I'd like to tender my resignation

Perspective.  Is everything.

A text from Michael:

Then later he called.  I was busy and let it go.

He called again.  Still very busy.

A third time, this time on the house line.  Must be important.  Hunter runs my phone up from downstairs and I answer the fourth call.

Hello?

Michael: "Well, there you are!  I sure was having a hard time getting ahold of you. "

[Aaron and Garrett who are naked and in my shower notice that I'm distracted and start spraying each other in the face]

STOP IT!  I've been busy.  I'm trying to give the kids a bath right now.

Michael: "So my belt buckle broke earlier today..."

[Children begin spraying the shower door on full blast and now it's coming through the seams]

SERIOUSLY!  KNOCK IT OFF!   Do you need something?  I'm really busy and I can't just chat.

Michael "okbye" 

So the context of this situation:  I tried to take the kids to the library earlier in the day.  Aaron is still in potty training mode.  He's getting really good at it, which is both good and bad.  Good because, he's had lots of practice recognizing his needs and responding to them like a big boy.

 Aaron and I have a regular conversation that goes something like:

Me (in a happy, animated tone):  Who's in charge of the potty?!?! 
A:  ME!!!!
Me:  Who's in charge of the poopy?!?!?
A:  ME!!!!
Me:  Are you a diaper baby anymore?!?!?
A:  NO!!!!
Me: Are you going to go on the Fathers and Sons campout!?!?
A:  YESSSSS!!!!!

This is his motivation, you see.  Dad won't take diaper babies with him to the quintessential MALE activity OF...THE...YEAR:

Dun dun DUN!   

THE FATHERS AND SONS CAMPOUT!!!!

[cue wild applause and screaming]

This is coming up around Mother's Day, as (quite seriously) the BEST mother's day gift ever!   I get all of the boys out of the house for the weekend and I am left with my girl... and my baby.  We have a date night: popcorn and a movie, makeovers and a giggly sleepover party.

It's ....so lovely.  

sigh.

Dad gets to wrangle all of the boys (which I'd like to point out that I do on a regular and ongoing basis) and experience the joy [*cough* headaches *cough*cough*] that comes with that tender responsibility.   Inevitably they all come home dirty, sunburned, wearing nothing but their underpants sleeping with their drooling mouths hanging open after running through the woods all night in what I imagine is the living yearly embodiment of Lord of the Flies.   Have at it.   

I'm trying really hard to get Aaron to go.  Really.

But today we had a setback.  

At the library.  A good 20 minutes from the house.  My backup diaperbag left at Grandma's house several weekends earlier.

Aaron announces to me that he has pooped his pants. 

No diapers.  No change of clothes.  No wipes.  Going home as is will probably be worse for clean up later.

 

No problem.  He's eating lots of cheese and bread.  It's probably solid.  I can do a battlefield clean up.  

Let's go to the bathroom, Aaron.

It was worse than I expected.  I still count my blessings, though.  It could have been running down his legs and into his shoes.  I took up residence in the handicap bathroom and went to work cleaning him up with only toilet paper.  

WHO'S in charge of the poopy, Aaron!?!? 
me

WHY DID YOU PUSH?
I not go on Fathers Sons?

THIS IS A MESS. 
It's on my leg, mommy.

He got it on the outside of his pants.  He got it on his undershirt.  I wiped up as much as I could and laid his undershirt between his skin and the soiled underpants. I scooped it all out like the guts of a pumpkin.  The patron in the next stall must have been mortified at both the conversation revealing the nasty predicament and the squishy plops into the toilet.  She quietly left probably thankful it was not her having to clean it up.

I cleaned up the stall and the seat and then emerged from the stall holding my arms up like a surgeon ready for decontamination.   I scrubbed the both of us as well as I could.  The mess was now neatly contained on the inside of his clothes.  

I went back out to Hunter who was dilegently sitting with Peter and my purse.  

"I think he pooped his pants, mom"

Seriously!?!

Peter had a blowout.  But I had no means of doing a battlefield diaper change with no spare diaper on my 20 minute trip to the library.  NO DIAPER!  What a rookie move.  DUMB DUMB DUMB.

Ok kids, time to go.

I checked out our books (yes...because I am determined that the trip not be a waste) and we headed home.  

All the way Garrett was complaining that he had to go to the bathroom.  

G:  I'm going to pee my pants!
Me:  Why didn't you go at the library?
G: I was playing a game.  I'm going to PEE.
Me:  No you're not.  Think of something else:  Motercycles jumping through the air.  Elephants.  Tigers.  Rainbows.
Hunter:  RAIN!  PUDDLES!  WATERFALLS!
Me: [WHACK!]  STOP IT!

There is a detour on the way home.  The one straight shot road on Columbus Parkway that just goes.  It's ....the ONLY way I know.  I passed the two traffic control officers with a look of pleading and panic on my face.

Oh, dear LORD, You know I am directionally impaired.  I CAN'T FIND MY WAY IF I TURN!!!
 
Breathe. 

Ok.  So, if he pees his pants, I'll just have to strip the car seat cover and wash it.  Let's just see where this road takes us.  

I did manage to find my way.  Oakwood.  Springs.  Oh!  Columbus again!  They're all connected.  I can do this.

We get home and Garrett has managed to keep it together.   He runs into the backyard.  Hunter locks the door and Garrett peed his pants while screaming at the door to let him in.  

Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME!?!?!

He strips his clothes at the door.  I take my three hazmat children upstairs to commence the bathing.  That's when Michael called.

He was bent out of shape yesterday because I fed him something healthy (although he blames it on a botched Costco trip), so I felt bad that I was short with him on the phone.  

So I texted him:

Typical.  I know he's only kidding, but still.  Later he sent me an e-mail from several female co-workers to whom he forwarded my text.  They agreed that I should be sent to a spa with lots of chocolate.   

But before I knew that, I started looking at Nanny positions online in a shameful indulgence of running away day dreams. 


This post has been brought to you by:
A dinner that is now two hours late.
Dishes and banana peels all over the yard spread by children who were fending for themselves while mom is blogging.
A mess of crackers under the highchair.
A bedroom that I am loathe to inspect because it's surely been flooded by now.
And...This cute baby

 Until next time, dear readers....