Smell Something Funny

At the beach, been here roughly 10 days so far, settled in. The kids have their friends, some old and some new. They ran in a large pack for the first few days, but by now, they have begun grouping and connecting. Spending time with one on one, and switching it up very few hours. Primarily, there are girls here. Two boys in the main pack, and they are 6 and 12, so not exactly close in age. This can be a problem for poor little Jacob, because he often is the stinky little brother that no one wants to play with. Well, in this case, stinky was accurate.

Need to make a an up-front apology to you Jacob, this blog is a bit of a laugh at your expense. Right now, you don't really care at all, because you have no idea about this. But someday, if you ever search archives and come across this, you'll find many laughs on your account. Thank you, son, for being a good sport and allowing me to share the laughter. By the way, your sweet little self is fast asleep in mid-afternoon on the couch right in front of me, which is why I am even blogging at the beach. You woke up sick, and have been sick all day so far.

Anyway, I had been hanging out down at the beach, which is maybe 40 yards from the cottage we are staying in. Kids had been in and out of the water, in and out of the cottage, it was a smooth beach day with everyone succesfully entertained most of the time. I hiked the 40 or so yards (such a burden) from the water to the cottage to get something, I don't know, probably a fresh beverage. I walked into a cottage full of girls, guess I hadn't noticed where they had been. I can't tell you who was in there, but I am aware that there was a new friend in the cottage, because I remember watching my reaction to what was about to happen. You know how you feel more comfortable yelling, or what have you, in front of friends who are around alot? But when there are newbies, you don't want to scare them off. So you filter your normal scoldings to make them sound, let's just say, NICE.

Walked in to a group of girls saying "It smells like poop in here!" First thing I do is look for Jacob, and notice he is in fact NOT in the cottage at the moment. Next thing I do is search my memory for whether or not he's 'used the washroom' yet today, as we say when we are in Canada. Mmmmmmm, don't think so. Why would I even keep track you wonder? Well, let's just say he still needs a little assistance in that department, no big deal there. I reply the gracious response about maybe the dog tooted, actually thinking maybe one of these sweet girls tooted and didn't want to admit it. However, this is pretty unnecessary in my home, in fact, these girls seem to take pride in their bodily functions. But there was a new friend here, I remember, and I don't yet know her level of confidence with public tooting.

Then I smell it too. And I have to say that there is a particular oder to a certain person's poo accidents. When I say accidents, I mean that sometimes, the process begins before, shall we say, the pants come down, leaving a little bit of evidence with a very powerful scent. I had to admit that I did smell the familiar smell. But again, Jacob was no where to be seen. So I blow it off and said "I'm sure the dog just tooted" although I wasn't too sure myself.

The my girls blatantly begin asking, well, not really asking, more stating in a accusatory tone of voice, that it smells like Jacob's poo. Since there is an undeniable smell that didn't go away with removing the dog from the cottage, I decide to make a formal investigation. The girls are all hovering around an iPad or an iPhone or a computer, or SOMETHING that you should not have anywhere near your beach vacation because it just seems WRONG. Jordan, who is now 12 (yep, that's right, a tween) was on a chair with the illegal beach device on her lap and everyone else was hovering around watching it. Jordan said the smell was somewhere around the chair. I knew that Jacob had been sitting on that chair earlier, so my thought was that maybe he accidentally began his process too late, leaving a little residue on the chair. So I had her stand, we pulled the various blankets and towels off, gave them the sniff test, and even sniffed the seat of the chair. Nothing. Huh, my best guess was insufficient.

It was funny that the smell seemed to be in the middle of the room only. It was near the chair, but not on the chair. I stood in the middle of the room, wondering. Where could it be coming from? Of course I looked at the floor in front of me, a large Asian rug. I had to lower my head to the floor for a 'tabletop' view since the design on the rug might be hiding something. Still nothing. I even looked up at the ceiling, thinking that maybe there had been an accident on the floor above me. While this may seem ridiculous, keep in mind that cottages are by nature flimsy. The ceiling is plywood, and there are plenty of leaks in the walls and ceilings. So maybe, just maybe, there was a poo accident upstairs and it was seeping. However, upon looking up - nothing. So I decided to let it go. By now, all the girls except Jordan were out of the cottage, and quite frankly, I didn't know where or how else to investigate.

Fast forward 10 minutes. Jordan is still watching some illegal beach device, Jacob is back in the cottage, and I'm buzzing around doing what mom's do chronically: pick up, wipe down some surface, prepare snack, gather laundry, whatever busy work was happening. All of a sudden, I hear "EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" I'm not sure what happened exactly, but Jordan raised her foot off the floor and held it about 12 inches up, as we both gazed at a brown oval-shaped clump of something stuck to her skin. It suddendly registered that YES, it was Jacob's poo. Still not sure how it got from his rear end on to Jordan's foot, but I can only tell you that the look on my Tween's face spoke 1000 words, none of them nice or loving. You all can picture this, right? Any 12-year-old with her little brother's poo on her foot. . . this was not a pretty sight. I ran to the bathroom to get tissue while Jordan sat frozen on the chair, with Jacob asking "What? What? What?" All I knew was that I was trying to remove the poo before a tirade came flowing out of Jordan's mouth, causing permanent damage to Jacob's self esteem. I was successful only because after the poo removal, she was so motivated to get her foot into the tub to clean off . . . you know. Luckily, although I think Jabob knew he had dropped a little poo on the floor, he seemed to be unphased by all of this commotion. He went back outside.

I went into the bathroom to praise Jordan for holding it together, but the look she gave me spoke another 1000 words. Unfortunately, at this moment, instead of being able to thank her for not abusing Jacob, I BURST into laughter so violently, that I wasn't even sure if I was laughing or crying. I was hysterical! Truly. Jordan, even though I'm sure anger was boiling from her now clean foot to the tip of her head, was not even sure what to do with me. I thought for sure she would at least crack a smile at my strange behavior, but no. Not Jordan, the strong-willed child of steel. I could tell she had a grin in her, but she dared not let it out, considering the heinousness of the situation. I, on the other hand, continued to laugh-the gut wrenching, barely breathing, tears flowing-laugh. I continued to attemt to stop, to comfort Jordan, but as soon as I saw her face of disgust, I busted out laughing again. I tried to hug her to show my support, but she ended up holding me up since I was laughing so hard. Anway, I ended up apologizing for my lack of support with my chronic laughter. I am LOL-ing even as I write this. I think this memory will bring me joy for years.

I am definitly not the mother of the year, and I'm OK with that!

It's Snappy!

I wrote this post last year, just around the time this blog spot changed something . . . enough for people like me to not know how to get on to their own blog. But it was fun to relive this one!

Ok, I know it's been a while since I wrote, you would think one month on the beach would provide some good writing time. Let's just say I was in another world. Current status: back to housekeeping/mothering wonderful life.

So I'm talking to my son Jacob yesterday, I don't know about what. You know how it goes talking to a five-yr-old . . . many of those conversations, I just nod my head and mumble an occasional 'uh huh.' So he was rambling about something very interesting to him when he paused, and said "Tiger has a dead squirrel." He had my attention.

I looked up from the dishes and saw that unfortunately he was not gazing out the window at our cat, Tiger. And therefore Tiger was not outside with the 'dead squirrel'. Oh wait, maybe Tiger just has a stuffed animal in his mouth, I hopefully thought. Since Jacob was peering down the hallway, of course not moving, just commenting on this new awareness that Tiger has a dead squirrel, I slowly walked around the corner to peek at Tiger, who made a mad dash for the basement with, yes, a bushy tail hanging from his mouth. I knew enough to know that it was not one of the beannie babies.

I began yelling "squirrel! squirrel!" down the basement where Chris and Jordan were cleaning. I learned the hard way in the past that simply screaming does not get the necessary attention. A couple years ago when I opened the garage door to a possum about to step into my home, I had hopes that my blood-curdling scream would draw some attention. I was wrong. I next tried screaming "POSSUM!" which was effective. So this time around, I wasted no efforts. It worked.

Chris headed up from the basement, the same time I headed down, so Tiger was trapped in the middle with his trophy. He hid his new little toy underneath my scrapbooking bag and took off. Chris got a broom (not sure how that was ganna help with a chipmunk (Jake was wrong about the squirrel) who can jump. Anyway, Chris picked up the bag, and the rodent started jumping. Therefore, I began screaming because I had visions of National Lampoon's Family Vacation with the squirrel . . . . I'm yelling for Tiger to get back here to catch the dang thing. Jordan is yelling "IT'S ZIPPY! IT'S ZIPPY!" because they name all the wildlife around here, and apparently Zippy is the chipmunk who lives underneath our driveway. Unfortunately, I'm not careing about Zippy's welfare right now, which seems upsetting to Jordan. She's yelling that Tiger will kill it. Yes, where did Tiger go, anyway?

Luckily, Zippy escaped, brushed past Chris's leg, and took off through the basement where Jacob somehow got him to go right out the door. Tiger spent the rest of the afternoon looking longingly out the window. And sweet Julia, who thinks her cat is an angel, missed it all.

You know you are hormonal when . . .

First of all, readers, the reason I have not posted in almost a year is because technology changed, forcing me temporarily our of my own blog, and I am NOT savvy enough to figure it out. Meanwhile, I was going through a very stressful year, and I was reserving every brain cell that I had for the mere purposes of survival. But I am back, at least I thought I was. Back to the reason I am writing today.

I know I am hormonal when I am cracking myself up with my own crazy thoughts. Today, before 9am even rolled around, here were a few clues I am having a hormonal shift. I don't even know if this counts for PMS, because it is only day 19. You may be thinking "how does she even know it is day 19!" Well, let me tell you. You might need to know this because there will be future "You know you are Hormonal when . . ." blogs, as I tend to live 50% of my life having these days. Somehow, I missed the bus when the "normal PMS" assignments were being given out. So anyway, for a long time, I have tracked my days and studied hormones in women. In laywoman's terms, lets just say that hormonone levels change constantly, keeping us a a chronic state of change, making it difficult for me/us to stay consistent and grounded. Ladies, let me offer you this awareness, which I believe accounts for much of our own crazy as well as brilliant thinking. Not everyone may relate to this, because hormones are different in everyone, with some people (like me) having more erratic changes than others.

AS a side note, my mom suggested I read THE FEMALE BRAIN. She even gave me the book. But since I was preserving all my brain cells for survival, I did little more than hold the book and hope to magically download the information by holding it. However, then my bestie, Heather, who I grew up with since the Brownie days, told me that she read it and it was AWESOME. She said every woman should read it, especially moms, because it will help our daughters learn about this crazy phenomenon.

Anyway, on to my morning . . . You know you are hormonal when:


. . . you wake up sweating and dreaming that you have fleas in your head and you are at a conference with people you respect, and those fleas are jumping all over your forehead.

. . . you cringe at the sound of your little child asking for chocolate milk, and you are tempted to yell, "get your own d*#! milk (but you sweetly say "just a minute honey"

. . . you make coffee and get back in bed for the 60 seconds that it takes to brew.

. . . you praise Jesus that it is bagel day at school and that is one less thing you have to do this morning.

. . . when your child starts fussing (because he always does and you should be used to it) you run to your stash of homeopathic vitamins that are supposed to calm your anxiety. You can barely answer the child because you have popped several of these GABA-calms under your tongue, hoping whether or not it is a placebo effect, that it will just come through for you this time!

. . . you will not, under any circumstances, drive the kids to school without coffee in your hand, although you will leave without any make-up, hair, or even shoes.

. . . you notice that it is a beautiful Michigan day (which have been scarce up until recently) so you force yourself for your kids sake to mention what a nice day it is.

. . . you are fully aware that you should take advantage of every beautiful Michigan day, and exercise, or walk the dog, or something! But instead you know full wee that you will go home and make a pot of coffee and enjoy staring out the window being totally non-productive.

. . . you can't wait for the 5 minute drive to be over so you can get a moment to yourself, feeling guilty for being so happy to dump your kids at school.

. . . THEN - 30 seconds later, you are tearful because your kids are leaving you for the day. You remind them to study hard and grow their brain cells, and as you say it, you realize they are growing. They are not just leaving you for the day, they are leaving you!

Everyone, I wish for you today (and myself) a STABLE day!