Sunday, 3 June 2007

Day 3: The poopsmith

Oh my. Due to last night's events, I did not sleep well. I dreamed of Arlo, cuddled with Sacha, slept with the cat, and kept waking to the sound of thunder roaring through the wind in my backyard. I think that I may prepare a pitch for Tim Horton's as to why they should offer a delivery service for moms in the morning.

4:00 pm

While getting ready to head over to neighbour PSM's house for supper, I figured I'd better change Sacha, as we were WET with sweat from the mugginess that is northern Ontario. I got his little bum naked and let it air out a it as, let's face it, little boys love letting it all hang out. In fact, they like it a little too much, and insist on adding to the hanging. I went to get him a new diaper and clean clothes, and returned to find him standing, bracing himself against the hamper, and letting the poop spray out of his butt, then topping it off with a urine swirl. I raced over, but it was too late. His foot found the poop. He did a little dance, made a little love in the poop, which was now being painted across the floor. I scooped him up, but realized that if he touched me, I'd get the poo on me. He made that decision easier by laughing and grabbing on to me with full force, dragging his feces up and down my leg with his feet. Brilliant. We are a poopy mess.

I hobbled over to the tub, while S wiggled and giggled like a mad hatter. Did I mention that he has been discovering his penis lately and is marvelled by what comes out of it? Of course, this means that he was tugging on it and poking it, causing pee to dribble all the way down the hallway, and down my leg. Fabulous. We are now official bio-hazards.

I put him in the tub and turn on the water and washed him off with a facecloth and warm soapy water. He was totally and utterly pissed off at me for washing the ooey goodness off of him, but I kept at it. Once he was clean, I started washing my own brown legs off. I must remember to throw out that facecloth. We made out way back to Sacha's room, and the phone rang. As I answered it, Sacha sat naked and looked at his penis in awe. I then heard the oh-so-familiar piddling sound, and saw pee spraying out of him as he sat. Of course, I had but one hand to deal with it, and he had already taken to splashing in it. Did I mention he learned how to splash in water?

Pee is easier to clean than poop, but by this point, I could care less if he had urine on his hands. We finally got dressed and wandered over to my neighbour's house for supper.


Supper being over, I decided that it was time to get Sacha in the tub (and REALLY scrub him clean). We packed up our stuff and went home. I turn the doorknob, but it will not budge. Ho. Ly. Shit. Did I REALLY lock myself out? With the spare key sitting ON my dresser? Stupid mommy. I've broken into my fair share of houses (moslty on account of losing my keys), so I knew where to go first. I tried the bedroom window, but it is closed and robber-proof (good for me if I'm INSIDE). I then remembered that there is a window underneath our deck. I brought S back to my neighbour's and went back to my house to break in, secret-agent style. I opened the window (as I hadn't locked it since the last time I opened it...good for me if I'm OUTSIDE), and climbed in. Not so easy to get to ground level, however. There is a shelf there with some tools, but it is not so sturdy, as I soon discovered. I managed to scale down the wall à la Sydney Bristow, only breaking the recycling bins on my way down and knocking over my ironing board and iron. If anyone wants a good secret agent, don't hire me.


Sacha is in bed, but the cat was MIA.  The rain was POURING outside, and our street was a veritable slip-and-slide of wet fun.  Unfortunately, I could not remember if I had closed the basement window after my clandestine operation, and I feared Mr. Dash may have snuck out. Being the devoted person that I am (and in no way fearing the misery that would ensue if I had to tell T that we lost yet ANOTHER cat to the great outdoors), I braved the storm and went a-lookin'.  I checked the pool while outside, to find that it had rained so hard the water was shooting out of the overflow like the Niagara.  I was wet, I was annoyed,  I was still catless.  I called my neighbour, just in case she had seen Mr. Dash.  She hadn't, but her 4-year-old son wanted to talk to me.  He got on the phone: "Miss Sarah, I think your pool is filled up!"  Yes, Connor, it is very filled up.


Out of the ceiling tiles comes Mr Dash.  Frickin cat.  Makes me wander out looking for him when he's hiding in the damn ceiling the whole time.  He is SO cut off of his Temptations!


  1. perhaps husband can prescribe you something for your pain upon his return. Your deep, throbbing psychological pain...

  2. ROFL... it's totally awesome when someone can make a Strong Bad reference to her kids. Your son may not know it, but he is so lucky :)


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