Motherhood is Glamorous!
Yesterday I was trying to replace the toilet seat in our master bathroom as Colin broke the bolt off when slamming the lid one day. (You can imagine how happy that made me!)
I finally got around to purchasing a new toilet seat, and was attempting to remove the old one. Easy, right? Just a couple of little plastic washers and you're set. Or not. Somehow the remaining washer seems to have been affixed with super-glue. I was in tight quarters, as I had to wedge myself in between the toilet and wall of the shower, where there was approximately 8 inches of clearance. Maybe. Maybe less.
So there I was, bent over the toilet, head upside-down, trying (unsuccessfully, I might add) to use a wrench to get the stupid washer loosened. Colin was watching me, and Ryan was playing on the new toilet seat. The Colin thought it would be funny to give me "buzzies" on my back, as my shirt rode up. Ryan of course had to get into the act as well.
My thought process then went something like this:
Stupid flippity-flappety bricken-bracken bolt! Loosen up you nasty bugger!
Why won't this stupid thing come off???
Goofy kids... that kinda tickles.
Ouch - damned wrench. Better be careful - don't want to crack the whole toilet bowl.
Colin, you're ridiculous. Oh , Ryan too? These boys.
Dagnabbit... this bolt! UNNNH! Why won't this thing pop off?
UNH! Did it move? Can I loosen it with my hand. ARRRGH!
Hmmm... that "buzzy " from Ryan felt a little wet.
My back feels really warm and wet... did Ryan lick me?
Then Colin exclaimed “Mommy! Ryan just frew up on your back. EWWW! It's getting on your pants... and your belt! EWWWW!!!”
I froze, realizing that the warm wet sensation on my lower back was vomit. Wait... maybe Colin was exaggerating and Ryan just drooled...
I carefully grabbed some toilet paper (which was thankfully close!) and wiped my back... yep. Wet, with small yellow-ish chunks. He puked. On me.
I turned and checked Ryan, who had a tiny dribble on his chin but was otherwise sparkly clean, wiped his chin, then proceeded to strip off my pukey clothes. Colin questioned why I was getting undressed... "Well, I can't keep wearing these clothes, Colin. They're all gross." I cleaned up, got dressed again, and then headed downstairs to finish making dinner.
I don't know if the housewives of the 1950s ever had to deal with this, but I can tell you that my life never measures up to the glamorous image of the charming and ever-calm moms who went around all day in a dress and pumps, with perfectly pressed children and met their darling hubby at the door holding his martini in their perfectly manicured hand as he walked in the door.
SIGH
I finally got around to purchasing a new toilet seat, and was attempting to remove the old one. Easy, right? Just a couple of little plastic washers and you're set. Or not. Somehow the remaining washer seems to have been affixed with super-glue. I was in tight quarters, as I had to wedge myself in between the toilet and wall of the shower, where there was approximately 8 inches of clearance. Maybe. Maybe less.
So there I was, bent over the toilet, head upside-down, trying (unsuccessfully, I might add) to use a wrench to get the stupid washer loosened. Colin was watching me, and Ryan was playing on the new toilet seat. The Colin thought it would be funny to give me "buzzies" on my back, as my shirt rode up. Ryan of course had to get into the act as well.
My thought process then went something like this:
Stupid flippity-flappety bricken-bracken bolt! Loosen up you nasty bugger!
Why won't this stupid thing come off???
Goofy kids... that kinda tickles.
Ouch - damned wrench. Better be careful - don't want to crack the whole toilet bowl.
Colin, you're ridiculous. Oh , Ryan too? These boys.
Dagnabbit... this bolt! UNNNH! Why won't this thing pop off?
UNH! Did it move? Can I loosen it with my hand. ARRRGH!
Hmmm... that "buzzy " from Ryan felt a little wet.
My back feels really warm and wet... did Ryan lick me?
Then Colin exclaimed “Mommy! Ryan just frew up on your back. EWWW! It's getting on your pants... and your belt! EWWWW!!!”
I froze, realizing that the warm wet sensation on my lower back was vomit. Wait... maybe Colin was exaggerating and Ryan just drooled...
I turned and checked Ryan, who had a tiny dribble on his chin but was otherwise sparkly clean, wiped his chin, then proceeded to strip off my pukey clothes. Colin questioned why I was getting undressed... "Well, I can't keep wearing these clothes, Colin. They're all gross." I cleaned up, got dressed again, and then headed downstairs to finish making dinner.
I don't know if the housewives of the 1950s ever had to deal with this, but I can tell you that my life never measures up to the glamorous image of the charming and ever-calm moms who went around all day in a dress and pumps, with perfectly pressed children and met their darling hubby at the door holding his martini in their perfectly manicured hand as he walked in the door.
SIGH
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