So, I know I talk about Poo and Boogers more than your average fashionista. But, you're going to have to stick with me...or not. If you keep reading after this title and intro it's probably for one of two reasons:
1. Your day also involved Poo...and Boogers and you need to feel less alone.
2. You can't imagine having a day so uninteresting that the thing you'd choose to write about is Poo and Boogers, and you will read to thank your lucky stars that the only bottom and nose you wiped today is your own.
Either way, you're welcome.
It started with a shower. I wanted...scratch that, NEEDED to take a shower this morning, which means either Teeny joins me or I roll the dice and Netflix babysits while I take a bootcamp-quick scrub down. The Teeny is a stuffed up allergic mess so I opted for the former in hopes it would help loosen some snot. See? Back to boogers....but I digress, this portion of the program isn't about boogers.
The shower is going well. Teeny is playing with her cups and I'm actually shaving my legs. Tiny is contently playing a game on the iPad within eye and ear shot. And then it happens. I smell it before I see it, and I know in that instant that the shower I have just nearly finished has been for not. I will never feel clean again. Ever. Teeny has pooed in my shower... and she's quite proud of herself. She's dancing. Dancing!
As I'm doing my best to contain Teeny and at the same time keep her from two-stepping into the nuggets she's dispensing...I'm shouting, screaming for Tiny. "Grab wipes, grab paper towels, cleaner, trash bag!" She's on it. Except she brings one wipe, one piece of toilet paper and a ziploc sandwich bag. I have no choice but to go all MacGyver on the situation. Once the deck has been cleared and received a thorough scrub down we repeat the last ten minutes and shower all over again.
We're out of the shower not quite five seconds and a naked, slippery Teeny bolts for the door. I catch her just as she stops, turns around and says... "Look Mommy Pee Pee!" I'm still dripping wet, wearing my towel and she's peed on my kitchen floor, and she's...you guessed it dancing. Dancing!...in PEEEE!!!
How? Why? What in the Flying Freak Sticks?!
I'm on my hands and knees again wiping, scrubbing. Did I really just shower? twice?
Breathe Kate. Breathe. Tiny appears on the scene and she is hysterical with laughter, joining Teeny in her Pee Pee dance. I feel tears springing to the surface of my already wet face; clearly I'm hysterical too. I can't decipher if my hysteria stems from pure shock or blinding rage, as I realize I can't control my children or their bowels.
The rest of the day goes by without much incident, save the FULL bowl of cereal, the FULL glass of orange juice, and the FULL bowl of soup that also hit the kitchen floor at Teeny's command.
By dinner time the floor is so clean I think maybe we should just skip the plates and eat off of it. Then I remember we don't live in a cave...we need to be civilized or at least pretend to be. So we set the table, sit down and prepare to eat a nice hot meal...when the Teeny strikes again. "Mom! Mommy! MOOOOOMMMA!!!!" She's reaching across the table waving her hand wildly like she's holding a golden ticket, but it's no ticket. "Mom...here Boogie!"