By Heather Burnett of Word to Your Mother
I’ve read a lot about epic mom fails and bad mom stories today, and while they made me laugh so hard I may or may not have peed my pants, they cannot hold a candle to my dysfunction.
I have three kids—two girls and one boy. Sounds typical, until you throw in that my boy has autism, then all bets are off.
Nathan loves water. Water is his jam. If you leave him alone in any room with water, you are asking for it.
And that’s just what I did, on a grand scale, a couple of months ago.
It all started with the day from hell.
From waking up to my son kicking my lady business and a cold shower, to realizing my teen stole my makeup and my only pair of jeans that fit, to losing my wallet… The day just sucked. Oh, and my daughter’s teacher sent home a note about my lunch packing skills. (Which also suck.)
Still, I made it through the day without losing it by repeating my new mantra: I have my act together. I am at peace.
I have a mantra because I’m trying to stop cursing.
By five o’clock, all I wanted was a plate of brownies and a mocha valium latte, but instead I focused my attention on laundry since the kids were starting to recycle old uniform shirts and towels and I didn’t want another call from the teacher.
To help my mood, I pulled up the 80’s playlist and got to folding. All was right with the world for about five minutes.
But when I heard my daughter screaming, I knew it had happened…. again.
“Mom! Mom! MOMMMMMM!!!!!!! HELLLLLLPPPPPP!!!!”
It was the toilet by the kitchen. This would make the fourth time Nathan had clogged it with a toy giraffe, article of clothing or an entire roll of toilet paper.
I calmly walked toward the bathroom, carrying the freshly folded towels to clean up any mess.
I have my act together, I tell myself. This happens to everyone, I say out loud. It’s fine. No big deal. (When I am about to go psycho, I talk to myself out loud.)
I could still hear my playlist; Jon Bon Jovi was singing about Livin on a Prayer. I could do this. I, too, could live on a prayer.
Until I looked in the bathroom.
There was my half naked son smiling at me, so proud of what he had done. What we had wanted him to do for so long all by himself. He pooped in the potty.
The potty that he had clogged.
Then the potty overflowed. What I saw was a bathroom floor flooded with sewage and a giant turd on the edge of the toilet seat.
Oh my gosh.
I had to get to work drying up the water—fast.
I knew the drill.
I calmly asked my daughter to take Nathan into the other room so that I could start cleaning. I stayed pretty calm throughout the process and didn’t curse one time (out loud).
Then, just as I was finishing, I heard the toilet flush again.
What the hell?
It was Nathan.
Somehow he had gotten back into the bathroom and flushed it.
He laughed at me as the water started rising once again.
About that time I heard the song.
The piano at the beginning.
I recognized it right away.
Oh, Lord no.
Bonnie Tyler was singing to me. That haunting voice…
Now the giant log was getting caught up in the new flow of water, and I was afraid it would make contact, so after yelling at my daughter to get her brother, I asked her to get me the spaghetti strainer.
She asked if that was what we were having for dinner because she wanted sloppy joes.
I explained to her that we were not negotiating dinner right now and that I was literally in a shit storm and needed the strainer.
She obliged. And swore off spaghetti after she saw me attempting to corral the fecal matter into the vessel that drains her noodles.
There was Bonnie again.
But now the water was coming so fast that I had to drop the strainer and try to cut the water line off.
It was as if Old Faithful had erupted from inside the toilet. I managed to turn the water off, but not before a good two inches of sewage made it into my bathroom for the second time.
I was on my hands and knees, covered in gunk, desperately trying to dry up any “water” that had made its way under my daughter’s cabinet when I found myself face to face with my fiercest adversary of the day.
My son’s giant turd.
Every now and then I fall apart….
Damn you, Bonnie Tyler!
That is when I lost it. I mean LOST. IT.
Nobody should ever have to come that close to actual crap. Nobody.
Somehow I had made it through every obstacle that day with dignity, yet there I was, covered in crap, wet from the sewage, ugly crying like a baby, sitting next to the toilet on the bathroom floor.
Every now and then I fall apart.
Me, too, Bonnie. Me, too.
And that’s how you fail people.
This post was originally posted Word to Your Mother.
About the Author
Heather is a stay-at-home mom of 3 suffering from STS (small town syndrome). She enjoys reality TV and hates to clean. When she’s not trying to locate the other white sock, you can find her on Twitter or Facebook attempting to regain her sanity. She is the creative genius behind Word to your Mother where she blogs because its much cheaper than therapy.