Glorious, wasn't it? So the last week I have been in bum mode to try and recuperate from the craziness and we have been doing a whole lot of nothing at home. Not one to handle being couped up very easily, I was getting cabin fever and so were the girls (It's going to be a LONG winter...). So, I kicked them outside with the hopes of helping the hubs out with the yard work and letting nature and their imaginations wear them out.
I decided to start with my least liked but most important yard job, poop scooping. Our 100 pound chocolate lab is an excrement producing machine. The only positive spin I can put on it is they are large and easy to spot... Now, we are not fancy scoopers with claw tools and such. We are cheap and ghetto with a plastic bag as a glove and a bag as a receptacle. Gross, yes. Necessary, unfortunately yes. As I begin to gather the awesome dog food bi-products, I daydream about when the girls will be old enough to punish with this chore, when the first series of unfortunate events takes place. Our con-caved crab sandbox has become a perfect harness for dirty rainwater and leaves. Naturally, an incredible place for a three and just about two year old to jump ankle deep into pneumonia inducing h2o. I temporarily place my poo gathering gear down to shoo away the non listening toddlers, dump the nasty and assess how to most efficiently remove their bottom halves so I don't get the worst mom of the year award for letting them play in the cold with soaking clothes on. Although the thought is definitely entertained as these little boogers are hard to catch. But while I ponder this for a second, apparently too long, the wind picks up and my lovely helper Marcella Jane, runs to pick up the plastic bag that the blustery wind is blowing away. The poo glove plastic bag... "Momma! Momma! This almost got a way. I saved it for you!" I couldn't yell at her, she was just trying to help but I started gagging as she hands me the bag with "dirt" all over her hands.
Saying a prayer under my breath, I gather the two sopping wet and one now poo covered kiddos and strip them down, outside of course. I get Marcella sanitized while Adelyn waits patiently half naked on my back porch. I get them clothed again. Whew! It wasn't that bad. Feeling puffed up on mom awesomeness, I feel confident to resume my awesome SAHM duties (with a new poop glove) and let the girls explore like all good moms let their kids do. Then it happens. It only took a second for the the next series of unfortunate events to unfold. Like I mentioned before, we held three parties last month and since Jason and I really don't drink too often, the last round of canned beers hadn't made it back inside. They still were in the cooler out back. The cooler my kids just discovered opens. This is what I saw unfold...
Adelyn screaming, "Mom! Mom! Help! It's exploded everywhere," while holding a bud light can spewing out month old fermenting hops everywhere. On her sister, on herself, everywhere. Meanwhile, Marcella is pretending to drink one (closed thank God) while yelling, "MMMMM yummy mommy daddy drinks!" My yelling is futile and apparently inaudible since it does nothing to stop the situation. They think it's hilarious as I come running in already catching whiffs of my beer drenched monsters and knowing they are engaging in something I desperately don't want them to. And that is when the last event takes place, I trip and fall slow motion in a pile of fresh Chango present. Marcella sets her beer down, walks over and says, "Mommy you k? YUCK! You smelly!"
So are you Marcella. So are you. Worlds worst mom award.
P.S. the beer is no longer in the cooler. Making sure the cooler is empty now is on top of my outside to do list. Sorry poop cleaning, you are now second.
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