...kicking practice parading across my buttocks

Yesterday, I woke up in my usual state, stiff and groggy. Stiff because my head was apparently a lure for BOY's kicking feet, otherwise known as the battering ram, during the night. Did I mention he sleeps with us now? He does. E has set-up a great system that works for E quite well. Due to increasing concern over his cojones being rammed intermittently during the dark of night, he now places a pillow between himself and BOY. This has provided a delightful incentive for BOY to inch his way up to tuck in his head by E's head, which positions BOY's body in a strategical diagonal maneuver so that his feet ram into my ribs throughout the night. It works out beautifully for my men. I'm so proud.

And groggy? Well, you know I HAD to infuse myself with chocolate the night before... coupled with a little JD and Coke. Honey, you've got to try it sometime. Irresistible combination. Kind of like Ex-Lax to a bulimic. Just this side of heaven. So, I was groggy and a little off-kilter from my usual bouncy-out-of-the- bed self. I'm naturally a morning person, but I must say what really helps launch me out to safer ground and creates an incentive to be up and moving is the kicking practice parading across my buttocks. You should definitely try it!

However, upon arising and stumbling into the kitchen, one is never quite prepared for one's husband to let you know that his pile of clean clothes, which were on the bedroom floor, are saturated with cat pee. No, nothing prepares you for that. He, rightfully, was pissed with the cat. But, somehow it seems like it is my fault. And...as if I don't have enough laundry to do...now I must DO MORE. Oh, yeah! Once said husband was kissed and hugged on by two small children and a dazed wife, he was on his way to a less dangerous spot. He works in construction. I hadn't had my tea yet, the stench of cat pee was wafting upwards from the pile of soiled laundry on the kitchen floor, and I was ready to cry. It wasn't even 7am.

I tried to regroup, reassess and move forward for the next hour or so, but nothing was going quite right. The plan was to take the kids to the daycare. BOY was going to go a 1/2 day and I would pick him up after lunch. GIRL would stay through nap and playtime and I would pick her up in the afternoon. Since this is our last week, it feels important that they have time to say their good-byes and not have our leaving the school be too abrupt. So, after struggling with getting them dressed, getting lunches packed and showering and dressing myself...we were finally ready to go. Well, I was. GIRL apparently was not. She sat on the floor in front of the bookshelf and started writhing across the floor moaning, "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!" Meanwhile, BOY, was deeply engrossed in examining Rolly-pollys in the front yard. After luring GIRL to the car with promises that she could have the book of maps and be the navigator, I had one child in a car seat. BOY finally... got in the minivan after many prompts and the retrieval inside of his favorite stuffed animal dog, Spotty.

Upon the landing of our minivan plane at school, I had two children who were reluctant to exit the vehicle. GIRL beginning to sound like a picket line protester stated that she would NOT stay after lunch. We made our way very slowly to BOY's classroom. All the kids were outside. Now GIRL began to keen-- wailing that she could not under any circumstances ...stay. BOY, I think, would have been fine if GIRL had been fine. Last week it worked out well to pick him up at lunchtime, and her in the afternoon. But, all things being equal and since the two of them are in obvious cahoots...BOY stated that he, also, would not be attending school that day. And so after about 10 minutes of discussion, we left. I was disappointed and aggravated, because I now see my little window of free time disappearing and it scares me. To death. But, I know it is the right decision. I know it is the right decision. I know it is the right decision. This. Is. My. Mantra. I just didn't see the point of leaving them keening and wailing at the gate when we are taking them out of school this week. And really, it was my own damn fault. If I get them to school before 8:30am, all the kids are still inside and somehow that seems easier for them to make the transition.

So, we get home and I send them out to the backyard to play. A good amount of time goes by. The BOY enters stage left, completely naked, and walks past. As I admire his cute little bottom, I notice that there is something extremely uncute stuck to it. A lump of poop. I try not to SCREECH and quickly escort him to the indoor bathroom. After helping to hose him off, I ask him what exactly happened.

I pooped outside, Mommy.

Yes, BOY, I realize that you pooped outside. But, why did you poop outside?

I wanted to.

Why?

I wanted to poop where the doggies poop.

So, I get him dressed again. I grab some plastic bags and go in search of human poop. I search the dog run. No big boy poop. I then search the backyard. The grass is high. It could be anywhere. I do not find it. Apparently, somewhere, outside... is a poop waiting to be found. Apparently not by me.

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