Sunday, 19 February 2012

Surely It Can't Get Any Worse...


Some days everything goes worng.  That typo, sadly, wasn't deliberate despite its remarkable illustrative utility.  I like to call less benign personal misfortunes a "kick in the nuts."

Sometimes a sequence of mishaps occurs and you are left wondering how things could possibly get worse, that you couldn't possibly get another kick in the nuts.

And then you do.

I love these moments.  I'll be at my wits' end wondering how a situation could get worse when, out of the blue, a final kick in the nuts is delivered and there is no recourse other than laughter.

Because if you didn't laugh, you'd go insane.

The scene of the crime
When the Little Dude was 18 months old I was talking to a cluck of mothers.  They were all talking about the disaster of a deuce in the bath.  I foolishly piped up to inform them that the Little Dude had never been so  vulgar as to muddy the waters at home.

As surely as night follows day, pride begets a fall.

From here it gets a little graphic. Not in any way that any parent would not sympathise with. But if you have never had the pleasure of dealing with a third-party poop, you may want to skip a paragraph or two.

That very evening the Little Dude was innocently playing in the bath when I heard him yelp frantically (why do kids get a fright when they see their own turds in the bath?!?).  I saw the tall dark stranger bobbing up and down in the gentle ebbs of the bathwater and quickly winched the Little Dude to safety. I patted him down with a towel and let him do his nightly nudie run through the house while I reached for a nappy sack to start fishing and finish cursing.

Unfortunately the integrity of the guano would not hold up against the scooping.  In short time there were two pieces, then four and then a thousand.  They were only outnumbered by oaths.

I slumped back in despair lamenting my predicament.  Should I just burn the house down, will that solve this problem? I let the run of swears from my mouth catch up with those in my mind.  I tempted the gods, "at least this couldn't get any worse," I muttered to the heavens.

The gods heard my plight, and they are a twisted bunch indeed.  At that moment the Little Dude stormed into the bathroom, naked as a jaybird.  He ran straight to the edge of the bath and threw his slippers into the mealy soup.

I laughed.  All I could do was laugh. Because if I didn't I'd go insane.

The elusive naked albino lawn nymph in its natural habitat

Fast forward to today, the Little Dude all of four years old.

Athena and I are quite organised.  We have little systems in place to make life easier.  One of these is to always have the nappy bag fully equipped and ready to go.  The same goes for a newly created swimming bag (we are living near the beach now).

The Little Dude had a swimming lesson at a public pool.  I grabbed the swimming bag and packed the kids into the car.  As soon as I had the key in the ignition the Little Dude said "but I haven't been to the toilet."  I slumped my forehead into the steering wheel dejectedly.  I asked him if he needed to go and he said he didn't and that he would wait until we were at the pool.

Off we went and there we were.  I had taken ten-month-old Squeaker for a dip and just before the lesson ended I was drying her at the edge of the pool in the company of the swimming mums.  I found a clean nappy in the bag but no clothes.  No real problem, the first and most important line of defense is in place even if it meant we wouldn't be buying dinner groceries on the way home (my kids and I have a deal, if they wear clothes to the shops, then so will I).  Forfeiting the grocery trip is a big dent in the afternoon's plans so I let out a little swear. I also noted a strange scent waft from the swimming bag but didn't have a chance to investigate it.

The lesson ended and the Little Dude bounded out of the pool looking overstimulated. He was giggling and had springs in his knees.  I reigned him in with much effort and a shortening patience.  I  peeled off his wet UV shirt and he fought me all the way.  More muttered expletives.

I fossicked through the bag looking for his clothes but couldn't find any.  I dug further only to unearth a bundled-up dirty nappy at the bottom of the bag. "Disgusting," was the second word from my mouth as I fought off an angry twitch from my left eye. At least I know where the smell was coming from.


Exhibit A: a most gruesome discovery
"Why must I be your plaything?"  I beseeched the gods. "Surely it can't get any worse," I muttered fatefully.

I turned back with towel in hand to dry the Little Dude only to find him completely nude and PEEING on the concrete next to the pool in front of the other parents, kids and instructor. He finished the world's longest pee and frolicked like an albino nymph around the pool lawn.

I laughed.  All I could do was laugh. Because if I didn't I'd go insane.

His words came ringing back in my mind "I'll go at the pool."  A man of his word, apparently.

There is a saying "time turns tragedy into comedy."  But the wait is reduced greatly if you get kicked in the nuts just one more time.


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4 comments:

  1. Heee-heeeeeeeeeeeeee! I laugh because I can relate. I have had many a pootastic day.

    By the way, the rainbow shot is fantastic.

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  2. Handled it like a pro, wonderful to read.

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  3. I spent many days feeling like a loser because I was the Mum who would reach into the bag and not find the clothes or like you - find the old nappy you had forgotten to take out. Thanks for sharing parenthood - warts and all :)

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  4. Oh my - I watched my oldest walk on water once when having a lovely shared bath with cousins and one failed to hold back...

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