Rub a Dub Dub, Two Turds in a Tub

We ran out of toilet paper in our house tonight.  God forbid I should have two brains cells to rub together lately to remind myself to take inventory of such a precious commodity.  Never fear, my youngest decided to drop a load in the bathtub tonight to remind me further of the severity of my recent oversight.

Yes, by drop a load, I mean my 2-year-old took a nice bathroom dump in the bathtub she was sharing with her 3-year-old sister.  And quite honestly, I’ve never heard these two laugh harder.  They giggled, they pointed, they played ”run from the poo”.  It was a true Kodak moment, without the camera.

I yanked them both from the tub and wrapped them in towels to wait for their turn under the power washer.  But first, I had to drain the bath water, squeamishly pluck the bath toys from the tub and lay them on the designated “stank” towel for a future scrub down, and then scrub the tub. 

The girls sat patiently on a stool and potty-training chair.  They waited in anticipation as the water SLOWLY drained from the tub…..all the while never causing an inch of erosion to the two green turds planted at the base of the silver-plated drain.  Those bad boys will forever be known as “Super Turds” in my book.  Hurricane Ike wasn’t knocking them down.

Once the water had officially drained, it was do or die time.  I had to halt my breathing, wrap my entire hand in a kleenex-napkin wrap I created on the spot, and scoop those two turds.  As fast as I could, I threw them and my hand shield into the toilet and flushed.  My 2-year-old spoke a cute ”Bye Bye Poopy”, as if she was sad to see them go.

The girls continued to run around our 4′ X 4′ bathroom naked and covered in dry poop water while I scrubbed the tub, the toys, and my forearms for as long as I could stand.   Once cleaned, rinsed, and high from the Comet fumes, I planted them one by one in the tub and lathered them up and hosed them down. 

My three-year-old had the nerve to debate washing her hair with me, sighting that “the poopy neva touched hers head”.

Two scrubdowns later……and a shot of whiskey (jk), the girls were clean and ready to slide off to dreamland.

And the Super Turds, well, they were well on their way to sewer water heaven. 

“Bye Bye Poopy!”

Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes

My sister was in town over the holiday weekend.  She brought home a lemonade stand kit.  For those of you unfamiliar with just how insane marketing has become – this would be a cardboard box that contained plain white cups, a generic sharpie market, and a yellow gingham tablecloth. 

The box itself showed a picturesque pitcher of sweet lemonade w/ perfectly labeled signs and “25cent” marked cups.   But the kit itself had no lemonade packets, no glassware, no table & chairs, no megaphone, no miniature elves that help make the lemonade – that stuff would not fit into the 4″ X 10″ box.  The box was just selling an “idea”……….or 3 hours of my sister’s life that she won’t get back.  I figure she paid $2.25 an hour to sweat her ass off – worth every penny, I’m sure.

I digress.

My five-year-old son and my sister set up shop after I delivered additional dixie cups and the lemonade – yes, the actual lemonade.  What can I say? The self-appointed management team on this little business venture was a little shaky.  They set up shop on Labor Day in 85 degree heat w/ sweat-beaded foreheads, politician smiles and lots of traffic on grandma and grandpa’s main drag. 

Business started out slow.  Early on, a few of my sister’s friends made their way from the backyard pool (where I planted myself) to the front sidewalk to make a quarter purchase to help boost the five-year-old entrepreneur’s morale. 

But within thirty minutes time, cars were pulling over to the side of the brim and hopping out for the old-time pink lemonade.  My son was hollering “Lemonade Stand” and sales soared.

I’m sorry to report that I signed a non-compete disclosure, so I’m unable to share with you the secret ingredients of the prized beverage.  But if you were to take a guess, you might start by thinking about an “Old Time” when you lived in the “Country” and drank “Lemonade” – preferably “Pink”.

While rumor has it that my son drank half of the potential profits, he still made out with a heavy cigar box full of dollar bills and change.  When totalled up, that little shit made $12.25!  I don’t even think the kid was out there an entire hour!

Forget garage sales, I’m sending each of my three kids out to local street corners w/ a pitcher of lemonade and a sharpie marker every three-day holiday weekend.  I figure my youngest can start w/ $1.00 shots at the end of our driveway while my three-year-old convinces some neighbor kid to set up, hold, collect, and clean up her princess version of the stand.

All I’m sayin’ is……….mama needs a new pair of shoes!