Motherhood Is Stranger Than Fiction

Ever had that dream? You know the one. It's the dream where you're in a long hallway and you're running to a door/person/window/whatever and you can never get there because the hallway keeps getting longer and longer and longer.

That was my yesterday afternoon.

I picked the kids up from school and immediately told them We're going to swim lessons and then go home. As soon as we get home, Nana will be there to play with you while I go to the dentist. My explanation was met with a chorus of OKs and all was well. We got to the pool, suited up, swam for 30 minutes, and broke for the locker room to put on our clothes.

That's when it went all pear-shaped.

Honestly, toddlers confuse the hell out of me. For months, everything is going great, no deviations, all is calm. And then? For no reason? One of them will chuck a frakking wrench at my forehead and dance a jig of glee while I reel in confusion.

Yesterday, the wrench came in the form of poop. Miss-Miss, who has been potty-trained for nearly two years, who was the easiest to train, who has not shat/pee'd herself in nearly two years, wrenched me. I peeled down her swimsuit and there it was. Poop. Covering half her body. Holy shit seemed to be an improper (though perfect) epitaph at that moment, considering the swim shop's locker room is shared by a church in the same building.

The horrible things about all of this were 1) she poo'ed in a pool - Hello? Health department? Embarrassed toddler mom on line 2 who needs to explain why the local pool needs to be drained and scrubbed by Carl Spackler and 2) the showers in this locker room have no. hot. water.

Joy.

This building is rather cavernous so what the receptionist in the lobby heard was Miss-Miss wailing and shivering (Yep, I'm sure she heard the shivering. She was that cold.), J-man fussing (Yeah, he decided he needed to "go potty" while all this was going on), Bubba humming, and me mumbling under my breath the following:

Murphy can kiss my lilly-white butt. Nooooo, she couldn't poop in her suit Monday or Friday, but today. Murphy told her to do it today. Today. When I have to get to the dentist. And I have no soap. No washcloth. No hot water. And no control over my gag reflex.

Yes, I said butt in close proximity to a church sanctuary. I'm sure Jesus snickered.

Everyone was cleaned. I only gagged 1... 2.... carry the 6... a bajillion times, everyone calmed down, and we managed to get dressed and leave. Red-faced and clearly embarrassed.

In the car, I drove home as quickly as the law allowed and was nearly killed at least twice thanks to distracted drivers on their cell phones. Clearly, I'm the only one in the northwest Atlanta 'burbs who puts down the phone when the accelerator gets pressed.

I finally made it home, only to find my mother was running ten minutes late. GAH! She finally got here and all the way to the dentist's office it was school. bus. Hell. And there I was, cussing like a sailor:

Are you frakking kidding me?!? Those f-ing kids can run! Get off the f*cking bus! RUN home! Don't walk! Could you walk any more frakking slowly? Seriously, MOVE you little sh*ts!!!

(Yeah, by that point I was sort of desperate.)

When I finally made it to the dentist (late, of course), I looked at my hygienist and said Darlin', take your time. I had to run through poo, idiots, and slow-ass schoolkids to get here. I don't mind if this cleaning takes two hours and you have to fill a couple of non-existent cavities while you're at it.

Mr. Murphy's wrenches suck donkey balls.