The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Category: poop (page 2 of 3)

An auspicious sign!

 

“If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours forever. If it doesn’t, it never was.” ~Chinese Proverb

 

Remember this guy?

He was Bucket Head’s favorite trick-or-treating loot last year, until he lost him in the yard and Ike, our insatiable dog, gobbled him up like a rubbery green Snausage.

We sure were sad about losing that cheap little stretchy green skeleton. And when I say “we,” of course I mean “he”…because frankly, I couldn’t give a shit.

Unlike my dog, who did give a shit… a very entertaining shit, in fact. And finding that favorite little toy encased in that foul crypt a few weeks later was just the closure “we” needed to move on and find a new favorite toy. Goodbye stretchy green friend.

{Insert sound of screeching tires.}

Not so fast.

Lookie what Nature Boy found in our garden the other day:

Nice.

Looks like the worms and dung beetles picked him clean. Well, pretty clean. Cleaner, let’s say.

Like I care. Shoot, that formerly-poop-entombed toy is one of the least disgusting things that kid touched all day. He’s in middle school now, don’t you know.

I guess that means this cheap little toy is ours forever, according to ancient wisdom.

Now, some might take this as an affront, a cruel twist of fate. As in: “THIS is what I get back? Really? Not the tennis bracelet I lost on a walking tour of Asheville in 2002? Or the dreamy future Hollywood movie and television star I briefly befriended in high school?”

No. Not me. I’m not bitter.

One of the few things I have control over in my life, theoretically, is the way I respond to life’s little curveballs. So instead, I choose gratitude and joy.

I think it is very auspicious that this little green toy keeps coming back to me. I’m certain it is a sign of resiliency. It reminds me that no matter how crappy things sometimes get, if you wait long enough, it will get better. Now of course I’m talking about “the small stuff” we all sweat, not that suspicious lump growing on your neck, Aunt Betty. Get that checked out, for Pete’s sake.

The other reason I take delight in the reappearance of this little toy is that I’m pretty sure it firmly cements my position in the blogosphere as the Princess of Poop. The Queen of Crap. The Duchess of Doo-Doo. So be it.

Hey, we all need a niche. I’m just trying to go with the flow.

So I’m going to wash the daylights out of this resilient little green skeleton and then put him in my “Shit My Kids (and Dog) Ruined” box. Maybe someday I’ll take all those little partially eaten and melted and broken tchotchkes and turn them into ornaments for a funny little “Holy CRAP, Parenting/Dog Owning is HARD” themed Christmas tree. Maybe I’ll do that when Mini-Me is in high school, as a supplemental form of birth control. Yes. I like that idea. I like it a lot.

But until then, it’s poop, poop, poop, poop, poop, poop, and more poop for me. Bring it. I will survive.

My toilet bowl is half full,

~Iris

One giant poop-covered © 2011, The Bearded Iris.

 


The Story of a Baptism, a Magnet, Some Poop, and Karmic Retribution.

Four years ago when Bucket Head was just a baby, we had him baptized at our church one early Saturday afternoon.

Sadly, that was before I owned a decent camera, so I didn’t take a lot of pictures, and the few I have aren’t great.

But it was a beautiful sacrament and many of our local family and friends were there to celebrate it with us.

After the baptism, everyone came back to our house for a party. I had a brisket rarin’ to go in the crock pot for barbecue sandwiches and some of my famous vinaigrette cole slaw marinating in the fridge. My sister-in-law Ellen brought her slap-yo-mama-it’s-so-good squash casserole (I think she puts crack cocaine in it, just sayin’). And of course, there was cake. Everything was delicious.

After the meal, the kids were all playing quietly in our basement playroom with their cousins and friends while the adults hung out on the deck, sharing stories and enjoying the fresh air.

Looking back, it was the calm before the storm.

Suddenly, four year old Mini-Me steps out onto the deck, her body sideways and obviously hiding something, and says…

“Anyone want to see a magic trick?”

“Sure!” we all chimed together.

So Mini-Me slowly and dramatically turns her body to face us and points with both hands to her midsection while singing an enthusiastic “TA-DAH!!!”

There, in the middle of her belly, but on the outside of the pretty yellow sundress her Aunt Teresa had just bought for her, was a magnetic rock…”magically” stuck to her dress.

It was one of about 20 such rocks that came in a pretty velvet pouch with an educational instruction sheet about magnets…a Christmas gift from the kids’ Uncle Teddy. I thought it was a great gift at the time: educational, interesting, fun! So much better than the “My First Chainsaw” or pet snake I’m always expecting. It goes without saying, Uncle Teddy is their favorite uncle.

Seeing Mini-Me’s “magically” suspended magnetic rock, we all cheered and said “Bravo!” and “What a cool trick!” and “Aren’t you clever!” as doting relatives are wont to do, probably all (like me) assuming that she had on some kind of belt with a metal clasp under her clothes and that’s how the magnet was sticking to the outside of her thin cotton sundress.

I even said something like, “Don’t tell us how you did it because a good magician NEVER reveals her secrets!” (Wink, wink!)

Being only four, and genetically incapable of keeping a secret, she immediately blurted out “It’s easy! I just swallowed a magnet!”

“WHAT?!”

D’ja ever see a grown woman in a party dress spray a fine mist of wine out of her mouth and nose in a six foot radius? You did if you were on my deck that day. Sorry about the stains, Nina.

And…cue the flashback:

One time, when I was three or four, I did my own little magic trick. It involved a piece of chalk, my toy box positioned upright like magician’s cabinet, my nose, and the phrase: “Now you see it… now you don’t!”  Yeah. That trick didn’t end so well. My dad especially enjoys the part of the story where the attending physician in the ER just so happened to be Mr. Most Likely to Succeed from his graduating high school class who smugly inquired “So, Ron, what are you up to these days?” Ouch. But I digress…

Wiping the wine from my face and chest, I began to question my daughter further: “Honey, tell me the truth… how is that magnet sticking to you?”

“I am telling the truth. I swallowed a magnet.” To prove it, she then plucked the magnetic stone off the front of her dress, lifted the sundress up to reveal her bare belly, placed the magnetic stone on her naked belly button, and let go. It totally stuck there, defying gravity and logic. Hand to God. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own four eyes.

I raced for the phone and called my pediatrician’s office. It was a Saturday, so I had to leave a message with the answering service and wait for him to call me back. Thankfully he responded immediately.

He was as astounded as we were. “Let me get this straight…there’s a magnet sticking to the outside of her belly? Through her clothes? Because she swallowed a different magnet?WOW! Those are some seriously strong magnets!”

Once he got over the initial shock, the main thing he wanted to know was HOW MANY magnets had she swallowed. Apparently swallowing ONE is fine (as long as she didn’t choke on it). But if she had swallowed more than one, we’d have to get her to an emergency room, STAT. Multiple magnets can cause the stomach and intestines to bunch up and stick together, even perforate internal organs in their magnetic pull to be together.

I may have heard him say “internal bleeding” and then I think I heard the words “potentially fatal if not treated immediately,” but I’m not sure because the sound of my heart beating in my ears was drowning him out.

I asked him to please hold while I put my hand over the receiver and questioned Mini-Me as calmly as I could: “Honey, you’re not in trouble, just tell Mommy the truth. How many of those magnets did you swallow?”

“One.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeth.” (She had a really pronounced lisp at the time.)

“Doctor, are you there? She said one. But I don’t know if I should believe her. She’s only four and a bit…um….creative (aka: bitch lies like a rug). Should I take her to the ER?”

I think he told me that she would be in some kind of discomfort or pain if she had swallowed multiple magnets and they were ripping through her intestinal walls. So, no, I didn’t need to go to the ER unless she was in pain. So my next task was to make sure she “passed the magnet” sometime in the next couple of days. If she didn’t, she could have a blockage, and that could be bad.

Great. Not exactly the fantasy you envision when you dream of becoming a parent, is it.

So for the next couple days, I was Mini-Me’s designated bathroom buddy. Every time she pooped, I was there, with rubber gloves, digging for buried treasure.

It was truly, without a doubt, one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. But I did it. Multiple times. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Eventually, she passed the magnet and we all rejoiced. It was about the size of a nickel. I scrubbed it and disinfected it…a lot.

The reclaimed magnet, pictured next to a nickel for perspective.

Then I put it in a special little metal heart-shaped box. And I’ve been saving it in that box ever since.

I had always intended that I would have it made into a pendant for Mini-Me one day, with an engraved “This too shall pass,” somewhere on the necklace. In my mind, I pictured giving it to her after her first big break up, or when she loses her first job.

But one week ago, this well traveled little magnet temporarily disappeared from it’s special storage spot and my mother-of-the-year fantasy was shattered (once again).

If you follow me on Twitter, you may already know some of that story. It was a very difficult day around here.

But on a positive note; it’s been said that grandchildren are God’s reward for letting your children live. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I know I wasn’t the easiest kid, but you’ll be glad to know that karma is alive and well here in North Georgia.

-Iris

© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris.


Knock knock. Who’s there? Dead squirrel!

Today’s edition of Just the Tip Tuesday is a triple header!

1.) Always keep your toilet lids closed.

2.) Always look in the bowl before you sit down on the toilet.

3.) A plastic milk jug can be fashioned into a very handy makeshift disposable scoop.

Surely you are now on the edge of your seat, eagerly awaiting more details about how these three tips are related. Just make sure it is not the edge of a toilet seat. Because after you read this, you’re not going to want to hold court on the porcelain throne any longer than necessary. In fact, Uncle John, I am going to just go ahead and prescribe you an extra large dose of daily Benefiber so you can speed up your daily doody time and greatly reduce your risk of having your butt bitten by a panicking squirrel.

Look, I don’t make this stuff up. I swear. It just finds me. And I love it. My life just wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t regularly enjoy email exchanges like this:

Kristen: “Soooooooo….. guess what happened to me today??? Dead animal in my mother fucking toilet. A little squirrel. Stiff. In my terlet. I’m so freaked out…I thought I’d share that with you.”

Iris: “Nuh-uh! How the fuck did it get in there? What did you do? Flush it?!”

Kristen: “I don’t know how it got IN there… I had gone in earlier to make a deposit, and half an hour later Jack went in to pee and found the little fucker…dead and stiff in there. ‘Mom, There’s somfin’ in the toilet, you gotta see it!’ That’s never a good way to start a sentence. But, I made a scoop out of a milk jug, and scooped the fucker out and threw it in the woods… where it hit a tree and bounced into my creek. And then I poured a gallon of bleach in my toilet.”

Iris: “Well there, that sounds like a perfect ‘Just the Tip Tuesday’ column if I ever heard one! ‘How to properly dispose of a dead squirrel in yer terlet.’ – a guest post by Kristen.”

Kristen: “LOL Dude…. now that it’s out of my house, and I’ve had 3 dranks… I can laugh at it. Only I would have an already dead varmint in my terlet.”

image credit: Iris’s son Nature Boy

And so that was the end of that. Or so I thought.

By the way, she wasn’t speaking in code. “Dead squirrel in my toilet” is not a euphemism for poop, like “Chattahoochee Brown Trout” or “Taking the Browns to the Super Bowl.” She was really talking about a squirrel…a real squirrel…dead…in her toilet.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Which lead to more questions.

How in the hell do you get a squirrelly in your swirly?

How did it die?

What would have happened if it wasn’t already dead when her kid went in there to pee?!

And OMG, what is Kristen feeding her kids?

I just had to know more. So I looked it up. I Googled “squirrel in my toilet,” to be exact.

And it turns out it’s not that uncommon.

Kristen honey, don’t feel bad, it’s not only you who gets a varmint in your toilet. Actually, you are lucky he was dead. It could have been way worse.

Check out this 911 call in Oklahoma.

There’s even a collection of short stories by a woman named Rebecca Cooper titled “There’s a Squirrel in My Toilet.”

So how DID Mr. Squirrel get in there? That’s what I want to know!

It’s unlikely that my friend Kristen is feeding her kids squirrel. (That bitch is crazy, but not “Squirrel-Taco-Tuesday-Crazy.”) And even if she is, odds are pretty low that one of the kids could swallow, digest, and poop out a whole squirrel, even a whole baby squirrel.

And the lid was closed, so he didn’t jump in there himself and close the lid, a la “hide and seek, you can’t find me!” style, most likely.

Best I can figure, squirrels get into toilets via the drain-waste-vents (DWV) found on roofs. According to Wikipedia, the purpose of the pipes, sometimes known as stink pipes, or in Kristen’s house: stank pipes, is to release the natural gases that build up in plumbing systems. Unfortunately, it appears as though those pipes don’t usually have a baffle on them to keep out wildlife.

That means the poor little curious baby squirrel was probably frolicking on Kristen’s roof, possibly playing hopscotch and/or singing a verse of Little Bunny Foo-Foo, when he came upon one of the aforementioned stink pipe. “Wow – neato!” may have been the last thought on his juvenile rodent mind when he lost his footing and plummeted three stories down to the bottom of the pipe. Kind of like the squirrel version of Baby Jessica Stuck in the Well. Somehow though, the squirrel managed to maneuver its way through the S-curved pipe at the bottom of that stink pipe and into the toilet bowl.

Good Lord, that poor baby squirrel! Kinda reminds me of that scene in Shawshank Redemption. You know the one:

“Andy crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of shit smelling foulness I can’t even imagine, or maybe I just don’t want to.”

Only poor little Squirrelly didn’t crawl to freedom. Oh no. He crawled to his death by drowning in a closed toilet bowl…a tomb of unspeakable horrors.

Which sucks for him, but works out nicely for us humans who probably don’t want lost, terrified, feces smeared squirrels running amok in our homes. Most of us anyway, unless you’re one of those freaky animal hoarders, in which case, put some nuts on your roof and leave your toilet lids up and maybe you’ll score some extra furry friends.

I’m just glad for Kristen it was a baby squirrel and not a roof rat. Those bastards can swim. Or so I’ve heard.

So keep a lid on it, guys. You never know what’s gonna show up in your can. You know, now that I say it, that’s probably a universal truth. Look for t-shirts and bumper stickers in the near future.

And if something unwanted does make an appearance, try Kristen’s Hand-Crafted Milk Jug Scoop-and-Toss. Wish I had thought of that the day Nature Boy clogged and filled my powder room sink to the rim with regurgitated double cheeseburger and onion ring jamboree. Sheesh.

always an adventure,

-Iris

P.S. – A vote for The Bearded Iris is a vote for squirrel-free toilets everywhere! Please help other fun people find me by casting your vote…for me…The Bearded Iris…at Babble.com’s list of the Top 50 Mom Blogs of 2010. I’m currently hovering around #21. Thank you!


Don’t try this at home.

This week’s Listography over at Kate Takes 5 is all about Bad Combinations. Here are a few perfect examples taken from Kate’s sister’s Facebook page:

Wind \ Hair \ Lipgloss

Old people \ The Internet

Bikini Waxes \ Dignity

To which Kate added her own list of five. Very funny – and true. Especially if you have young kids and/or know what Sudocream is.

I’d like to add a few of my own, based upon personal experience. The rules of Listography limit me to just five, which is unfortunate because I feel like creating bad combos might just be my forté. Come to think of it, pretty much every Listography I’ve ever participated in deals with the inappropriate pairing of things… like gum chewing and Communion wafers, Catholic Picture Bibles and Satan reach arounds, nine year old suburban white girls and Barry White albums, emotionally retarded adult children of divorce and weddings. Hmmm… have I just cracked some kind of top secret Irish code?

So, not wanting to take the easy way out, I thought I’d reflect on some additional bad combos I’ve experienced in life. Here is just a small sample, ribbed for your pleasure:

1.) snapping turtle \ impromptu roadside petting zoo

snapping turtles bite... duh.

Image credit: Phillip Higgins

Apparently, they’re called Snapping Turtles for a reason. Who knew?

2.) chopping jalapeno peppers \ removing contact lenses
I’m pretty sure every child in my neighborhood is now familiar with the howled version of the phrase: “HOLY FUCKING HELL! MY EYES! MY EYES! I’VE BLINDED MYSELF! AAAAAHHHHHHGGGG!!!”

3.) really nice Scouting dads \ me \ playing cornhole


4.) Christmas party \ winter white wool dress slacks \ explosive diarrhea
Honestly, I don’t know why I don’t just wear a diaper to my sister in law’s house every Christmas Eve. I’m not sure if it is her homemade eggnogg, or the raw oysters, or just a psychosomatic response at this point, but something horrific happens in my bowels every year shortly after our holiday dinner at her house. Every. Single. Frickin’. Year. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m not invited back next year, so it shouldn’t be an issue. Wow, imagine that, a poop story. Weird. So unlike me.

5.) parent-teacher conference \ speech impaired child \ dick jokes
True story. Last week The Gatekeeper and I went in for Bucket Head’s Speech IEP (Individualized Education Plan). Partway into the meeting, Bucket Head comes over to tell us “Look at my magic dick!” Of course, what he was holding was not his penis at all, but rather a magnetic wand, or STICK. However, since he can’t articulate beginning blends like “ST,” he substitutes the “D” sound. “Stick” becomes “dick.” Magical? Indeed. Oh yes, I did. And oh no, it wasn’t appreciated (or probably even noticed). Feeling the unbearable weight of the airborne potential joke, I even asked Bucket Head to repeat it: “What’s that thing called honey?” “My magic dick!” “Oh that’s awesome! Daddy has one of those too.” Nope. Nothing. Like casting pearls to swine, I tells ya. But thank God for you people! At least someone appreciates my humor.

Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to prepare some skits for my church’s Vacation Bible School. What? Is that another bad combo? Oh, fine. Don’t worry, I won’t perform them sober.

yours truly,

-Iris

© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris.

Pootorial

Make your own DIY fake poop out of upcycled cardboard! Funny and practical, kids and fun parents LOVE this easy, green, hilarious craft. Great for pranks!

Greetings! For today’s Just the Tip Tuesday post, I’d like to share with you a simple pleasure that has brought my family much joy over the years. It is the art of making a fake turd.

This is a simple, green, and no-cost craft that is fabulous for children of all ages. It is important to note that I don’t typically enjoy crafting with children, particularly my own. However, this is so incredibly easy and the results are so entertaining that I just can’t resist.

For this craft, you will need only three things:

1. A bowl of water.

2. A cardboard toilet paper or paper towel tube. The bigger the tube, the bigger the turd. I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m thinking a wrapping paper tube would be super fun.

3. Two hands. If you are differently abled, one hand would probably suffice. I don’t think this craft would work though if you have hooks instead of hands.

The pretty girl is optional.

My lovely assistant will now demonstrate the steps needed to transform the cardboard into a turd:

1. Using your hand(s), rip the cardboard tube open lengthwise.

2. Submerge the cardboard into the bowl of water and move it around so it gets nice and soggy.

3. Now remove the cardboard from the water and start to form the fake turd with your hand(s). Squeeze the wet cardboard so that it will bunch up into a long, compact, moist, brown, wrinkly cylinder.

4. Be patient. It can take a minute or two of good hard squeezing to form the perfect turd. Here’s one that’s almost ready…


5. A few more squeezes and…

Need a cheap, easy, green, and FUNNY craft to do with your kids? Check out my POOTORIAL on making fake turds using recycled materials and just two other ingredients. HILARIOUS and practical. Kids (and fun parents) LOVE this.

Voilà! Pretty awesome, no?

Wait, here’s a close up so you can really appreciate the details:

Need a cheap, easy, green, and FUNNY craft to do with your kids? Check out my POOTORIAL on making fake turds using recycled materials and just two other ingredients. HILARIOUS and practical. Kids (and fun parents) LOVE this.

The best part? My eight year old daughter is able to complete this craft completely on her own. That’s what those in the Montessori community call “mastery.” Just look at the pride emanating from her masterful little face as she lovingly cradles her new fake turd:

Once you have a fake turd or two in your arsenal, it’s time to play. The choices are endless. Here’s one possible vignette:

A little obvious for my taste, but the kids sure like that one. Personally, I like the element of surprise. For me, turd in the shoe equals F-U-N.

Some other ideas for using your fake turds include dramatic play such as puppet shows and story telling reenactments of momentous bathroom events.

You can also craft with your fake turds. I’m thinking googly eyes and little outfits and hats would be a hoot!

Or how about mixing in torn colored construction paper during the turd making process to simulate dietary changes. What a safe and and fun way to explore what happens when we eat corn or beets or cupcakes with blue frosting!

And of course, there’s always good old classic family games like Turd Toss, Find the Turd, and Turd Tag. Let your imagination be your guide.

I hope this earth-friendly craft brings you and yours as much joy and satisfaction as it brings my family!

fondly

-Iris

© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris.

If you enjoyed this piece, I have an entire Pinterest board called “Poop is Funny.” Join me there and let’s giggle together!

Follow Leslie’s board Poop is Funny on Pinterest.

Oh, sh!t.

So I go to take Bucket Head to preschool this morning and as I’m getting into the car, I notice that something is wrong.

Hmmmm. I don’t remember leaving all these plastic baggies in the front seat, I thought to myself. Upon closer inspection, I realized “the baggies” were actually just one baggie that had been shredded into numerous pieces. Near the plastic baggie shreds were also several fruit snack wrappers and granola bar wrappers, also torn to bits.

But the big give away was the torn tissues and napkins. I knew as soon as I saw the white fluffy confetti on the floor of the passenger seat that Ike had made his way into the car sometime in the last 12 hours.

"Who, me?"

What the…? How in the world did he get in there?

Then I remembered getting home from my in-laws’ Super Bowl party and carrying one of the sleeping kids into the house, leaving the van door wide open… which to Ike, is simply an invitation to an all-you-can-eat-buffet, doggie style.

I’m a mom. I drive a mini-van. I transport three children to and from a variety of activities every day. Thus, my van always has a cornucopia of crumbs and snack-stashes and dirty napkins strewn throughout it. For a dog like Ike, it is The Promised Land.

Usually, I don’t mind if he takes a quick tour of the van and sucks up the stray crumbs. But the shredding of the baggie, the wrappers, and the tissues means that he had way too much unsupervised time on his hands last night. My bad. Come on, the Steelers were on!

Scrounging for crumbs in the van isn’t his typical hunting style though. He’s usually much more brazen than that. He’s more of a kitchen-counter dine and dash kind of guy. And he’s not very good at covering his tracks. Like the butter wrapper I found on the kitchen floor this morning after my shower.

Or the toothpaste tubes I used to find under my bed before I got wise and started keeping them out of his reach.

The kids are pretty good about not leaving food around. We watch out for each other if someone needs to leave the table, and it’s not uncommon to hear Bucket Head say to his siblings “Protect my food. I’ll be right back,” because inevitably, Bucket Head always has to get up and go to the bathroom the minute he starts to eat. He is Ike’s favorite source for unattended food.

But Ike’s appetites aren’t limited to food, tissues, and toothpaste. He enjoys a variety of toys and art supplies as well. Usually we can hear him unabashedly chomping away on something suspicious and can save the toy before he swallows it. Some toys, like this vintage Fisher-Price Little People girl, put up a really good fight and are hard to swallow.

But other toys, like the stretchy green skeleton that Bucket Head carried around for weeks after Halloween, go down silently and quickly, only to be horrifyingly encased like Han Solo in the black Carbonite. Lucky for you, dear reader, I just so happened to notice this little gem while we were playing in the yard not too long ago. Poor green stretchy skeleton. We will miss you.

My husband, The Gatekeeper, would like you to know that he does not endorse my apparent affinity for scat photography or dressing the pets in Hanna Andersson pajamas.

© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris.

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