You know the day is potentially going to be slightly ropey when there has been a poo accident by 7am, not just any poo accident, but one laid in a Fireman Sam onesie no less. Without the faithful pants to catch the offending item it’s anyone’s guess where that bad boy has ended up by the time the onesie is undone.
Mid hair dry the poop was reported in and needed to be dealt with. I ran a bath for Middle F and found him playing with the duplo, standing with legs parted as if, well, as if he’d crapped himself poor lad. Luckily the onesie was made of a fleece type material and so a bit of ‘friction’ had been created thus keeping the turd in place. That was a game changer, Fireman Sam saved the day yet again.
All cleaned up and ready to roll, Middle F scarpered back downstairs and I resumed the blow dry. 5 minutes later he returned looking a little concerned saying “Come and see this.”
Now, when a 3 year old needs you to see something it could be one of a thousand things, but the majority are things to be wary of. I entered the living room but at first could see nothing out of place, nothing other than the usual early morning shit tip that looks like we’ve been burgled already. Then I noticed it. The DVD player had the tray open ready to change the film, only instead of the usual DVD in place there was a puddle of apple juice. Sticky, aromatic apple juice, the type that when it dries you can’t tell if it smells like fruit, piss or a little vomitty.
When I calmly pointed out that under no circumstances should anyone now change the DVD other than an adult and that a drink should not have been that close to the TV anyway, Big T defensively explained that Middle F told an adult exactly where he was putting his drink and the adult said it was fine. That’s great, been caught out in that frantic moment where your child asks you something when you are busy looking for a very important item and you just agree because you have no idea what they’re talking about. So we had said that was a good place for the juice. Brillo.
Mopped up and ready to move on we began the next phase of getting dressed, feeling bad that my child had donned a pair of ‘jack up’ school trousers yet again because I keep forgetting to fish out and name the longer pairs. We had time to squeeze in a quick sesh of reading the phonics/words Big T needed to practise for school, he still couldn’t read the word ‘plop’ without creasing up. I admit though, that word is a bit funny.
Manically scrapping around for shoes I find Middle F’s by the back door. It’s at that moment I remember that they’re by the back door because he stepped in dog shite yesterday and were waiting to be cleaned. It all gets even more exciting now dog crap’s involved. Shit. Shit. Shit. Literally.
Not having time to embark on poo picking from deep boot tread, I dash to the car to find his wellies. Back on track. Loaded up and off we go.
Big T was dropped at school and phase one was complete. Walking home Middle F was cross that he couldn’t traipse through the grass and potentially pick up more dog turd, so had a good few manic screams to air his lungs. Spotting a trail of bright green snot running down his lip I reached for a tissue- no tissue- doesn’t every adequate mum carry a mass of tissues?! The fluorescent slug momentarily had to stay.
Upon return to the house I began the poo pick, ideal tool for the job was a kebab stick. Nice pointy end for removal of even the smallest grains along with a good length to keep as much distance as possible between the poo and me. Everything then smelt of poo. It had locked onto my nasal hairs and now everywhere I went I smelt poo, I probably was the one who smelt of poo and that was why I couldn’t escape it. Mind you, I would have been lucky to escape the aroma as it felt that’s all I’d been dealing with all morning.
Nearly ready to go I suggested to Middle F that he had a wee on the potty. He was up for that and sat down. Try successful, I went to get a piece of kitchen roll and anti bac only on return to find Middle F with his head down the loo. I asked him to please remove his head from the toilet to which he matter of factly stated that he had made his hair wet. Perfect.
I packed up little B to begin phase 2, the nursery drop off. Middle F waited at the front door whilst I got him and when I went to open the door I found him on his front with his nose pressed against the door mat. After the shoe poo experience I pointed out that is probably not somewhere he wants to be shoving his nose.
Arriving at nursery, Middle F refused to get out of the car. He began by lulling me into a false sense of security whilst I undid his belt and then like a bat out of hell he’s everywhere.
With the agility and skill of a gibbon, he frolicked from one seat to the next before I could catch him, remnants of poo shoe and poo particles being deposited all over the car no doubt. If it was like that salmonella advert (but for dog shite instead) where they highlight all the places invisible raw chicken ends up around your kitchen from your hands, there would be highlighter all over the bloody car I’m sure.
Eventually I caught the springy little fellow and took him in. Phase 2 complete.
I came home for a clear up. Not sure quite what to do with Big T’s dragon. Despite it being decapitated and clearly bin worthy, he refuses to let it go. He’s asked if we can erect a shelf just to store the headless beast. Jolly as he looks, not sure that’ll be happening…
After a quick sort out I turn the TV on to find Jeremy Kyle. Headline for the day being, “I slept with my mum’s milkman’s cat and now I’ve fathered an alpaca.” (or something similar) and it really hit home that the morning hadn’t really been that bad after all.