It Was a Great Day—Right up until It Wasn’t

Our family had the nicest day together yesterday. We woke up in no hurry to go anyplace. We lounged around the house and enjoyed a pancake breakfast. We played outside in the snow and made a “Snowgirl”, complete with tufted hairpieces.

Our family Snowgirl.

Our family Snowgirl.

After we all napped for a spell, we headed out to the local Irish pub in town for some Irish session music. The girls danced on the stage there and colored in their coloring books, allowing us to enjoy some precious adult conversation and mellow downtime. Then, we capped off the evening at a pizza parlor, enjoying a pie and pleasant conversation.

On the drive home Liam and I talked about how it had been such a great family day. Nora asked why and we explained that we got to do some very fun things—nobody had to work, we got out of the house for a bit, and we were able to enjoy just spending time with one another.

At home, the fun continued as I’d promised the ladies I’d take a girls’ bath with them. We filled the tub with bubbles and soaked in the suds. Nora ratted on her sister once for trying to drink the soapy tubby water (she’s a very observant and concerned big sister—read, tattler). Otherwise, everyone got along just fine.

We had probably been sitting in the water for twenty minutes when Nora suddenly pointed and shouted, “Mommy! Oh no! Look! A poopy! Franny did some poopies in the water!”

Definitely not the words you want to hear, well, EVER. But especially not when you’re actually in the tub with the poopy and your youngest may or may not have ingested particles of it only moments earlier.

Liam heard the commotion and came running, took one look in the tub—we were all standing up at this point, paralyzed with indecision—made a face like, glad it’s you and not me in there, and then proceeded to actually walk away. Can you believe that?

“Get back here!” I yelled. “And do something!”

He smirked, chuckled, and then handed me some toilet paper. Awesome. Husband of the year, right here, folks.

At this point, the water was slowly draining. It was slowly draining because about six or seven pieces of toddler shit were gathering nicely in the drain, while several others floated on by near our feet. We decided to keep the girls in the tub so I could turn the shower on when the water drained and hose us all off and rid us of toxic hazardous waste.

In the meantime, I had to fish out the little turds so the damn water could drain properly. I made Liam promise to forever erase the image in front of him from his mind, of his very pregnant, naked wife bending over, grasping at mushy shitballs with only soaking wet toilet paper between her hands and the mush, gagging, while his daughters looked on half in horror, half in mild amusement. Definitely a low point for us all.

After all the shrieking and excitement died down, I lectured Frances about going number two in the bath. I told her no more. That she needed to tell me when she had to go so I could put her in a diaper (she refuses to sit on the potty chair or the toilet at this point).

And then, after some thought, there was a fleeting moment when I remembered that Frances might have tried to tell me she had to go, or was actually going. At one point early on in the bath she was busy scratching her bum uncomfortably, and she might have even said poopy (I can’t be sure, but it seems likely. I was preoccupied at the time reading news of the impending snowstorm and checking my weather app every few moments, hoping against all hope for school to be cancelled—we ended up just having a delay). The problem is, she says “poopy” all the time, sometimes when she has in fact gone in her diaper, and sometimes just for the hell of it. How was I to know?

Liam had basketball tonight, so I was on my own with the girls for a bit. We took another girls’ tubby—I know, it was real risky after last night’s episode. I told them no bubbles. Mommy wants to be able to see what’s in the water tonight. Nora giggled. Frances looked clueless. Poor girl. She has no idea. No idea.

Thankfully, we made it through without any incidents. The girls are both sleeping soundly and I’m hoping for another delay tomorrow. Go snow!

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One thought on “It Was a Great Day—Right up until It Wasn’t

  1. Pingback: An Unexpected Visit | Restless Roost

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