Our children can bind your bowels more effectively than Immodium AD in a ball of cheese with their special tag team version of stress and psychological warfare.
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The moment I’m focused on Nora is the second that Owen decides to scale the safety fence and try to bash his head open. Owen needs his diaper done so Nora decides to use the toilet and pee on herself and slip and fall in her own puddle. After twelve plus hours of wrangling cracked out midget mental patients I’m ready for silence and sitting but my body has other ideas like eating, sleeping, and foremost – evacuating my colon.

As I descend the steps to the basement to do “laundry” after clearing up from dinner on a typical night, the kids know this means to leave me alone and gang up on their dad. Except for this past week. Jamie has sequestered himself in the basement on self-imposed quarantine with bronchitis. The same bug the kids have had except they’re still not well and our sitter is sick as well. Shoot me. This could only be worse if I was climaxing and someone ran into the room to beat me with a shit covered stick.

Speaking of shit and unwanted interruptions, I’ve had my fill for a lifetime this past week. Along with screaming, snot, fevers, temper tantrums, toddler injuries, and managing to strain my lower back. Oh, and did I mention no “laundry” time?

The irony of course is that I’m caught up on actual laundry, cooking, and various other chores except for my own bathing, sleeping, and general grooming. The moment I attempt to be alone in the bathroom the pocket door slides open and giggling little demonic cherubs buzz around me like gigantic horse flies attracted to my excrement. If I don’t open the baby gate for Owen, he pulls at the bars while screaching and drooling like a deranged death row inmate. You try and relieve yourself under those conditions. I begged Nora to distract him from where I sat on the toilet but she responded, “I’m sorry, mama, I’m busy,” and galloped by the doorway on her rubber bouncy horse.

My big Friday night plans? I’m going to go clean the basement of Jamie’s germs once he takes a turn with the kids, reacquaint my desk chair with the shape of my ass, possibly watch TV that’s not animated while eating a warm meal and not being climbed upon; and, most importantly, do some laundry.

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