I should have known publishing a mushy ball o’ love last night would earn me one of these days. Ha.
This morning started out mild enough. We all ate breakfast and watched cartoons while Genevieve asked to go to the potty roughly every 10 minutes. After 6 or so attempts and no real success, we had to go to the pediatrician for an ear check.
Now, G does great with the whole potty thing as long as she is a) wearing a dress, and b) isn’t wearing underwear. Very charming visual for you, I know. Apparently underwear is far too confusing if one has been regularly soiling butt covers for one’s entire life. I have seriously considered just taking her out and about in a long dress, but thus far imagining what might happen if she tripped and fell, or say, suddenly decided to twirl without warning has put fear in my heart, so I haven’t. As a member of the general public, feel free to thank me for my selflessness at any time.
We drive to the pediatrician’s office. I put her very favorite Ariel undies on her and give her a pep talk about keeping them clean. We check in, kids are happily playing. I’m updating my to-do list on my phone, when I look up to see G looking very distressed. Ohhhhh nooooooo.
We rush to the bathroom. To late. It’s alllll too late. I do my best to clean her up. I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t easy. Poor, poor Ariel.
I sweat through the rest of our appointment. Ear infection confirmed.
I sweat through the grocery store and inform all children that we will not be speaking while in the store. G repeatedly asks for mints.
No girl. There are no mints for mermaid befoulers.
Genevieve repeatedly requests mints on the drive home. I yell about no mints. Genevieve cries.
We get home and I decide that outside seems like the perfect place for the animals otherwise known as children. I rush in the groceries while shooing the kids outside. I take G to the bathroom….again.
I run outside to clear the yard of dog poo, only to find that it’s too late. Payne has stepped in some already. I tell him to go throw his Crocs in the washer and get his flip flops.
NO son. You can’t walk in your poo crocs to the laundry room. CARRY them in your HANDS.
I clear the yard of poo.
OH! Did I mention there’s no running water because a contractor is here working on the shower? No running water. I clean my hands with Lysol wipes.
I get drinks. Sit down outside. The kids are shuttling back and forth from outside to inside and back again with toys etc.
A thought occurs to me. I run to the laundry room to make sure the crocs are in the washer.
They aren’t. My stomach drops as I search through the other options. Finally, I open the dryer door. The dryer door of the dryer full of clean clothes.
I go back outside to calllllmly inform Payne of his mistake. I attempt to regain my composure. All is well for 10 minutes.
Then I see poo on the deck.
Then I see it on Payne’s flip flops.
So much poop.
A dog saw an artistic opportunity in the blank canvas that was the back yard, apparently.
Flip flops are removed. I grab the hose to spray them down. Dammit.
Then I see the poo prints leading into the kitchen.
Eff it. We all go inside. I Lysol wipe everything. Then Lysol wipe myself.
Time for a movie!
Movie is over? It’s time for a nice long drive.
Yup. Still works.
I have Captain Morgan, Coco Lopez, and a pineapple. I’m gonna make it work.