Wednesday, September 17, 2008

The closest to a literal shitstorm I hope I ever see.

I think I'm going to let the hubby guest post the chronicle of this unbelievably fetid afternoon, an object lesson in less than good parenting, and the reason many former playthings (and books) are now in the trash, since he was the one home when it happened. So I will simply record my progress on my goals. (RIP Snuggle Puppy and Barnyard Banter. Not so much Biscuit Goes to School.) And to all the future parents out there, maybe you should skip this one. 

Cleaning: Involved many, many clorox wipes, a sink full of hot soapy water and plastic toys, and a lot of sniffing to detect whether said odor clung to random items apparently within poop-flinging distance from crib. And that's only a fraction of what my spouse did before I got home. And thank God for that because it prevented me from strangling him.
Exercise: 60 minute treadmill, back in the blissful morning. 
Studying: Listened to one study cd (60 minutes) while driving, unaware of what was happening at home.
Employment: Met with a former co-worker to brainstorm internship sites, ditto above.

Oh, and P. is now sleeping on a mattress on the floor! Like a big girl! We had planned to transition to this soon, just not, you know, today. Vaguely laid plans are often shat upon, apparently.


Carlyle said...

Wow...I'm not sure I want to share now. If it makes you feel better, Penny just peed on me while sitting on my lap.

JG said...

Oh no, you must share. Come on. It'll make those of us with melting-down four-year-olds cling to anankle feel moderately better. So, it's like, for the public good. Pleeeaase?