So I was counting down the days (hours, minutes, seconds) until the first day of school. This had nothing to do with attempting to work full-time from home while hosting the kids for two camp-less weeks. Oh, no! I was just super-excited for the kids to start their new school year adventures, of course.
Like me, Astrid gets anxious about being late, so I wanted to ensure she had a good amount of time to transition into her new room. School starts at 8:30. It was 8:13. We live three minutes from school. We’d be plenty early, lots of time to get used to new routines and meet new teachers.
The car was packed, everyone had on footwear, things were looking good. But as I stretched out my hand to turn the doorknob to leave, Akeyla piped up: “I have to go poopie.”
Being a once-a-week dumper, this process has been known to take upwards of a half-hour to complete. The math didn’t look good. I begged.
Me: Can you please hold it until we get to school? Sissy needs to be there for fourth grade. Just two minutes! [Because this seemed fair to the preschool teacher.]
Me: Ok, hurry!
Akeyla: I will be super, super quick. I will push and push and push.
Astrid: MOM I AM GOING TO BE LATE!!! I HAVE NEVER BEEN TARDY!!! I AM GOING TO BE LATE!!!
Me (lying): We’ll be fine.
But as the minutes ticked down, my anxiety level rose along with Astrid’s. She donned her backpack and began nervously pacing around the mudroom, growing ever more distraught.
I needed back-up. So I called another mom and left a desperate message: “I need help! Something, something, man-dump, late, pick up Astrid, poopie, help?”
And voila! They practically apparated onto my driveway to whisk Astrid off, who was now standing on the back steps, backpack straps clenched in her white-knuckled fists.
Me and Akeyla? Well, somewhere around 8:47 – THIRTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER — she finished.
“DON’T FLUSH!” I screamed as I got a visual on the john. There had to be four pounds of shit in there and no way was it going down. It had to come out. I grabbed a bunch of plastic bags from Target and started scooping feces out of the toilet into them. I raced outside to the big can. And remembered it was garbage day. So I marched down our long driveway toting a literal sack of shit to the curb.
Then I poured bleach all over my entire body.
Then I plunged my hands into a cauldron of boiling water and marinated them in Purell, while reciting Lady MacBeth’s “Out damned spot!” soliloquy. Then I cut them off.
Key did a little dance of joy, practically levitating at her newfound lightness.
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