origin of the feces

Well, Valentines Day was heating up to be a fine one. Not in the sex dept. as my husband works all holidays, but when it came to sugar and scandal. it was fab. On my right side were a hot cup of joe and a box of Ferrero Rocher. On my left- the highly anticipated annual February Hollywood edition, Oscar loving Vanity Fair, of course. Hey, when you're a mom in the Ozarks and can't zip your jeans, it's the little things in life that can make you absolutely blissful. And blissful, I was...all cushed up in my soft, fluffy robe, elastic free jammie bottoms, size XL. Yep, I was headed toward a delicious morning. Then noon came, the fantasy ended, hubby took off to work and the kids began bouncing off the walls. I had to think of something quick. So one hour later, we were poolside..indoor poolside, of course. I thought it advantageous for the girls to have some time in the water. in keeping up with their swimming skills for all of the summer hell..er, I mean summer fun that we'll be having before too long. Besides, rug rats have a right to enjoy Heart Day, too, ya know. They completely possess my ole ticker, so it was only fitting the rest of the day would belong to them.

Everything was going pretty good as I kicked back in the chair watching them perform their splashy games and....oh, yeah, Mama is NOT about to get in a swimsuit. No way, Jose. I simply can not go there. I figure that Hillary Duff will most likely win an Academy Award before I ever have the guts to let any of it hang out again. Sadly, I think those days are over. Unless, Big Daddy's bonus check next month can cover about ten grand worth of body sculpting. Yes, even though this was a retirement community pool with no one under the age of 70, a gal's gotta have a little self respect...so I chose to stay fully engulfed in my sweats, cap and henley. As you're reading this, I am sure it is becoming quite apparent that although I've written and complained on this blog about the extra pounds I've been toting around for four months now....the sidewalks and barbells are still calling Mama's name...but she's letting it go straight to voicemail. I hope, eventually, that I'm inspired to do something as my Levi's are very close to stopping mid-thigh on the big tug...much less getting around to the zipping part of the nightmare.

I absolutely do not know what it is about my youngest, but for some odd reason when she gets in the water, her colon kicks into high gear. It's weird. Of course, coupled with her fascination of using every bathroom in town (much to my germ obsessed dismay) we found ourselves, like always, going through the whole spiel of shoes back on, toys put off to the side, towels around shoulders..etc. No sooner had we got back into the pool just minutes later, my little T. hollers from her flaming pink noodle, "Mom-mom, I have to poop again". Before I could swear under my breath and begin the whole song and dance one more time..all the while making a futile attempt to explain to W. why she can not stay alone in the pool while I busy myself with her sissy....T. was standing on the side, having pulled herself up from the ladder, both hands over her rump, grimacing. I quickly gathered the flip-flops, readying all to visit the john a second time when...wham. Or should I say splat. Actually, splat times three. Yep, my wee one couldn't hold back and there ya have it. Not one but three piles of it. Right there. Poolside. With approximately..I dunno..about 25 peeps watching it all unfold. Yes, I was having my Slumdog moment. Except minus the Oscar. Oy triple vey. I announced to the swimmers, that "We have a bio-hazard here, folks"...and then ran like a bat outta hell with the girls to the potty to suds, rinse and raid the joint of all cleaning supplies. I'm sure they probably thought I was going to get in my car and put the pedal to the metal (don't think it didn't occur to me)...but return, we did, in about five minutes or so, to three steaming piles of third-world glop and a stranger who looked a little like Bea Arthur, holding a jumbo can of spray disinfectant in her hand. "Accidents happen", I say. "Yes, they do", she said, shoving the can and about 28 paper towels in my arms.

So it was there I scrubbed. For roughly twenty minutes..on my hands and knees.. while jerking my head up and down like a turkey trying to keep an eye on my two mermaids while also performing an intricate nauseating tango with the swimming mats. They had recently replaced the squarely interwoven, easy to clean kind, with these super tiny slitted ones. A Q-tip and a jet-fueled, high powered spray blower would have been nice but I had to do it the old fashioned way- with elbow grease and utter humiliation. The good news was that everyone was more than happy to accommodate me by using the other ladder on the far side of the pool. T. begged me to go into the hot tub at the end of our Jaws nightmare, but 'uh-uh, no way', I said. 'Let's not bring any heat onto the subject'. Needless to say, I used a water glass for my wine that night after tucking my little love bugs into bed.

Yes, many say Valentines Day is just a commercialized tool for retailers. I say it is definitely all about love...no ifs, ands or butts about it.