Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Motherhood: For the Love of Pete & Dysentery

I am a super mom.

Yep. Su-perrr.

I gave up my fastidious nature that some might call OCD with triumph. I gave over the responsibility of the kids' bathroom to them. I was teaching them independence.

No enabler here. Responsibility was a life lesson--I read it in all the parenting mags so it must be so.

It became their full responsibility a few months back. It seemed to be going well.

So well, for the love of Pete, I ceased spot checking.

This. Was. A. Mistake.

My first clue was the amount of toilet paper being consumed in the downstairs bathroom.

Puzzled, I wondered had they forgotten they had a more convenient commode upstairs? Yet I didn't catch on that, perhaps, all was not well on the home front.

Nope, no one ever called me quick in picking up on my parenting mistakes.

Yep, parenting mistakes--I has 'em. We all do.

So along comes spring break and I happen to smell an odor. We will call it eau d'honey bucket. A je ne sais quoi odoriferous experience...oh just along the lines of visiting the freaking gorillas at the zoo.

Ever the vigilante, su-peeeer mom, I rallied. I investigated and found the most horrific site ever beholden in the land of plumbed bathrooms.

It seems several WEEKS BACK --YES, WEEKS I SAY WITH ALL THE HYSTERIA CAPS CAN IMPART-- one of the kids plugged the toilet yet again. My husband usually takes care of it. Apparently, he was tired of the plugs and no one telling him immediately. So he, IN HIS INFINITE WISDOM, let it stay plugged until someone fessed up.

Suffice it to say, our adorable mad shitter did not fess up. In the meantime, a certain younger child continued to use those facilities. Use them he did, until our suburban commode was turned into all the archaeological layers of a pitt toilet.

Apparently, the demise of a working order throne, encouraged my young denizens to stop all cleaning. I turned around and screamed again. There was mold growing in the shower. We live in Seattle people. It's moist here. Vigilance is key to fighting back--back I say--the flora and fucking fauna of our emerald isle. Black mold had invaded their shower.

Every crevice. crack. and tile. Even the shower head was moldy, streaming down unspeakable fungus on their wee noggins.

I screamed. I admit, I freaked. I instructed the kids in a very terse, tight, and barely controlled voice how to unplug the toilet. I then supervised them cleaning ever single freaking inch of that bathroom.

Every. single. inch. Yes, I channeled my basic training drill sergeants. They were my chain gang and I was their warden with a shotgun...errr....bottle of su.perrr bleach.

THREE hours with three cranky scullery maids later, every baseboard, sink, crevice, crack, and mirror sparkled. Every blasted drawer and under cabinet space was emptied. Every shampoo bottle and toothpaste tube disinfected.

My friends? I think they realized the errors of their ways. My teenager and two preteens have realized their mom was once enlisted. Drill Mommy had them on their hands and knees cleaning the spills around the commode. Comet was their weapon. On their hands and knees they would love, until every germ was obliterated.

...And that, my friends, is how I saved my kidlets from dysentery and learned never to trust teens with personal cleanliness again.


Thank you. I humbly take my bow.


Images via mali mish, kidicarus222, liquidnight/Flickr and Google.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dare I say, Oh Shit! ;) I guarantee you that is a lesson they will not forget.

Beki

Scout's Honor said...

{Snort} Oh, shit indeed! Heh!

Fran said...

Yikes! I've certainly learned something from this post...don't let your guard up even a little! I gave you a thumbs-up and review if only so I'd be able to find the post again. You know, for those days when I think I'VE had a bad day! lol

Marly said...

This is hilarious. Well, at least after the fact. I'm sure it wasn't so funny at the time. Way to reel in the troops!

Anonymous said...

I often channel the drill sgts of my past Air Force enlisted experience. My daughter gives me a look that says "Who ARE you??"

Love this post!

Lori

bitter divorcée said...

What I think it beautiful about this piece is that you celebrate teaching kids life skills,a victory over yuck, *without* the self-flagellation many mothers (including me), would indulge. "Oh. My. God. How did I let things get this way?! EPIC FAIL." No, you turn what could be "EPIC FAIL" into an opportunity to let your inner superhero-girl shine. Love it!

Sue said...

Unfortunately, you learned one of life's lessons that can only be experienced when teenagers enter your life. Never, ever, EVER let your guard down and give them "room" when it comes to cleaning. They'll burn you every time!

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