Every Party Has a Pooper

Or in our case, every party has several poopers! I don't mean cry babies, whiners, complainers or even dudes with bad attitudes. Nope. I mean, quite literally, POOP! You read that right. Poop seems to consume my thoughts...it has, in fact, for the last several years. Either somebody is doing it, needs to do it, or can't seem to figure out how to do it (or in my case bothering me whilst I attempt to do it)...and I'm right in the middle of it. Every. Single. Day!

What once was something I would never, ever be caught dead discussing has now become daily idle conversation between myself and...practically any other person that will listen. Disgusting? Of course! But apparently, we mamas are immune to all things disgusting. And I think "bodily functions" should top the list of disgusting things we mamas discuss! I've even discovered myself discussing the topic with Lt Hubby at the supper table. WTH?! Have I lost all capacity to behave according to social constraints and normal etiquette?! Apparently! Every day I realize that I morph more and more into THAT MOM. My ability to discuss poop - it's frequency, consistency, color, and odor- without so much as a single gag is evidence that I may never again be able to function outside the realm of Mom-dom. I fear that "once a mom; always a mom"! I've even discussed mom-poop with other moms! I may be a lost cause at this point, but I'd like to think that somehow, somewhere there is hope and help and that some day I'll be a recovering poop addict!

Poop- whether one can or can't- seems to be a very, very important issue. From my experience, if you can't...you desperately want to; if you can...shut up and enjoy it; if you can't stop...well, "this too shall pass". Never in all my life did I realize the importance of poop until people's inability to do so started to affect ME. I got my "Poop badge of honor" when T3 was a toddler. Per doctor's orders, I became a P.I. (poop investigator), and I took that assignment very seriously. Every BM passed through my thorough inspection and underwent a detailed analysis which I meticulously journaled with time, date, and detail in order to later relay to authorities. I'm not even ashamed. Moms do what moms gotta do! And giving my stamp of approval to an adequate poop seems to be a job meant only for a mama.

Whether left in a diaper or the toilet, I offer my input and opinion on each "deposit" (the oldest two have earned a free pass to forgo visual inspection...however, they are still subject to verbal interrogation at least once a week). My expertise in all-things-poop has even crossed over from time to time to the realm of "Search and Rescue". Popsicle sticks in hand, I've searched many a diaper for ingested and hopefully-passed items. Being a Domestic Goddess isn't always glamorous, and I'm pretty sure I'm the next candidate to host "Dirty Jobs". This "Call of Duty" isn't for everyone, and I'm pretty sure Lt Hubby is A-OK with the idea of me out ranking him in this particular branch of service.

Since I am so practiced in the arena of all-things-poop it is no wonder that I can discuss the topic over a cup of coffee, with strangers via social media, or as idle conversation with other mamas at a wrestling meet. It's a normal function of living creatures...we all do it, people (or...some of us really WANT to do it)! Whatever the case, no sense making a big "stink" over an issue we've all faced at one time or another. Invoke some outside encouragement if need be: "just do it", "take no prisoners", or "no time like the present". Whatever inspiration you may need, trust me gettin' your poop on is a very important daily task!

So have that extra cup of coffee, eat some roughage, drink some "special tea" and enjoy your daily alone time perched upon your throne...you'll thank me later!

Hail to the "V"

Today being the all-powerful Valentines Day, one would assume that the "V" to which I am referring is this lovey-dovey holiday that makes some of us feel a whee bit lacking in the romance department. Don't get me wrong, I hate this holiday as much as the next holiday grinch. Just because I'm married doesn't mean that I greet this holiday with vigor. Nope! I actually kind of abhor this commercially pushed holiday. I can't even remember a VD, whether single or married, that a romantic gesture was wafted in my direction. If I sound bitter...well, maybe it's because I am.

But this sorry excuse for a "holiday" is not the "V" with which I am enamored. Now if anyone has read my blog for long, I'm sure you are assuming the next most logical "V" would be the almighty and powerful vagina. Yes...she is that indeed, but Captain Vagina has taken a hiatus; what with all the changes, stress, uncertainty, sleep deprivation, lack of showering and no-me-time-at-all that has become my existence, she packed her bags and has yet to return to Sexy Town. If I've said it once, I've said it numerous times...the vagina needs to be wooed, lured, and taken care of otherwise she closes up shop. And just in case any of you are wondering a spinal cord injury plus muscle relaxers do not equate to very effective aphrodisiacs!

No! The "V" that gets my motor running is none other than the long avoided (but very necessary!) VASECTOMY! Ah...even saying the word makes me smile...it even conjures up an ever-so-slight, yet ever-so-evil, giggle. Yep...Lt Hubby was forced to take one for the team. It's only fair...my "wonder down under" has taken five massive blows. Not one of the dudes that came shooting out of that sacred tunnel was under 8 pounds. And each and every delivery has lended itself to a new set of eyes (and hands) investigating what can no longer be referred to as "My Secrets". There is no secret left when your legs are in stirrups and you lie spread-eagle on a less-than-romantic hospital table all the while a gigantic spotlight is aimed directly up my nether regions while God and nation watch you take (what can only be described as) a dump on the table!

Yep...I've earned the right to bow out and ask for a pinch hitter. And I have very, very little sympathy...OK, I have NO sympathy (did you not just read the previous paragraph?!) This mama is Our Of Business! No more dudes for this vagina...she's seen her last torture- I mean- delivery room (thank GOD!). So with admittance to the carnival denied until his ticket is stamped, Lt Hubby reluctantly took the fall...in a military hospital, no less. From my experience, military doctors have a very impersonal bed-side manner. I think they are somewhat desensitized to compassion (good thing it wasn't my vagina!). But...what's done is done...and WE ARE DONE!

So department stores can keep their box of chocolates; the flower shop can keep her beautiful roses; and the lingerie boutique can keep her little black teddy (it only gets me into trouble anyway). We will toast the night with ice for my hubby...and wine (followed by sleep!!) for me.

Just One Day

Carpe diem. 

What a great motto in which to live your life. "Seize the day"! "Don't put off tomorrow what you could do today"! "Life is short"! "Live today as if it were your last"! 

All very amiable maxims in which I truly believe...at least in theory. Like most things in life, "seize the day" is much easier said than done. In reality, I'm a mother...ie a servant to six cute little rulers that determine every facet of my day (and night)! I am the taxi, the chef, the maid, the laundromat, the boo-boo kisser, the resident shrink, and THE cheerleader (dude, when do I get my cute skirt and Pom-poms?!) I am what I am...and I am: MOM! Mother of all Mayhem, as it would seem. But I have yet to find a way to "seize the day" that allows me to actually get anything done...for myself!

With the introduction of (another) new baby into our already bustling household, I find that elusive "me" time even fewer and farther between. Seize the day?! Forget it...I just want to seize the moment! Any moment will do! A teeny, tiny minuscule moment for me to spend with the three people I rarely, if ever, get to converse. Me! Myself! And I!

Nary a day do I get to enjoy the luxury of a shower...let alone one all by myself. It seems that I must multitask at every given moment...even when I'm au natural! It is not unusual for there to be anywhere from one to three naked little men gracing me with their presence in my sacred, treasured, want-to-be-naked-alone shower time! Do you know how difficult it is to balance on one leg in a wet, slippery tub while holding the other leg up over the three naked leering men as I try to accomplish my once-a-week shave?! It's neither easy nor without probing anatomical questions being fired at me from the overly curious four year old perched, ever so precariously, beneath me! Lets just hope his visual memory of this particular image doesn't kick in for awhile! How many men want THAT image from their childhood popping back into their head??! None I would guess. 

But even though I would prefer (for my sanity and his future sanity) that my naked time be enjoyed solo, I am certain that I am neither strong enough nor smart enough to argue my point and win against the logic of a four year old! He just comes better equipped to the fight...and he knows it! I may put up an attempt at a good fight, but it never fails that his persistence is stronger than mine. I always acquiesce to his tenacity in spirit and determination! Basically, I pick my battles, and my yearning to shower, shave and wash off days of stink outweighs my desire to someday be alone in my nakedness. And I've discovered that where one man goes...another must follow! By the time one of my dudes is too old to be popping into my naked space, another takes his place, and if I try to sneak a late night shower into the routine in order to avoid all unwanted visitors, it never fails that the biggest "boy" pops in to "join me"! I do, indeed, postulate that wet + naked + female will always bring about a curious male.

However, I digress, not only does my ability to seize the day exclude any focus on personal hygiene, but I very often never  leave the confines of my four walls. It's easier...on my sanity...to stay put. No one to judge my inability to figure out the new stroller. No tantrums because I won't buy the super-awesome-whatever that one of the dudes wants. No one-year old refusing to sit in the seat of the cart. No inexplicable explosion poops. 

However, I am also without outside human contact. There has been many a day that I find myself standing at the brink of what I can only be lead to believe is my sanity. And there are just as many days that I want to step off that ledge into the sweet abyss of psychosis as there are days that I make the decision to turn around and step back into the crazy that is my day to day life of being a stay at home mom.

Being a mom is tough. The to-do list and mom guilt never ends. Being home all day, albeit a blessing, can leave you lonely, overwhelmed, and sad. No time is designated to myself. I pee, shower, get dressed and sometimes workout surrounded by dudes peppering me with questions, observations, and overall neediness. Add any other life stress, and it is no wonder that there is an entire TV series dedicated to "When women snap"! Although the last couple days I've been able to breath ever so slightly without gasping...I fear that ledge of insanity is closer (and more desirable) than ever before. 

So I shall "take one day at a time" and hope that each day is one day closer...to what, I have no idea. Just "one day closer"....