Friday, May 27, 2011


In exactly two hours, I am going to be sitting in a pedicure chair at THE SALON!!!! MY salon! You know the place--the one with the french music?


Our boys are fighting over me, yet nobody actually wants to DO anything with me. Our older son, for some reason, is feeling more secure if I sit at the foot of his bed while he lies there watching his videos. If I try to talk to him about his day, he looks at me as though I am from another planet and says, "All done, please."

Well, alrighty then. Guess I'll just sit here.

This is about the time that our younger son yells up to me to come downstairs, please. I excuse myself from the bedroom to go to our younger son. Frankly, it feels more like I am housing a foreign exchange student that just looks like my child these days because he only speaks Pokemon, an extremely foreign and complex language to adults. Our younger son does not want to converse. He wants an object at which he could spew his Pokemon facts.

Suddenly, I feel like nothing but a piece of meat in my own home. My views aren't wanted upstairs nor downstairs today. To heck with it. I'm going to go to the Mom Cave then. Let's see if the even notice that I am gone!

Sigh. I shouldn't complain. The past hour sure beats the whirlwind of activity that came along with our older son when he got home from school today. The poor kid can't get his bowels regulated, and he's on a daily regime of supplements to help him with his...ahem..."lower motility." Well, let me tell you, his lower digestive system finally uncorked itself today---IN A BIG WAY!

Too bad none of it made its way into the toilet.

Sure, I want to be disgusted. I want to scream when it has happened for THE FOURTH TIME IN TWO HOURS. But, I just feel so terrible for him. He has no dignity, standing there naked with BM running down his leg and smashed in between his toes.

"Uh-Oh!" I say to him as much as possible. "Accidents happen! Everyone has had them. You are being such a big help to me while I get you clean! "

He smiles. I'm happy to help him, but, really, it does get old. By the time my husband arrives home, I don't say good-bye to anyone. Out the door I run to my beloved salon. Despite all of the scrubbing I've done, the smell of BM is permanently etched in my nose.

Somehow, the salon helps me reclaim my glamor. I sneak in a little girl time, and, wow, do my toes look pretty!! I come home feeling quite the package.

Nevermind the fact that, in the middle of the night, when I was awake with our older son, in a dark corner of his vacuum room, I manage to plant one of those newly pedicured tootsies into a cold pile of BM that had slipped past me earlier today.

Yeah, I sure am glamorous! :)

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