So today was splendid. One of those summery, hazy days accented by a wind so wistful it felt like a lovers caress (if a lovers caress occasionally whipped dirt into your eyes and upended the outdoor furniture.
Anway, so it was pretty nice.
Today was also that final languid day of summer holidays. Tomorrow the year would really begin, tomorrow the Big Kid and the Middle Kid would begin their institutional year with School and Kinder opening its doors to the pitter patter of the marauding hoardes of bored, sunburnt, slightly larger little people.
But that, my friends, is tomorrow. And today was today.
[Needs a stiff drink before retelling the events of 28.01.15]
With innocuous undertones, I began the day with a mission in mind. To enjoy the summer, relish the final day of holiday fever…and, you know, tuck a little bit of work in (just a little bit…big grant due, trying to get it in on time…yanno, for future employment and all).
bribed promised the girls a bountiful playdate filled with all the joys that their imaginations could muster: but first, mummy needed to work. So let’s just work together, play nice, be creative and Eat All the Snacks that I had dutifully laid out with my Undies on the Outside Parenting Moment (“Not just Tasty! Healthy Too!”).
And it TOTALLY worked! It was so freaking fabulous, I could of cried for joy. I trimuphantly hit ‘send’ on the grant, raised my weary body from the chair and stepped into the hall…
…and into a full sensory assault.
WHATISTHATSMELL??? WHYAREMYEYESBURNING??? WHYOHWHYAMISTILLBREATHINGTHROUGHMYNOSE????!!!!!
The house, was silent. I could hear the rapturous delight of my eldest two children taking in summer’s gift of awesome, while here, in this House of Hell no light penetrated, no swift breeze offered hope of reprieve..
I stumbled my way down the hall, whispering with increasing fervour: “no, no, no, no, no, no, no” as the dawning realisation of what it was that was attacking my senses was verified, at the precise moment that I lunged into the lounge room and saw…
Smeared, clumped, flung. And there, with a look of defiance and a smattering (not unlike the patterns of poo on the wall behind her) of guilt, was the Creator of Excrement herself.
Steaming pile of slightly oozing poo that had yet to be relocated remained on what was her nappy (diaper for y’all playing away from home). This is what one *might* refer to as ‘Caught Red Handed’. Except the colour scheme is all wrong.
Like a master negotiator with a person on the wall, I gently (slight undertones of rising panic – or was that vomit?) asked Squirrel Baby if she had done Poo [Here, I feel the need to remind readers that in tense situations where you are faced with a slightly unstable, unpredictable Two Year Old, there is no such thing as Too Obvious. One must let the Two Year Old see an opening, a way out of a really (and I mean really) bad situation so as not to incite further escalation of really bad situation].
This was bad.
As Squirrel Baby saw her opening, looked at the steaming pile in her hand and realised that she was Totally Busted, her defiant/guilty expression morphed into one of increasing alarm and total amazement, that somehow, in someway and totally unbenkownst to her she has found herself inextricably covered in her own excrement. This turn of events, her resignation that the poo party was over allowed me to take in the greater scene and notice the details. And like in a slow motion movie scene as Squirrel Baby took a fateful step towards me, it was then that I began to realise the extent of excrement.
Her toes, squelched (yes, squelched) into a hot steaming piece of poo, it oozed between her toes; she looked down to see what that feeling was and her hair fell into her face; she reached over with her free hand to sweep her golden locks aside and left a giant, brown smear across her chin, up over her lips, across her eyelid, onto her forehead and into her hair. I gazed across at her hand. Covered. Chunky Style. I gagged.
There was just nothing I could do to alleviate the situation but dive straight on in. I reached over to grab the offending nappy and faster than the speed of light, I had it wrapped bagged and gone for good. Before Squirrel Baby had a chance to spread the love any further I told her in no uncertain terms that she was to stay So Very Completely Still.
Cleaning an excrement encrusted Two Year Old is a new experience for me. Realising that poo can get under fingernails and clump to hair is a new experience for me. But most crucially, having a Two Year Old who thinks that they are totally toilet trained (but are not) and therefore live under the motto “nappies are for babies” is an entirely new experience for me. The moment that kid pees (or, as I have now learnt) poos, the nappy is off. Apparently having proven to us all with a triumphant Pee on the Potty two days ago has now meant that she is in total control. And she is.
And so as I crouch, in the darkened room, while the sun shines outside and the sound of children’s laughter wafts on the wind through the window, I scrub. I wash. And I pray that Squirrel Baby keeps her nappy on.
Of course, that totally didnt happen….
Butt naked and a tube of red paint (non toxic Darlink…it’s how we roll).