Kids Are Quite Gross

I am going to fill the first portion of this entry with meaningless words.  The upcoming story of rather gross kid happenings is, well, rather gross.  For any imagery to show up in the Reader or those quick little Facebook previews, I could not forgive myself.  Speaking of which, I do have a Facebook page as well right here: https://www.facebook.com/writershawncowling  I share not gross links on geekery and generally awesome things quite regularly.  Give it a like and let’s hang out on Facebook!

I think we are just about through the initial reading portion and things below the following line will not show up before the eyes of those that do not want to read such things.

Kids are gross.  That is a universal truth.  They are a bit like dogs, but dogs know their limits.  My nearly one year old son spends his time scrounging for floor food (Cheerios cannot be contained) and finding whatever source of general yuck he can find.  My oldest is four and always in a rush.

The oldest kid has a great fear of being delayed, or missing out.  He wants to take part in everything and anything that could possibly be happening.  He is most certainly going to be the kid that takes a summer off to backpack through Europe.  Hopefully he will not be the kid that takes the car and heads west one weekend to sate his wanderlust.  I have my doubts on that though.  He won’t travel alone.  He’s never been alone and his first moment of solitude will likely drive him mad.

It is this drive to consistently be involved that causes him to skip steps, very vital steps, in day to day activities.

The baby loves to follow his brother around.  To the soon-to-be-toddler, his older brother is a living god.  The baby always looks at his brother with wide eyes and a smile so bright it has melted quite a few hearts, Temple of Doom style.  Wherever the oldest goes, the baby is crawling quickly behind.

There are moments in an afternoon where the kids are left unsupervised.  Dinners are to be made, phone calls come in, tree limbs crash down in the yard; the ever watchful eye of a parent cannot always be on the little ones.  It is in these brief periods that chaos ensues.

It is in that moment of partial neglect that our story’s origin takes place.  But, the tale does not begin at the origin.  This story of a gross discovery begins with bedtime.

The baby had been set to his crib around 7:00, a quick little bottle and the sounds of the ocean wooed him to sleep.  He sleeps with his butt in the air these days, very humorous, and will be down for hours without moving an inch.  When 7:30 rolls around, it is time to begin the pre-bed ritual of putting the firstborn to sleep.

Sleep, to the firstborn, is the enemy.  He spends the half hour leading to 8:00 stalling and distracting in any way he can.  He has three things he must do before bed; go to the restroom, brush his teeth and put on his pajamas.  Three tasks that are akin to bear fighting in his mind.  for half an hour we say “go brush your teeth?” “Did you potty?” “You aren’t wearing your jams.”  Every night.  Some nights he moves a little quicker, but most nights he is in full on Operation Never Sleep, Ever, Sleep is for the Weak.  I will remind him of this when he’s older and all he wants to do is nap or sleep in.

He switched up his order of operations this night.  He opted for pajamas first then doing bathroom related duties (hehehehe).

My wife and I are trying to encourage independent behaviors and showing him that we trust his ability to do as he’s told.  So when he scurries off to the bathroom, she and I sit on his bed and ready for pre-bed story time.  This week we are reading Dragon Masters, another in the Branches line from Scholastic and is totally amazing.  We are sitting together muttering about how hyper distracted he gets when avoided bed when from the bathroom just outside the kid’s room we hear, “What’s that?”

“It’s a toilet,” I say, “you’ve been there before.”  I get really sarcastic with him after 8.

“No, what’s that thing in the potty?” He calls back.  My wife and I were both shocked that he was more specific in his description.

“It’s urine,” my wife tells him.  We giggle.

“No! What’s that?” the child says, adamant that we are completely wrong.

I get off the bed and head in to help him understand that indeed there is nothing in the -OH NO! There’s something in the toilet.

At some point in the afternoon the first born crept into the bathroom and…emptied his bowel we shall say.  Usually he shouts this particular action so we are well aware, then he elephant stomps his way to the bathroom.  Usually, he closes the lid and flushes when he’s done.  Not as usually he washes his hands.

None of that happened this time.  He was in a hurry to get to the next thing.  Taking care of business following taking care of business was all too time consuming and he had things to do.  We reinforced the importance of at the very least closing the lid for sitting at the bottom of a very gross toilet bowl was the baby’s pacifier.

The baby, being well versed in following his older brother into every room of the house, saw an open toilet that his older brother just sat on and decided to investigate.  In the course of his investigation his pacifier fell from his drool covered face and into the poo covered base of the toilet.

Neither child made mention of this event.  It had to have happened hours before the bedtime stuff began.  We are pretty sure the baby saw the pacifier takes it plunge and when reviewing the options said, “ew” and opting against retrieval.  He was not wet, not smelly, so at least one kid did something to prevent gross from entering the home.

When I stepped into the bathroom and saw the scene, knowing full well simply flushing away the problem was out of the question I muttered a few choice words.  Could not resist calling my wife in to view the problem though.  It was just funny enough.  She found some rubber gloves and removed the drain plugger.

We chatted for a moment about what to do with the poo-cifier.

“We could clean it with bleech?” was an idea floated for all of a second.  “That can’t go back into the baby’s mouth.  I don’t know why, but it sounds worse.” The response sounded.

“I only trust vinegar fire.  Set vinegar on fire and clean it with that,” was the final sound decision made.

The poo-cifier was thrown away.

We reminded the firstborn of what needs to happen following defecation.  He nodded his support for the “wipe, close, flush, wash” plan and then we went to read a book.

Some nights get out of hand in very unexpected ways.  Kids are very gross.

I share this story with you now in hope that it will expunge from my mind and I can move on from the night of the poo-cifier.  Thank you for reading.  What sort of gross things has your kid been up to lately?

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