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I may have eaten poop today, and other minor calamities

When I was taking a shower today, Kaylee ran into the bathroom yelling, “Hey Mommy, I pooped in the potty!”

I did the requisite cheering that all moms do when they’re potty training their kids, and I asked the all-important question, “Did you wipe?”  She assured me she did, and then she ran off again.  A minute or two later, she came back and said, “It was a stinky poop!”  I congratulated her on her pooping skills as best I could from the confines of the shower.

While I finished my shower, got dressed and dried my hair, Kaylee busied herself playing around in my office by pulling stuff out of my desk drawers, yelling at the dogs and digging through a candy jar – the usual.  Once, she wandered in carrying a chocolate Easter egg (the candy is not recent), unwrapped it and asked permission to eat it.  Later, she came back with one for me and I accepted the chocolate gratefully.  At this point in my pregnancy, I do not turn down chocolate, back rubs or offers to let me sleep in.

I didn’t really think about the fact that she had just finished telling me she pooped in the potty, nor that she is not tall enough to reach the sink and wash her hands by herself.  Even if I had, I might have accepted the chocolate anyway, because hey, it’s chocolate, and Kaylee’s a relatively careful two-year-old when it comes to messes.

At least, that’s what I thought.

About halfway through my getting-ready routine, I heard Kaylee yelling from my office, “Poop!  On my leg!”

Surely she jests, no?


I found her sitting in my new leather office chair with something brown smeared down the side of her left leg.  In a moment reminiscent of a certain Tina Fey movie, I found myself asking my daughter, “Is that poop or chocolate?  Poop or chocolate??”  “It’s poop!” she insisted.  I chose not to taste it to find out for sure.  Instead, I cleaned it off of her leg, my office chair and her feet, and made her wash her hands.  I tried not to think about the fact that those hands had just given me candy.

Shortly after this – as in, mere seconds later – I discovered that my iPhone was broken.  Did you catch that?  I said: My. iPhone. Was. Broken.

Those of you who have not fallen prey to iPhone addiction will not understand this, but everyone who owns one knows exactly what I’m talking about.  When an iPhone breaks down, it is soul-crushingly devastating.  How will I make a phone call?  How will I listen to music?  How will I check my e-mail from the car?  Will I have to resort to the old-fashioned pen-and-paper method to make out my grocery list?  I CANNOT RETURN TO THOSE DARK AGES.

Now, my phone was not run over by a car or otherwise physically destroyed.  It just wasn’t working.  I had to reboot it because it wouldn’t send out a text message, and then it just never came back on.  It had this little picture of an apple on the screen, taunting me, and that was all.


The best way I could think to handle the situation was to call Rob and complain loudly, maybe with some tears sprinkled in.  But my phone was broken, so I gave up on that plan and decided to do the grocery shopping instead.  (Without my list, as I mentioned, because it was stored in my phone.)

Just before Kaylee and I left, I checked the mail and found something I’d been eagerly anticipating: a security deposit refund check from my old landlord.  Woot!  Then I opened it to find that more than half the money had been kept, with no explanation.  And I would have loved to call the property manager and find out why, but my phone was broken.

Did I mention my phone was broken?  Because it was broken.  Broken.

So we continued on to the grocery store, where I made a valiant effort to remember what I was supposed to buy and almost had a nervous breakdown because I couldn’t find peanut butter.  Did I mention I’m also pregnant?  I can’t speak for all pregnant women, but this one is only capable of dealing with a maximum of two unhappy situations in one day.  This is why I almost cried when I couldn’t find goat cheese at the store yesterday (after also learning that I couldn’t buy a small part for the brake light of my car and would instead need to take it to a dealership to be horrendously overcharged).  And it’s why I couldn’t handle not being able to find the fucking peanut butter today.  I’d already dealt with a poop-smeared toddler, a broken phone and being shortchanged by several hundred dollars, and now someone hid the goddamn, motherfucking peanut butter.  Why God, why?


We survived the grocery store, if only barely.  Rob came home grim-faced, mostly because he knew he was coming home to a wife who was none too happy about her broken iPhone.  (This may have been because of the profanity-laden e-mail I’d sent him immediately after the phone died.)  I borrowed his phone and went to my office to call our old property manager, leaving Rob to fiddle with my phone with his magical techie hands.  And of course, of course, he fixed it immediately.  And get this: He doesn’t even know how he fixed it.  I am simultaneously annoyed and elated.

I left a polite message for the property manager, and just as I started playing with my own phone again (also maybe caressing it and giving it a few kisses), I got a phone call that the caller ID only showed as “blocked.”  And I answered it.

How stupid am I?

The woman on the other end, who sounded suspiciously like a computer but was not, informed me in her robot voice that I had won some weekly drawing.  Did I remember the survey I took the other day?  Oh, good.  Well, I should be delighted to know that I am the lucky recipient of a $200 gift certificate!  Yay!  Ohbythewayyouhavetolistentoasalespresentationforaproductyoudon’tneedokay?  So when can our delivery driver stop by?  Tomorrow at 3:30?  Ok, will your husband be there?  No?  Oh, sorry, we need you both there.  Tomorrow at 6:30?  Ok, see you then!

Son of a bitch.

In my frazzled state, I stupidly agreed to let someone come to my house and try to sell me an air purifier (I think) tomorrow evening.  It was in telling Rob about our appointment that I gradually came to realize that I have once again allowed my inability to say “no thank you, please go away” to get us into an awkward situation.

No problem, I figured, I can just call them back and cancel.  Hmm, wait.  The phone number was blocked.  And the card the survey guy gave me doesn’t have a phone number on it.  These bastards are good.

Now I have a moral dilemma: Do we answer the door tomorrow?  We still haven’t decided.

While we discussed the salesman situation over dinner (which I burned, by the way), I got a phone call from the property manager of the old house.  I won’t get into the details, but basically the homeowner (whom the property manager sort of represents) just doesn’t want to give us the rest of our deposit.  Yes, we left the house in immaculate condition.  No, there is nothing specific we are being charged for.  No, we can’t have our money.  Obviously, we will be exploring this further.

I realize that none of these events are tragic.  We’re all still alive, healthy and housed.  But I fully expect my house to burn down by tomorrow morning.  If it does, I’ll be sure to blog about that from my phone as we’re all standing outside in our pajamas, watching our possessions smolder.

Assuming my phone still works.

Reader Comments (8)

You poor, preggo lass. Believe it or not, I had a "poop or chocolate" situation yesterday, too: a brown stain on my shirt after I'd had a handful of chocolate chips and then took the little puppy out and he stepped in his shit. In that order. I, also, did not taste.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterKate

Wow! THAT is a really shitty day, in oh so many ways! I hope today goes better -- and that you all go out for dinner, just before 6:30 p.m.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterLisa

When you think about it, I brought your phone BACK from the dead. I made your iPhone a ZOMBIE iPhone. Thats extra cool. Although there are no visible wounds and zombie iPhones can't walk so there is not trademark limp. Sorry. Maybe there is an app for that.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterRob

Also, for the curious out there: I knew there was a way to hard reset an iPhone, but I wasn't sure how to do it. However, given that there are only two buttons on the thing, I held both down in a sort of two fingered death grip (not wholly unlike a Vulcan nerve pinch ) while mumbling varied threats at the thing and it worked.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterRob

There is a Pet Zombie app for sure. Not that I've considered getting it, mind you.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterPam

I've had to wipe mine and reset from defaults state twice. Not fun. Vulcan death grips are better.

October 6, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterKate

[...] But Kaylee’s pretty good.  I always put the dogs outside or in the basement so they won’t harass her and vice versa, and I leave the bathroom door open in the hopes that I’ll hear any screaming should disaster strike.  We’ve yet to have a serious issue, other than the poop incident. [...]

November 15, 2009 | Unregistered »

Urteter nuytre:

January 25, 2011 | Unregistered Commentersnogipsunfoms

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