Once Upoop A Time

Buckle up, grab a drink, and have a seat class, it’s story time with Tori.

Once upon a time there was a mother and two children. On this particular afternoon one of her children was visiting with their grandparents while the other child was at home with the mother. The mother chose on this afternoon to help her husband with his latest wood working project by painting the table he recently finished. The daughter was playing outside.This is blissful for both parties for several minutes. 

Then, mid painting (with black chalkboard paint, btw), the daughter hastily comes up to the mother and says “MOM! I ACCIDENTALLY POOPED IN MY PANTS! WHAT DO I DO?”

The mother pauses, stands, and looks at her child.

“What do you mean you accidentally pooped your pants?” the mother queried. 

The daughter, apologetic sounding, followed with “well I didn’t know I was pooping”. 

The mother stops, takes a deep breath, and calmly explains to the child that she needs to go to the bathroom on the first floor, disrobe, use the toilet, clean her bottom, then proceed upstairs to find new clothing. The daughter affirms that she understands these instructions and scampers away. 

The mother continues painting.

After three minutes, the mother realizes that she gave multi-step instructions to a hot mess klutzy four year old. She drops the paint brush and rushes inside. Nothing in any parenting book could prepare her for the horror she experienced.

The downstairs bathroom was curiously empty. Signs of what can only be described as a caca-infused struggle were present. Shit smeared the walls, floor, and toilet. Inside of the toilet was more shit. Fresh poop. The room was a Jackson Pollock of feces. 

Clearly the child listened, the mother thought to herself, amid the horror. 

Then she noticed there was only one piece of clothing on the floor – her child’s jacket. “Oh no” she uttered out loud. She looked around the room for signs of where her daughter had gone. Like any good fairy tale character her child had left a trail for her mother to follow. 

Each step quickened her heart rate, her stomach began turning, “please do not vomit” she whispered to herself as she ascended the staircase to find her daughter naked in the upstairs bathroom. 

“Hi mommy!” The child cheerily chirped.

The child was covered in feces. Hair, legs, hands, and feet. It was as if the latest beauty fad was a caca body wrap and this child was pioneering the service. 

Breathing deeply, the mother asked herself where to start and decided on a quick wipe down of the child before bathing her. One wash cloth took the bullet for this adventure; a brave washcloth that will never be forgotten for it’s service that day. 

After an initial wipe down, the child was placed into the bathtub and scrubbed 3 times to be sure all of the excrement had been removed. Upon removing the child from the tub, the mother handed her the towel and surveyed the room – hrmm…only a little bit of poop on the floor. Not bad. Wait…WHERE ARE HER CLOTHES?! A lonely shirt lay in the corner of the bathroom. “Darling, where are the rest of your clothes?!” The mother asked. 

“Oh, they’re in my room” her daughter replied.

The mother approached her child’s room as if a serial killer lay in wait to attack her. Carefully she turned the poop smeared  doorknob, anxious of what was on the other side of the door. 

There it was. Her daughter’s pants and underwear, entwined on the floor of her bedroom, full of an adult sized fistful of pancaked crap, laying poo side down on the floor, her school jumper next to it. 

The room’s floor, light switches, and knobs were smeared as if the serial killer had locked a bloody victim in the room and it attempted escape but instead of blood it’s feces and desperation.

At this time the mother picked up the phone, calling her husband, who had just sent a text indicating he was on the way home. “Pick up a bottle of bourbon. I’m gonna need it.” She said before shutting the phone off and getting to work doing her best Cinderella impression.

And that’s the story of how the mother’s house got it’s quarterly cleaning.

The end.

Advertisements