Owen had left for work. Breakfast had been made, and put away. My oldest son was dressed, groomed and sent to school. Diapers had been changed. The little ones were settled in front of Disney Junior. It was a good time to steal a moment for myself.
“What is that?” I asked myself, staring into the bathroom sink. All I could see against the peach porcelain bowl was little flecks of white and brown. “Is that toilet paper? Oh my gosh, is that poop?” My four year old daughter had been the last one to use the bathroom. “Naomi, come here!” I yelled across the house. “Naomi, did you put your poopy toilet paper in the sink?”
“I was trying to rinse it off.”
“Why?” I asked again.
“I don’t have an answer for that.” she said. That’s her new go-to line.
“Okay, we don’t put our dirty toilet paper in the sink. It’s very yucky. After we are done, we flush it all down the toilet… Let’s get you cleaned up.” I took her to the kitchen sink to wash her up. After I felt she was sanitized, I headed back to the sanctioned off bathroom. As I was cleaning up the sink (with slight disgust mind you), I found myself in the rare position of thanking God that I actually saw the poop-stained shreds of toilet paper. At least I knew that I needed to disinfect the bathroom, and scrub Naomi. Then I had the terrifying thought of “what happens that I don’t know about?” …which I quickly dismissed… Because there are some things I’m better off not dwelling on.
Not in the too long future, I was attempting to give my three year old a dose of antibiotic medicine. He and my husband had recently taken a week-night trip to urgent care. Mostly because my husband had been miserable with what turned out to be a pretty severe sinus infection. My son, wasn’t in as bad shape so the prescription wasn’t necessary at the time, just a back-up in case his condition worsened. We had been giving him saline solution drops in his nose, and some cough medicine before bed. But now his mucus was darkening. Just to let you know Elijah, my three year old, has an uncanny self-imposed gag reflex. He can actually get himself to puking before he has ever even taken a bite of something he thinks is going to taste gross. The remedy to this usually is to have a drink of water on stand-by and have him well prepped ahead of time.
“It doesn’t taste bad. Stop that. You have water right here. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to make you feel better. Stop doing that. You haven’t even tasted it yet. It might taste good!” Medicine attempt failed. Puke everywhere. After a brief pause of disbelief, I say “That’s it. Everyone upstairs! I’m throwing you all in the tub!”
“Mom, you can’t th-wo kids.” he said.
“You’re right Elijah. I didn’t mean I was going to really throw you. I just mean I’m giving you all a bath.” The baby too, all three of them. Just on principle.
And it wasn’t even lunch time yet.