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Twenty Four Hours of Gross

Poop-in-living-room

Despite how much planning and effort you put into life, sometimes things radically self destruct and completely combust.

Case in point: this week was jam-packed. And the biggest thing on my schedule was having a photographer and stylist come to the house to shoot several rooms for Design Mom’s new book on living with kids (internet, this is what is known as foreshadowing). This on top of having the baby’s room painted, various appointments, deadlines, Jude’s school stuff, baseball games, and general laundry/housekeeping.

So imagine my horror when I woke up Tuesday morning and entered the family room to find that both dogs, who typically sleep on the couch all night, had erupted in poop. And by poop, I mean LITERALLY 50 greasy diarrhea poop piles all over the living room rug (oddly, only on the perimeter?), as well as the kitchen, powder bath, and parquet floors. I nearly died right there on the spot.

poop-in-the-corner

As you can imagine this sent me over the edge. Pregnant, huffing and puffing, and before 8 am with no caffeine, I angrily cleaned up as much as I could while bemoaning how AWFUL the rug looked.  Then I got REALLY mad and poured bleach all over the tile in the kitchen floor, which OF COURS, splashed up on the navy trim of the curtains and left a lovely bleachy splotchyness. YES! I AM WINNING AT LIFE! THIS IS WHY WE HAVE NICE THINGS – SO OUR ANIMALS CAN DESTROY THEM!

poop-tolix

In an oddly uncharacteristic show of love and concern toward the dogs, Simon hovers nearby and says with brows furrowed in a hushed voice, “But do you think the dogs are okay?”  To which I hissed through gritted teeth, “I DO NOT CARE RIGHT NOW. I WILL GIVE THEM AWAY TO THE NEXT PERSON WHO WALKS BY THE HOUSE.”  I think also I was only wearing a pair of underwear and a tank top while I was on hands and knees scrubbing poop. This is the memory my child will carry of me into adulthood. WONDROUS.

So. That’s how the day began. It wasn’t a shining moment. I quarantined the poopies in the backyard and went on with my jam-packed day. After school, Jude and I met my parents for a quick snack, which entailed Jude scarfing a ginormous piece of suspiciously bright red velvet cake (FYI, true red velvet is NEVER bright red) and then we hightailed it to his baseball game where we were thoroughly trounced. By the time we got home, we were all exhausted. Everyone was in bed for approximately 1 hour before all hell broke loose. Again.

Jude came straight downstairs vomiting red velvet cake. It was in his bed, on his rug, dripping down the stairs, all over the bathroom. Once we got the poor kid cleaned up and stretched out on the couch with towels, puke bucket, and a blanket, we stood on the stairwell to assess the damage.

“There will be no photoshoot tomorrow,” I said. And then we just started laughing because seriously? How does this even happen? Who can plan this stuff?

We cleaned as best we could, and went to bed.  And I hate to say it, but come morning, there was a poop explosion, all over again.

So yesterday was a sick day for Jude AND the dogs. But you wouldn’t know it to look at them, all 3 goobers —

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Internet, this is what living with kids is all about.

Although I doubt anyone is going to have me write a book about it anytime soon.

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