Poopocalypse Now

16 11 2011

This week sucks.

I have a really great story to tell you from work, but I can’t unwrap myself from the minutiae of every day life well enough to actually write it.

Bah. Y’all know how much I hate depression. It robs me of my patience, and that’s not a good thing.

Still, it’s not all bad news ’round these parts. After all, I didn’t sell my children today! What? I’m calling it a victory. Stop judging me.

Depression aside, I’m pretty sure nobody enjoys cleaning up a feces-covered six-year-old, which is what I did last night. No matter how many times I try to remind myself there are medical and emotional issues at play…yeah.

Speaking of Big G’s issues, last Friday he popped one of his classmates in the face. When I asked why he did it, he said, “I don’t know why. I didn’t want to do it.” Folks, when he tells me the devil made him do it, I’m calling in a Catholic priest, just to cover all my bases.

Today when I picked him up from school, I saw his teacher walk in my direction and my heart dropped. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Ah, crap. Apparently he flipped out on a kid who was looking at the class scrapbook because he wanted to look at the scrapbook.

Also today: While I was in the shower, Big G pulled the towel rod off the wall and Little G sprayed hairspray all over the mirrors. Then Little G gave himself a fat lip, I burned the tip of my thumb with my straightening iron, and I discovered Little G got in the fridge and left it open the whole time I was in the shower.

Oh, and I yelled at my kids. A lot.

I don’t like the depressed me. I’m not very much fun.

Okay, I have to share a few entertaining things, because this post is far too mopey.

I’m letting the boys watch far too much TV, and Little G’s show of choice is one of my childhood favorites: Inspector Gadget. The best part of this: I get to hear Little G say things like, “Go go Gadget lasso!” and “Wowzers!” The worst part: I completely forgot what a moron Inspector Gadget is. Seriously, what kind of detective relies on an elementary school-aged relative and her pet dog for survival?

Then there’s the newsletter I got in the mail from BYU’s Monte L. Bean Life Science Museum, which included this photo:

What's he do, nibble your bum?

I can’t help it. I have the sense of humor of a 13-year-old.

That’s why you love me, right?



One response

19 01 2012

Pretty sure I wouldn’t be about to live as a lion if I had to catch my meals by their asshole all the time.

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