Weak Stomachs, Look Away

So, if there is one thing in life I am not willing to do, it is to suffer in silence.

I'm probably going to remove this post because I would like for this blog to be a journal-ish type thing for us over the years, and I'm thinking perhaps one particular person won't really be interested in this being preserved.

Although, from the looks of it now, it would seem, there are far worse things that could happen to him.

I take my friend's kids to school in the morning, and she picks them up in the afternoon.

I pretty much don't want Bo walking home, even with older kids because he's like me and a very slow walker and kind of doesn't have a lot of sense when it comes to talking to strangers, not running out into the street, etc. Maybe when he's older. But for now, I reserve the right to be overprotective. And he doesn't like it.

So my friend stopped in after dropping off Bo and said that she thought Bo wasn't too happy about not being allowed to walk home. As she is telling me this, he calls to me from the bathroom. I'm pretty sure he's looking for a "wipe check" as in, "did I get it all" (Yes the perks of this motherhood gig are never ending.)

I stick my head in the bathroom to give the quick, "looks great Bo!" and my face is smacked back by the stench that comes flying out the barely cracked open door.

"Whoa, what did you eat to---"

"It's Sarah's fault!"

"How could this have anything to do with Sarah?"

"She took too long getting in the car after school!"

"Riiiiiiiiiiiight."

It's everywhere people.

I readily excuse myself from the stench and the scene and go back and tell the others to clear the vicinity. I tell my friend it wasn't having to walk, it was having to crap that put Bo in a foul mood. Okay, I didn't say crap. Crap's a totally vulgar word. I try not to say crap.

I'll spare you the specifics....no I won't. He had to be hosed down. His shorts had to be hosed down outside. His shoes have been hosed down. If I could have hosed down the bathroom I would have. Instead I used half a roll of paper towels, and 27 Clorox wipes. Spidey briefs will not be salvaged. I had to secure my nostrils in order to complete the task, and I have to say, I am quite skilled at cleaning, while simultaneously spraying Lysol air freshener. I think I might actually be high on Lysol right now.

Mr. I-Can't-Bear-The-Shame-Of-Wearing-Jeans-On-A-Cold-Rainy-Day-If-No-One-Else-Is-But-I-Can-Unload-All-Over-The-Bathroom-And-Not-Bat-An-Eye just went about his merry way as though this wasn't the most disgusting thing I have ever had to deal with in the 5 years since he was born. And possibly in the 27 years before that.

Before I could tackle it, I called J so that he could be VERY clear on what kind of...STUFF I have to deal with at home. He said, "Don't worry! I'll be right home, I'm just the man for this job!"

If you know what J's job is, that's really funny. If you don't know---it's only kind of funny. If you are stuck on the fact that I just blogged about poop all over a bathroom, you probably don't think any of this is funny.

Hope we can still be friends.