October 12, 2005

Once upon a time, I decided to make meatloaf. I called my mom to get her recipe. I’ve had her meatloaf many times, as has my husband and older children. It’s good. Good as any meatloaf I’ve ever been exposed to. So I write down all the ingredients, and instructions on what to do with the ingredients. Instructions? Is that right?


Anyway, I follow the directions, place it in the oven and patiently wait for it to be done. I’m excited about this since I don’t often experiment in the kitchen. And if I do, look out people, because you never know what you’ll get.


Ding ding ding, timer goes off on the oven. Meatloaf is DONE! Yay! I put on my blue and pink oven mittens, and pull it out. Ummmmmmmmm. Hmmmmmmmm. That’s funny…it looked pretty normal when I put it in to cook but let me tell ya, coming out, it didn’t look good. At all. Actually saying it didn’t look good is being kind. It looked like, well SHIT. Hard, molded, rubbery shit. I’m pretty sure I put everything in. And I’m pretty sure I cooked it at the right temperature and at the right time. Not 100% sure. But pretty sure.


Fast forward about 15 minutes. Hubby comes home. Walks over to the stove and says, and I quote…..”What the hell is that?? We’re not eating that are we? Is that supper”? Well, honey, it actually IS our supper. Sorry. I’m not sure what happened. But it’s meatloaf. “Meatloaf????? Who’s frigging recipe is that? Why is it all rubbery and hard looking? And blackish”? It’s my mom’s meatloaf recipe. “Ummm, well I’ve eaten your mother’s meatloaf and it does not look or smell anything like that”. Well he does have a point. Okay, so what to do with it? Anthony says, let’s give it to the raccoon.


Okay, the raccoon…..we had a raccoon hanging around our home (we lived out in the country, surronded by woods) and it would try to get into our garbage. And sometimes it would succeed. Raccoons love garbage. So issue solved. We’ll give it to the raccoon. He’ll have a nice meatloaf supper. We won’t but hey at least someone will enjoy it.


We end up having cereal for supper…yum. Later on, once it’s dark, we set the “meatloaf” outside and turn on the yard light so we can watch him come up on the deck and have his meal. We were watching out our livingroom window, lights off as not to scare him away. A few minutes later Mr Raccoon comes up on the step and sees the meatloaf. He comes closer, smells it, puts his little paw in it….and scoops a little bit out and puts it up to his mouth. THEN HE RUNS AWAY. What?????????? OMG. The raccoon runs away? He’s going to leave a meal just lying there? Raccoons EAT GARBAGE for shits sake. So why would he not eat my meatloaf? My husband laughed his ass off. Pretty sad when a garbage eating nocturnal scavenger refuses to eat my meatloaf. Nice. Needless to say, I have never made meatloaf again. Actually, I was forbidden to make it again. EVER.

October 11, 2005

Once again I find myself in a public bathroom with my daughter. No big deal right? ‘Cause we all take our kids to the bathroom when we’re out shopping. BUT I’m sure most people don’t have the “deep” conversations that I seem to encounter with Madison AND they always happen when the bathroom is CROWDED. With people. Lots of people.



So last Saturday, the whole family is out shopping at one of the big malls here. We’re just about done and getting ready to head home….GOD why couldn’t we have left just 2 minutes earlier? Daughter tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I said, Come on, you just pee’d like 10 mins ago, you can wait until we get home. She then tells me, she doesnt have to pee, she has to poop. GREAT.



We get to the bathroom and I’m thinking, let’s get this done fast and get out. Let’s not talk. Let’s stare at the walls and have zero conversation. Hmmm, well that doesn’t happen with Maddy. She’s just not the silent type. Particularly out in public. In the bathroom.



I see her thinking and slightly straining. OH GOD. Here it comes (no pun intended). Maddy says, in a rather loud voice, “Why won’t it come out”? I smile at her. And my mind starts whirling. What won’t come out? The booger from your nose? The stain on your shirt? The gum in your hair? No, none of the above. I am silent. My plan is to ignore her. Not really a good plan with Madison.



“Mom, why won’t the poop come out”? I know my eyes rolled several times as I hear the snicker snickers from outside the stall. In my deranged, stalker/pyscho mom whisper, I say, “I don’t know. Why not finish this at home”? Wrong thing to say. “Mom, I have to get the poop out here, I can’t wait to get it out at home because it’s already on it’s way”.

Okay, I hear laughing now and it’s not coming from my pie hole. Okay Maddy, let’s finish this up. I’m starting to sweat now. Are the stall walls closing in on me? I’m pretty sure they are now. A minute ticks by….I hear a plop, then another. Thank Sweet Jesus. It’s done. Let’s get the hell out of here. Wait. Wait.



There’s more chatter about to sprout from her sweet, heart shaped lips. She gets up off the toilet and turns around and looks in the toilet. OMG. “Mom, where is the big piece of poop? I see the little one but I know a big piece came out and I felt the water splash on my butt from the big piece but it’s not there. Where did it go? Did it go down that hole in the toilet by itself? Is that possible? Mom, mom, mom, where is my big piece of poop? I felt it come out. Where did it go”?



Is it wrong to want to flush your child’s head in the toilet (minus the poop of course)? I again was praying for the damn bathroom floor to open up and swallow me whole. Apparently noone upstairs is listening. I quickly wiped her butt, pulled up her pants and in a crazed, looney whisper, said, “Let’s not discuss the poop ever again. Please”.

As we exit the stall, I see some looks coming our way, some snickers, always the damn snickers. As I was helping Maddy wash her hands, I was hoping a fat, singing clown would walk in and start vomiting, because then they’d forget about the poop conversation. They would definately be telling their friends about the obese, puking clown and not the five year old girl who wanted to know where her big piece of poop went.

October 10, 2005

Maddy was 3 years old at the time of this conversation. And let me tell you, she’s a beautiful child and she’ll talk the ear off of you if you let her.



She’s been talking since she was 18 months old…I mean really talking. Strangers used to stop me out in public and ask me how old she was because they were shocked at how well she spoke. Too well at times.



We were at the grocery store one day (she was about 21 months old at the time) and we were walking by the checkouts. And it was BUSY. Lots of people around. She pointed to the upper floor of the grocery store and said, “That’s where the bathrooms are, right mommy?”. Yes honey, that’s where they are. “Mommy, DO YOU HAVE TO POOP?”. Ummmm, no I don’t Maddy (I’m saying this in the standard clenched teeth, pycho mom whisper, you know the one I mean). “Yes you do mommy, you said you have to poop”. No, no I didn’t say any such thing. Oh and she’s practically yelling these questions at me. Just for fun. Just wanting to make sure EVERYONE in the goddamn store hears her. Then she laughs. She thought it was hysterical that she was embarrassing mommy about body functions in the grocery store. And for the record, no I didn’t have to poop…made no mention of that. She just dreamed that all up on her own.


Fast forward to a few months ago at the mall. She’s 4 1/2. We’re in the public bathroom. The BUSY, CROWDED public bathroom. She’s peeing. The stalls are full. As we’re in our stall, she says, “So does everyone have fur on their privates”? WHAT?????????? Where does this child come up with this stuff?



Ummmmm, well….what do I say? I can hear the snickers all around. I’m starting to wish that old familiar scene where the floor opens up and it swallows you whole, happens. I’m begging in my mind for that scenerio to take place. But it does not. SHIT. Okay so Miss I’mGoingToAskMyMotherTheMostEmbarrassingQuestionsPossible Thang is waiting for an answer. If I don’t spit something out soon, well, she’ll ask it again. Oh and I’m sure Suzy Q and Betsy Loo in the adjoining stalls are also waiting for an answer. So I say, “Well Maddy, when you get older, like a teenager, you will get…..hair on your privates”. Whew. Thank God, I’m in the clear. BUT alas, I’m not.



She then says, “Well mommy, when you peed, I didn’t see any fur on your privates, how come”?



Sweet Jesus, where is that bolt of lightening when you want to be struck down? So now, there are more snickers. Great. My fur status is known to the strangers in the freakin public bathroom. Time is ticking by soooooo slowly. Where is the end of the world when you want it? Holy. So I say, well sometimes adults shave their hair. I’m saying this as quietly as one can in an echo-ey, grand canyon-ey accoustics style bathroom, which by the way, isn’t all that quiet. Nope, sure isn’t.



So now Suzy Q and Betsy Loo are intrigued. I can tell they are still in the stalls on either side of me…waiting for the next round. They’re not wiping or flushing yet ’cause they want to hear it all. Beeyotches.



Okay, so I’m thinking, that’s it right? No more questions from Miss 20QuestionsPlusOneMore. WRONG. “Mommy, how come daddy has fur on his privates then”? OMG. Just kill me now, someone, please. Okay so I’m thinking, this sounds BAD. Little girl saying she knows about her mother’s lack of fur and her father’s for sure fur (there’s not much, just for the record, wanted to clarify that so noone thought he had a jungle there.) But anyone with small children knows that at some point, they’re going to see you come out of the shower or getting dressed….all purely innocent.



Anyway, I’m beyond the fact that it sounds bad and just wondering, how to answer that question. Suzy Q and Nosey Parker are STILL in the adjoining stalls. “Well sweetie, sometimes people don’t shave it all, they like to leave some”. HOLY SHIT. I can’t believe I’m having a pubic hair conversation with my 4 year old. In a public bathroom. With strangers. LISTENING. So she then says, “Well my privates are bald right now and I dont know if I’ll shave or not”. Well that’s great honey. You’ve got a few years to decide on whether you want fur or no fur. No rush.

Every mom has a poop story. Well most moms that I know anyway. I sure have one.


Ryan was about 22 months old. He was a pretty easy kid to train and all that mommy or daddy had to do was wipe his little ass when he pooped. No biggie.


Well on this particular day, I was on the phone, doing a survey that Statistics Canada had been doing with me over the course of a few months. We were finishing up the last leg of the survey. Ryan was happily driving around in his little Cozy Coupe Car….you know the one, the bright orange Little Tykes car with the yellow roof, the ones you see in every yard in the burbs. Anyhow, back then, back in ‘98, I didn’t have a cordless phone (or a computer for that matter) so I was stuck to the kitchen while doing my survey. So what right?


My back was to Ryan and he was puttering around the kitchen. A few mins later, he says he has to pee. Okay, go pee I whisper while trying to answer questions on the phone. I can hear him in there, everything seems fine. I turn back towards the counter and continue happily answering questions. I hear Ryan get back in his car, driving all around…..the kitchen, hallway and livingroom are his toddler highway. About 10 mins later I finish up on the phone and turn around to see what Ryan is doing. This is where the HORROR begins.


I remember it in slow motion at this point. I see him standing beside his car…..what’s the horror in that you ask? Well now, where there was only white tile 10 mins previous, is now tire tracks. BROWN TIRE TRACKS. My mind is spinning, conjuring up ideas, stupid ones but ideas nonetheless. It’s pudding. Ryan snuck into the fridge and got out a chocolate pudding and then spilled it on the white floor and drove through it. Wait, we dont have any chocolate pudding. It’s melted chocolate chips. Ryan got a pot out, turned on the stove, put chocolate chips in the pot and melted them and then put them on the white tile and then drove through them. Riiiiiiiiight. That’s plausible. Okay, at this point I’m out of idiotic ideas and realize, with mounting fear, that it’s, well, SHIT.


I take a good look at Ryan at this moment and realize he’s bare assed and his legs are streaked with brown. I think I just stood there for a moment, wondering who you call in this kind of situation. The police? Fire department? Next door neighbor? Toxic Spills people? Hubby? Wait…..NONE OF THE ABOVE because noone in their right mind would come and help. So I put on my SuperShitterMomToTheRescueSuperHero costume and get ready to get dirty. I scoop Ryan up and take him to the bathroom. OMG. There’s been a shit murder in there! The floor is covered with BROWN STUFF, the toilet, the sink. This is the moment where I had to decide, am I in it for the long haul or do I want to just pack my bags and head to Florida to swim with the dolphins?


Apparently I decided to stay (what was I thinking???????). Okay, so I run a bath for ShitToddler and get him cleaned up. I asked him, what in God’s name happened? Did his butt explode, a kind of shit volcano so to speak? Nope, nothing like that he assured me. He just decided that day to wipe his own butt. The day that his poo wasn’t like little rabbit turds, basically a clean wipe, not much mess, instead, the day it was like mashed shitcakes, kinda soft but with a bit of texture. JUST MY LUCK.


So I clean the little turdmister up, tuck him safely in his room with his blankie and a book and go back to the crime scene. I can’t believe there’s that much shit from one little attempted asswiping. It was everywhere in the bathroom…..the images still give me nightmares at times. I survived the bathroom masacre and head out to the kitchen. The shit tracks are everywhere. So I get out my handy dandy shit mop and get that room sparkling again.


I was feeling pretty good at that point. THEN it hit me….he’d also been driving in the livingroom. THE CARPETTED livingroom. OMG. I’m going to have a shit heart attack, I just know it. I slowly walk towards the room, knowing that I’m going to see shit tracks embedded into the pale gray carpet. That’s gonna look SOOOOO good. I walk in and yes, I had a shit heart attack, just like I predicted, like what? Two, three sentences ago? So I have to get out the big guns….big bucket filled with the hottest shit killing water I can humanly stick my hands into, soap, cleaner…..cleaner that is so toxic that if you suck on the carpet you’ll have stomache cramps for years to come. But it had to be done.


Two hours later, the carpet was wet but clean of the little shit tracks. We couldn’t walk in there for a day or two and my hands were raw from scrubbing but we decided to keep Ryan anyway. He was just soooo damn cute, that we just couldn’t give him to the roaming gypsy’s that were camping out in the woods down the road. He’s now 9 1/2 and still cute as hell. He’s definately a keeper!

October 9, 2005

Ok, well today started off as a pretty normal day. It’s Sunday. Usually our “family day” but we had that yesterday since Amanda had to work today and hubby and Sean were going to go hunting. So recently, we got a family membership at our local rec center. Big workout facility, pool, hockey rink…you get the idea.



Anyhooo, so I decided to take Ryan and Madison swimming (actually it was hubby’s bright idea yesterday…thanks sweetie. Love you.). Matt and Amanda were meeting us there. Great. So far so freakin’ good. We get there, get changed, head to the pool.

It’s kind of a neat pool….on the far end, is the deep end, the 2 lap lanes, then a big rope, and the more shallow end. But part of the shallow end is probably at least 3.5 feet or so. Then you have the wave part, where you get in and the flow of the water just pushes you along. I avoided that since I can’t swim even though it’s only about 3 feet deep. Best to avoid possible embarrassing situations. Then you have the really shallow part for little ones to play about. That’s where I stayed with Ryan and Madison. Matt and Amanda helped me out for a bit while they were there. Taking turns with the kids, taking them into the wave part etc. But they left a little before we did. Not a good plan.

I did the standard “we’re leaving in 15 mins”, then “we’re leaving in 10 mins”, then “we’re leaving in 5 mins”, then the “we’re leaving”. I had warned the kids BEFORE we got to the pool that when I said get out of the pool, you get your little asses out of the pool. I’ve got it made right? Nope.

I said, “we’re leaving, follow me, I’m getting our towels”. I turned my back for 2 seconds, looked back and I see them heading back out into the deeper part of the shallow end. Like WTF? I start to holler their names, individually, Ryan, Maddy, then combined…..MadRy, RyMaddy, RyanMad, MadRyan, then it all became a goddamn blur. They’re totally ignoring me. I have a pool full of strangers, staring at me, thinking, OMG what’s wrong with that woman? Can’t she control those SpongeSquirterIgnoringPants children? Not so much today.

So then Maddy is going even further out and Ryan, being the big brother, decides he’s going to save her. Huhn? He can’t swim. And he’s not wearing a life jacket. Maddy is and when he’s trying to pull her back towards the more shallow part, he is pulling her under as well as himself. OMG can I shit now? They’re flailing around like fish out of water, ‘cept they’re kids in water who can’t swim.

By this time, I’m a tad pissed because had they listened to me the first time and followed me out of the pool, we’d be happily on our way home and also, they wouldn’t be DROWNING. So I throw off my towel, and dash back into the pool. Ya, and the life guard jumps in too. GREAT. Let’s cause an even bigger scene at the public pool, because not nearly enough people are staring at me.

We both get to the kids at the same time, life guard Sally grabs Ryan and I grab Maddy. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking of ways to kill them when I get home now that they are safe from drowning. We sit them up on the ledge and ask them if they’re ok (I’m still plotting things in the back of my mind) and Ryan, who does not speak to strangers EVER, starts yelling at Life guard Sally…”THAT IS MY SISTER. HER NAME IS MADDY. I WAS SAVING HER LIFE. SHE LOST HER KIM POSSIBLE RING IN THE POOL AND IT’S FLOATING AWAY”.

Well then, that’s the big commotion. That’s why they didn’t listen, not because they’re outright brats but because Kim frigging Possible is floating away and they’re freaking. Life explained. Frig me. So Life guard Sally says, “well since I jumped in, I have to get you to come to the first aid room to fill out paperwork”. PEACHY. She tells us we can get changed first. Good. Because I want to be nice and dry when I hang my kids up by their ears.

We get changed, go fill out our paper work (Oh and someone other than Life guard Sally will be calling our house tomorrow to ask questions…standard procedure. NICE.). I can’t wait to tell my husband this heartwarming story and let him know that if he ever suggests I take my kids to the pool by myself again, I’ll have to stomp on his head. Love that man, well most days. Today, well. Hmmm. Ask me tomorrow. Kidding. Sort of. Love you honey.