Cars and Poop (Can’t think of a better title)

Car Drama

I always look forward to summer break with its endless days by the poolside, sipping mimosas, and reading a good novel. Car drama and pool are not a part of this vision. Every year I forget, that summers as a single mom are the exact opposite of that. In addition to running my “boot camp” for my kids, I’ve had my fair share of car drama. We have been to the mechanic no less than six times and called Triple A for a jump start, then a battery replacement, and finally a tow back to the mechanic.

Yesterday evening, I was driving the kids to soccer when the car died like a champ. Luckily it waited to take its last breath as I rolled into my parking space. I had promised the kids that we would take a dip in the pool next door after soccer so at least we had something to do while we waited for the tow truck.

This is Where the Poop Comes In

 

I was counting my blessings that at least we could have fun in the midst of a bad situation. My son begged me to go off the diving board and I thought “what the heck? why not?” I got up on the board after my son went off and patiently waited for him to swim to the side of the pool. When he got there I called out,

“Do you want me to dive or do a canon ball?”

He didn’t respond.

“Dive or canon ball?” I repeated. Still he didn’t respond and he appeared to be frozen in place.

“Hey, Bud. You need to climb out so I can take my turn.”

This is when I noticed the look of concentration from the part of his face that was turned towards me. That expression looked familiar but I hadn’t seen it in years. Then I heard a grunt, and then another.

“Are you pooping!? I shrieked.

At this point he started to climb out on the ladder and as he did, three huge logs floated out of his bathing suit.

Crap! Literally! There was no hiding this or playing it off. To make matters worse I had to supervise swim lessons at this pool the following morning. I dismounted the diving board and forced myself shame-facedly over to report the incident to the lifeguards. The whistle sounded and the direction to clear the pool given. Chorus of groans and “whys” replied as people idly swam to the side.

“Why do we have to get out of the pool?” My son asked.

“Um, are you serious? Because you just made it your toilet. Now go wipe your bottom, rinse your suit out and change into your clothes.”

I wanted to cry. My son has closed many a pool in the past. Last year we somehow broke the streak and remained poop and puke free at the pool. I was confident that we had passed those days. We got dressed and left the facility to wait for the tow truck.

More Poop

It was almost eight o’clock when we got home, tired and hungry. I was so happy to be in the air condition and just wanted to pass out, when I smelled it. Poop! I followed my nose to the carpeted living room to find a liquified peanut-butter colored mess left by my dog. My kids ordered me to clean it up immediately and I complied, washing my hands thoroughly before fixing dinner.

But there’s more… poop that is…

The following day, I had to supervise swim lessons at two different locations, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. I also had to take one kid to a doctor’s appointment and somehow get groceries in between. Fortunately, my parents loaned me one of their cars so I could get that all done. We arrived to the second pool late that afternoon and I got to work. My kids went off and played and were relatively well-behaved. We’d been there about two hours when my younger son came running to me announcing that his brother had pooped on the floor in the bathroom.

Son of a B!

Of course, the two-time offender blamed his brother because he was using the one toilet available in the men’s room and he said he just couldn’t hold it anymore. After cleaning up the bulk of the mess, I made my walk of shame to the lifeguard table for the second time in twenty-four hours and reported the crime with a suggestion of them hosing down the floor and chlorinating it. I was met with blank stares and thought that maybe they didn’t understand so I repeated the story and was met with more blank stares so I went back to supervising swim lessons and hoped that they would kill whatever microbes were on that floor.

Yeah… so that’s my summer so far

So far the past two days are a good metaphor for my summer so far. I can only hope that one day we all look back and laugh at this, because right now I’m still a little bit traumatized. The only thing that would help me to recover is to have a week off by the pool side with endless mimosas and a stack of good books. Here’s to dreams!

Cheers!

Single Mom Unfiltered

 

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