Wednesday, January 08, 2014

I Couldn’t Make it Up if I Tried

We’re settling back in from a wonderful Christmas. We enjoyed spending Christmas Eve & Day at home, then left the day after Christmas and drove home to Arkansas to spend several days. We enjoyed every minute with our friends and family. Except for the ManCold that came home with Husband.

You’re familiar with the ManCold, right? It’s the same cold that women get, except that it attacks the male of the species. It’s much, much worse. Well, that, and they refuse to heed the advice that got you through the same crud a month previous when you still had to spend 2 days cooking Thanksgiving dinner and go hunting for a Christmas tree. Not that I’m bitter. Or lack mercy.

The main problem with our most recent bout of the ManCold is that Husband and I see things differently. Surprise, surprise. (The Great Syrup Debate of 2010 continues to this day. And need I remind you of the “jelly jar” incident?) While in recent years I’ve begun to treat illnesses with a more natural approach, Husband prefers his remedies to come in blister packs or containing Red #5. (Honestly, I used to think the same thing, but have since discovered that stuff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He’s just not as on-board quite yet.) As I couldn’t convince him that my way was the right way would help him feel better sooner, he continued on with his self-treatment. I tried to help him feel better and keep my mouth shut at the same time. I wasn’t very good at it. (I also lack sympathy.)

Then Monday rolled around, and he left for work. Honestly, I was happy to be sort-of back to our routine. The weather was frigid and I’d already done my grocery run, so I was looking forward to getting back to school with Caedmon and getting things under control at home. We were rolling with the chores and I was feeling that things, well, they were going to get done.

And then? Husband texted and told me his car was telling him the brake fluid was low. Not normally a big deal, but with single-digit temperatures and sub-zero wind chills, I was afraid that his car had busted a hose or started leaking somewhere. And no brake fluid = no brakes. So it made me really nervous, especially knowing that he would have to drive a while to get home. So we decided he’d re-fill it before he drove home and be really careful and we’d arrange to drop it off at the mechanic’s on his way. It needed an oil change and to have that pesky on again/off again check engine light looked at anyway.

Meanwhile, Honor decided to wet her pants. And when I say “wet her pants,” I really mean that she peed all over the place. As in, through her pants and onto the rug in her bedroom. She hasn’t done that in ages. I got her changed, threw the rug into the washer, and tried to get back to a few things before her roomtime was over. Just a few minutes later, she called out, “Mom! I pee on my legs!” Which is Honor for, “I stood here and just peed, and I might or might not be standing in a puddle right now.” So, again with the clean-up and wardrobe change and a conversation about where pee pee belongs.

(If this is grossing you out, either stop reading or get over it. Because it gets better.)

Husband called, and told me his boss was sending him home. I couldn’t really blame him. And Husband did feel awful. But that left us with having to plan to get the car to the shop to have it checked out on his way home now instead of later. No big deal – I’d just throw the kids in the car and we’d meet him there.

And just about that time, Honor yelled, “Mommy, I need to go poop!” Which, translated, means, “I already pooped in my pants, I’m just pretending I actually tried to go to the potty.” This has been a huge struggle for us, and it’s getting a teensy bit better. But that didn’t help me right then, and now we’re in a time crunch.

I grabbed Honor and took her into the bathroom to get her cleaned up. And, unfortunately, this was not one of those neat little packages that could be handled swiftly. While not truly awful, it still required some scrubbing and a partial bath. I got her cleaned up and dressed. She went to her room to get her shoes, and piped up, “Mom, I got poo poo on my carpet.”

What was that?

She showed me. And she had, in fact, gotten poop on the carpet. How, I do not know. Why, I don’t even want to know. Luckily, after having pets for so many years, I know how to quickly and effectively clean poop out of carpet. Who says having a puppy doesn’t train you for parenting? I got that taken care of, knowing that Husband was going to end up waiting for us to pick him up at the mechanic’s, but it couldn’t be helped.

That’s when I discovered there was poop in her hair. HER HAIR.

I had just given her a partial bath. It was just a tiny little spot on the ends, and I was not about to put her in the tub again with Husband waiting for us. So I grabbed a wet wipe and went to scrubbing. With her hair finally poop-free and smelling like a freshly diapered baby’s rear, I threw both kids in the car (Caedmon was still wearing pajamas and slippers. Let’s be honest – that was the best that was going to happen at that point.), and we headed to pick Husband up.

He was, indeed, waiting for us. And on my way there, the “low tire pressure” light came on in my car. Of course, because why not? I swung in, picked Husband up, and we stopped on the way home in single-digit temperatures to air up my tires. It was as fun as it sounds.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. It consisted of Husband finally relenting to my “voodoo” remedies and napping between nearly coughing up his lungs, the kids acting like wild little hooligans, and Honor deciding that naps are for babies. The mechanic was able to get Husband’s car finished and we picked it up as he was closing at 5pm. The brakes were fine, but that little check-engine light was the source of about $200 in repairs.

I think we had several people’s Monday going on over here.

But we survived it, even if we did have to end the day with watching Auburn get beat in the National Championship. (Yes, we are Razorbacks. But we cheer for the SEC in bowl games, especially the National Championship. And we know and love Gus and Kristi.) Yes, I wanted to pull my hair out. Or at least go sit in the corner by myself for a while (I’d even just settle for getting to go to the bathroom alone). But I’m thankful for my family, that I get to stay home with these little pooping people, and that we have a warm home and (decently) reliable cars. Also our health. I’m glad to report that Husband is feeling much better and the ManCold seems to be on its way out. The children are even still alive and well. And Honor managed to poop in the potty today. On purpose. It’s shaping up to be a good day.

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  1. You definitely had a few Mondays crammed into one! I'm glad y'all survived!

  2. I'm having the same potty struggles with my daughter. So far we haven't had any poop in the hair, though. Ah, the joys!