created a problem, child!

You're in more trouble than if you ate gas station pizza, with a warm milkshake,

wearing a button fly on your jeans,

and thrown into an out of order bathroom...

Yeah, still want to talk about diarrhea, boy?