A few issues and a lot of poop

We have already established that I have issues with overwhelmedness (still a word). Lately, however, I am also having issues with inspiration. Perhaps it is the fact that Two Fish only has a week left of school and I'm sliding into summer mode. Perhaps it is the graduation committee that I'm on for his preschool. This committee involves kumquat trees and lots of meetings and will be addressed later. It could also be that I'm may or may not have offended One Fish's teacher last week in my attempt to offer suggestions that could jostle her class out of mediocrity in a last end of the year push. It could also be that Red Fish has had ear infections which have led to skin outbreaks (I don't understand it either...) and I don't know a mother who could resist obsessing over THAT. It could also be that It Is Time To Go Back To a little bit Of Work. And you know that sort of obsessing takes extreme mental energy. So, perhaps my overwhelmedness is really getting in the way of blog inspiration. In any event, my sister, who richly deserves a fabulous nickname and will get one when said inspiration problems resolve themselves, provided me with a story that is nothing if not blogworthy. So, having no motivation to write about my own life, I'll write about hers.

During a shopping trip last week, she realized in Gymboree that her oldest (JC) was a bit... stinky. Quickly realizing that she had forgotten her diapers in the car and would have to hike aaaaaaaalllllll the way back to the car to get them, she determined to finish using her Gymbucks before leaving. Who can blame her? I do, however,have a problem being sympathetic with her at this part of this story since she lives near a mall that requires one to walk a loooong way to return to one's car AND since she lives near a Gymboree. I have neither. But I digress.

She relates that the saleswomen in Gymboree begin saying things like "ooh my. Someone is a little stinky." She is much nicer than I am because I would have called their little 18 year old selves on it and remarked that JC certainly was and they should use their nanny skills and change her whenever they wanted. But she's a kind and congenial person and did just want to use her freakin' Gymbucks after all and wasn't in the mood for banter. So, she picked out the pieces she wanted, drove several other nose-pinching families from the store, and realized that perhaps the diaper in question was not going to make it back to the car without an implosion.

She hightailed it to the nearest bathroom and discovered gleefully that she had just enough quarters to get a "diaper changing kit" from the dispenser in the restroom. Perfect. She pops those quarters in and... nothing happens. The "kit" is stuck in the machine, just out of reach. She squats on the floor and reaches her hand up into the machine. Nothing. She beats on the machine. Nothing. She enlists JC's help to beat on the machine. This was a somewhat promising tactic until it had to be abandoned due to fears that it was attracting too much outside attention. Apparently being allowed to beat on a public machine was enough to make JC squeal with glee and shout at the top of her lungs "HIT BOX, MOMMY! HIT BOX!!" At a point of desperation, my dear sister (a truly wonderful mother) does what anyone of us should hope we have the wherewithall to do should we ever find ourselves in this situation. She pulled JC over to the machine and jammed her significantly smaller hand up the thing and said "Get the present, sweetie." That sweet little person tried and tried for her chubby hand to get the "present" as her mother wrenched and pulled her arm, trying to get it further into the box. All to no avail. Nothing.

Just when all hope was lost, the package comes flopping down into the receptacle at the bottom! Oh, happy day! Except, the diaper changing "kit" actually turned out to contain only a...diaper. No wipies as promised. No sanitary changing pad as promised. No disposal bag as promised. Just a diaper. By the time she finished changing the child with wet paper towels from the sink, there was poop everywhere that you may imagine it would be after this scenario.

By the time they got home, the little one (three months old) has a situation of her own. My sister (can I just call her TB for the time being?), discovers as she lifts her out of the car that the situation is actually an all-out blowout of epic proportion. JC of course, is a proper two year old and chooses this moment to refuse to get out of the car and annouces that she will be staying to play in the car while her mother takes her sister inside. Since they live on a quiet street and TB was nearing the end of her proverbial rope, she debates trying to drag her from the car while maintaining her at-arms-reach hold on the messy baby. She actually ends up just leaving her in the car (if she had a blog, I'd include the address so that you could send the hate comments directly to her instead of going through me first, but she doesn't. She's too busy with poop to do any blogging). In her defense, I'll say that I have done the same and also live on a very quiet street. There, now the hate comments can rightfully come here.

Anywho, she goes upstairs and finds that the blowout actually includes poop up the back and (get ready for this) down the sleeves of the child's outfit. I really, really hate disgusting blogs and stop reading at most mentions of bathroom habits, but THIS, dear readers, is quite impressive, no? BEsides, it's baby poop and that, in my opinion, is much less gross.

She gets that situation taken care of and debates what to do with the outfit. She determines that since it has now been through two children and The Blowout Of All Time, that she may treat herself by just throwing it away. I think she deserved at least that, don't you? At least she had the foresight to pick up a few things at Gymboree that day.

That's all I've got for today.