So last night, Jackson pooped in the tub. He’s the 4th kid to do this. I like to think that my kids are relatively normal, intelligent beings, but when they do stuff like this I wonder if they will end up institutionalized or living on the streets wearing plastic bags for shoes. I mean, I know he’s only 2 ½, but he doesn’t even poop in his Pull-Up anymore. And he’s not the only one with poop issues. I spent 35 minutes on the phone with the pediatrician about the 7 year old who pooped into a Ziploc and stuck it in a drawer because she wanted to see what would happen (yes, my Justin Beiber loving DAUGHTER did this). Well guess what happened? She got to clean the entire bathroom by herself for a month, that’s what happened. The Doctor said it is mostly because she is a middle child and craves attention and partly because she really did want to see what would happen. He also laughed and said that it wasn’t THAT abnormal. Great. I’ll be sure to add that to my accolades -- “My kids aren’t THAT abnormal.”
Also, one of them pooped in the shower. I do not know which one it was because they had ALL taken a shower that day (even the 2 ½ year old who showered with his brother). Not only did someone poop in the shower, but no one told me about it. I discovered it while I was taking MY shower – it wasn’t a lot of poop, but it was smushed under a shampoo bottle. So here I am, butt-naked in the shower, trying to get clean, and I kept smelling something. What could that be? Grab the shampoo, and voila! Poop! Of course there is poop – why didn’t I start looking for poop immediately? So now, naked, and completely UN-clean, I am getting the bleach cleaner and scrubbing the shower floor and throwing away the shampoo bottle. After I finally DID get clean, I confronted the minions. The general consensus was that “Not Me” did it.
Not Me is this degenerate little brat who has taken up residence in our house. He’s the one who drew on the stair rail with permanent marker. He’s the one who painted smiley faces on the wall in fingernail polish in the playroom. He’s the one who dug a hole into the sheet rock in the closet with a wire hanger and then put random items like Legos and paper scraps in it for safe keeping. He’s the one who spilt the ink from the CSI Kit that my son got for Christmas (thanks, Grandma) leaving a permanent stain on the carpet in front of the closet in the bedroom. He’s the one who tried to conceal the fact that he had broken a goose neck antique lamp by using Bendaroos to hold it together. He’s the one who takes one bite out of random food items like tomatoes, apples, and bags of bread and then leaves them there to spoil. He’s the one who had the remote last – always. And he’s the one who pooped in my shower.
I like to picture what this little monster looks like. I imagine that he looks a lot like Stewie, from Family Guy. He most likely has fangs and claws, and he definitely has horns. He’s a sly little booger too – always stirring up trouble and then disappearing before any adults come around. I think that he lives under the children’s beds where they feed him Pop-Tarts and the remains of their Capri Sun pouches. I may never catch him, but I DO know that my sanity cannot handle very much more of Not Me. When the men in white coats come and I am drooling in the corner, rocking back and forth, clutching a container of Clorox Wipes in one hand and half full garbage bag in the other, they will look at my family and ask “What happened? Who did this to her??” And they will all answer in a sing-songy chorus “Not Me!!!”