Rub-A-Dub-Dub, There's Poo in the Tub!

I was off Friday. Did you miss me? There was so much Diaryland excitement, I feel like I've been gone for weeks instead of just a day. I still haven't caught up!

Thanks to harri3t for her continuing thoughtful words about motherhood and feminism and the whole stay-at-home/working mother divide. It's a subject of great importance to me and I'll try to follow up on her entries and the continuing conversation later this week.

So, what DID I do with my day, you might ask? Well, I:
- rewired a lamp
- cleaned (ie, washed) the kitchen floor
- cleaned out a drawer of our large, ancient file cabinet, organized the toss pile into recycling vs shredding (SSNs), and shoved the keep pile back in the drawer.
- hung and rehung pictures in a few rooms
- thought about making muffins but � alas � we had no eggs!
- bought Valentine's Day stuff for the whole family
- got a little writing done
- read some
- ate
- enjoyed the quiet
- reveled in having the whole house to myself
- missed my kids and then chastised myself for not enjoying my day alone enough and counting the hours until they returned

Then, those darned kids came home and chaos ensued and I thought, was I crazy? I was missing THIS? Complaining preschoolers and shrieking toddlers? Boy, some people are just never satisfied.

But, the highlight of the day was bath time. When Red begins to crumble her food and toss it to the floor and throw a spontaneous fit for no apparent reason, the key to turning her into a happy toddler (never mind my state of mind) is to stick her in a tub full of warm water. The monsterism fades away and all is good.

Until she stood up, made a strange face, and pooped in the tub. A nice foot-long turd. Too bad I didn't have any hotdog buns on hand.

So, add to my list of Things Done: scooped out a large toddler turd from the bathtub with my rubber glove-covered hand and deposited it in the toilet. Then, threw all the toys into a bucket of hot water and bleach. Then, scrubbed the shit out of the tub for a good fifteen minutes.

Then, resumed bath time at its not-regularly scheduled time. With fewer toys available.

Good times! We are Making Memories here.

Dusty was very glad she had chosen to have her bath after Red's instead of WITH Red as she occasionally does. Very glad.

Oh, and when I asked my husband to watch the wet, naked toddler while I disinfected the perimeter, I did not mean "let her run around and deposit the last bit of poo she'd been holding back on, onto the (once clean) kitchen floor so that I have to clean that up, too." At least, I'm pretty sure that's not what I meant.

But, after that happy bit of excitement, the rest of the weekend went on ahead without much of a hitch. My father was going to come out on Saturday to install the telescope he got my husband and I for Xmas (don't ask � perhaps I'll write about this in the near future) but wussed out when he thought he get caught in a snowdrift driving home. When it didn't even start snowing until way late in the afternoon.

Whatever.

Dusty and I made blueberry muffins instead.

And then on Sunday: SNOW!

Five and a half inches of the stuff!

It was beautiful, glorious, and just right for snowmen. We all went out and played in it for awhile. Dusty abandoned the snowman pretty quickly and decided to clean stuff off the deck with her broom instead. Okay, whatever. Red just stood there and wanted to be held. She thought the all white world was nice but she wasn't about to walk around in it. And, well, I have to admit, it was well past her ankles so it probably was a bit treacherous for her to navigate. So, my plan to clean my car off, in preparation for an outing later in the day, was delayed so that I could lug a well-bundled child around in ankle deep snow.

Then, we went in and started a fire using all my previously shredded documents as kindling. That shit burnt good, I must say.

Later that afternoon, my mother came to babysit so my husband and I could go to a pre-V Day's movie. We saw The Matador. Mmmmm, Pierce Brosnan. The movie, it was funny. As was Brosnan. Man, I hope his wife realizes how lucky she is because, damn! Just, damn! How I would like to wake up to that face every morning. Sigh.

Where was I? Oh, reality. Right.

By the end of the weekend, the kitchen floor was TWICE as dirty as it had been before I cleaned it on Friday. You know that whole "satisfaction in a job well done" idea?

It's all total bollocksy bullshit. A woman's work is never goddamn done and that's why it sucks to be us.

At least until you're, oh, I don't know, scooping enormous turds out of the bath tub with your own hands.

Then, it's all worth it.

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