Monday mornings hit me in the face like a whiff of ripe garbage. I don’t do Mondays, particularly Monday mornings, very well. I am a bit of a control freak, so I don’t like the tendency for Monday to get railroaded by a million distractions. Much of this is my own undisciplined bordering on adult ADD fault as I get distracted by things like my laptop whispering sweet nothings to me and asking me to turn it on.
This Monday was particularly painful, as it was the Monday after our wonderful Florida vacation. I tried my best to make sure everything was organized and planned for when I went to bed Sunday as it was also the first Monday of summer vacation for my six-year-old, Miss C. No school, however, does not equate “no plan.” My daughter is spending the day with my mom on Mondays and Wednedays this summer and I need to leave the house by 7:30 a.m. in order to get to work by 8:15 a.m. The hubby is taking our youngest daughter to daycare on his way to work. The dogs are lounging in the back yard and wondering when we’re going to have steak for dinner again.
I had coffee ready, mugs out, outfits chosen, lunch made, and my purse and work bag on the kitchen table. I was rushing out the door with Miss C to meet my mom at the WalMart parking lot (the international meet-up place of the South), when Miss A emerged from her room, barefoot and wearing her mint green monkey nightgown. Hubby walked down the hall, stopped, and said, “What is that all over her rug?”
Sh*t.
And I mean literally, sh*t.
And then under my breath I said, “sh*t.”
Once again motherhood had dragged me into the ring of reality and given me a righteous slapping with the “you think you’re so smart” glove.
Miss A had gone potty in the night and decided to take off her soiled PullUp and shake it out on her rug. Has she ever done this in her entire thirty-nine months on Earth? Um, no.
I started to really scold Miss A as I was furious, but saw her face drop. I knew that she was truly sorry. I quickly picked up the solid matter with toilet paper, flushed it, sprayed the spots with cleaner, washed my hands, and headed out the door with Miss C. Thankfully traffic was non-existent since school is out for the summer, and I managed to make it to work on time despite the delay.
Later that day, after dinner, I noticed a peculiar dark brown dollop on the carpet in the den. The girls had eaten chocolate pudding. Could it be pudding? Could it be something else? Why yes of course it was something else. Apparently Jack, our dog, had had an accident.
Sh*t!
