See that baby bottle on the counter. That has been there for two days. For two straight days I have stared at it until I have come to believe that it is more than just a bottle, it is an idol that I worship. An idol that is cemented to the countertop by old baby formula which is stronger than industrial glue. It will take a chisel, a hammer and several shirtless hours of glistening muscle to undo it. I could do it. I could ravage the idol and restore domestic bliss to my household. And yet, I won’t do it for reasons unknown, even to me.
That 409 bottle on top of the fridge might help, but then again, probably not. Mainly because there is only the slightest amount of actual cleaner left in there. The rest of the bottle is actually filled with water. That way if some unforeseen guest decides to check on my 409 stockpile, they will be fooled into thinking that I do clean on a regular basis. There is only enough 409 in that bottle to give you the fragrance of clean summer days but not to actually do anything. It takes real work to be this deceiving.
Little Hoss is sitting in front of the TV for the last hour with no underwear on. I had enough of changing 2 sets of diapers so we had a boot camp style potty training, complete with pushups and running up hills for conditioning. 4 days of PT and she finally got the hint. You go potty in the potty and you get candy. By the 4th day, she started giving me candy every time I took a leak. It worked, my awesomeness prevails. However, I did not realize that the true challenge would come after she was done. For some reason, she doesn’t like to wear her underwear a good 60% of the day. I’m tired and have given up the fight. Therefore, we watch Blue’s Clues naked. We call it Naked Blue Time. I admit, it can be quite fun until someone comes to the door.
My son’s shirt has a mixture of snot, formula and dog slobber on it. It has ceased to be a shirt and instead has turned into a grand work of Abstract art. As an artist, he seems very protective of his creative time and refuses to allow me to take the shirt off until he completes the tree by the lake, at least that is what he tells me in the looks of death he gives me every time I try to remove the shirt. It’s a happy tree though, a very happy tree.
For my working readers, let me explain this week to you in a way that you can comprehend. Let’s say that you are at work and your boss gives you a project. That project involves something in the nature of teaching deaf skunks to tap dance. Of course you don’t want to do the project so you just kind of sit back on it, waiting to be inspired. Then, right when you feel inspired, your cube mate comes over and takes a shit on the floor and you are no longer inspired. In fact, you want to do nothing anymore but sit in your chair contemplate why Tetris is so awesome.
That’s basically the best way I can explain this week to you. Everything was fine a while ago. The house was clean, the kids were clean, I was showered, it was all good. The only problem we had was that Bubba Hoss had a little diaper rash. So I let him run around without a diaper for about 3 minutes.
It would have been longer but then he took a big huge shit on the floor and thus we had to put a diaper on. You think that I would have been smarter than this. Hell, I think I would have been smarter than this. But I put it to you, this was a conspiracy to break my will and it has worked.
I got a phone call and like an idiot I answered it. I should have ignored it, I know, but I didn’t. I was on the phone for less than 3 seconds when my daughter came up to me and said “Daddy, poo poo on floor.” Surely she is mistaken. After all, she is only 2 and has trouble with the English language. She still calls lawnmowers vacuum cleaners.
I walked over and yup, bubba hoss had taken a crap on the floor and was playing with it. In his little fists of fury he had two clay like turds and was laughing as he squeezed them and they came squirting out of his little fingers. He planed this. He waited until I was distracted and then laid a deuce on the floor, and played in it, and smeared it around. Just to see me break. Just to see my will snap like a twig under the foot of a rhino.
I abruptly ended my conversation on the phone by telling the person the truth, my son has laid a cow pie and my attentions were needed elsewhere.
The bathtub is upstairs and the thought of caring him through the house dripping poop did not appeal to me, so we made it to the sink instead. I will admit, I considered dunking him in the toilet but after further consideration I decided that Hossmom would kill me. Not that the sink was much better, that is where a lot of food goes.
For the next 30 minutes I attempted to try and get poop out of places that poop is not supposed to be. Underneath finger nails, in-between toes, everywhere. And I’ll admit it, I washed my kid with Dawn dishwashing soap. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have Dove handy at the moment as we normally don’t take baths by the sink.
I installed the garbage disposal myself and I think you may be happy to know that it does a fantastic job on poop as well as leftovers. A good half gallon of bleach and I declared my sink sanitary as soon as the little person comes and declares This Sink is Clean.
And then for the next 2 hours I tried to get crap stains out of the carpet. Nothing works by the way. It still has a slight green tint to it in several places. I’m sure it smells but the chemicals that I have used and devastated any scent receptors that I may have had. While I was doing this Little Hoss was in the background laughing manically, like she just put a bomb on a bus that couldn’t drop below 55, constantly saying “Daddy being silly!” Yes honey, I’m as silly as a mad hater at a sewage tea party.
And so, for the last several days, I have decided that I am a broken man. I have actually uttered the phrase “rub some dirt on it” at least 3 times today and meant it. I have no doubt that I will get back on my game. But until then we will worship the bottle on the counter and call it Steve.