things I've recently fished out of the toilet

Zander, my 2 year old is potty trained, and gets bored while sitting on the pot. Occasionally, I come into the bathroom to find him, sitting, hands gripping the seat, staring down into the bowl.

"Sorry Mom. Sorry Mom. It was a-ass-i-dent! I pwa-miss. So sorry!"

It started with a full roll of toilet paper, and the bowl was clean, free of any droppings. Easily fished out, he had not yet flushed. However quick and pain free it was, I'm not super eager to plunge my hand into any toilet bowl, bagged, gloved or bare. I was not happy. He received the mini lecture as most 2 year olds would, with a "But why, Mom?".

Not fully understanding my explanation of how toilets clog he tried it again. A couple weeks later it was full bar of soap, and this time he flushed. The toilet slowed for a day and came to a screeching halt after my 8 year old son had a session on it after school. In an attempt to make it all go down my son held the lever down extra long... "Maaaaaaa-OM!"

"Dammit!" I yelled, without even thinking about the ears around me.

I begged and pleaded with the murky, rising toilet water, "Please! Come on, Please! No, no, no, NO! NO! NO!" Ew. It overflowed just enough to make me feel like the whole house was contaminated. Over the course of the next week we tried a variety of solutions; plunger, coat hanger, plumber snake, electric plumber snake, even bare hand with screwdriver. Luckily we have another toilet which was free of debris. Eventually the soap bar came free.

Next was the partial roll of T.P. He dropped it in my parents loo over our Christmas stay. Staying away from home when you have young children brings on a whole slew of emotions and obstacles. This stay was no different. A crazy 2 hours past Zander's bedtime, at least one of which had been spent "going poop", I'd had it. I called in my husband to go fish this one out.

Today, after he'd gotten completely comfy in his bed, stories read, I'd just zoned out and started to think about all I could get done in the next 55 minutes while he slept, Zander sat straight up and shouted, "Gotta go poop!" 20 minutes later, at least 10 "You done yet?" inquiries from me, he yells out, "My car is all clean. Yep, all clean and shiny!"

"Oh, shit." I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes as I head towards the stink. Full bowl, all sinkers including the matchbox car. Still seated, legs open enough for us both to see the loot, he looks up at me shakes his head. "Dammit."

it started yesterday when I began to feel sorry for myself. Not super unusual for me, as a stay at home mom sometimes the most fun you can have is a self-thrown pity party. But it caught me off guard none the less.

I was relatively happy and was excited about the upcoming events. I'd recently returned from a trip home for a week with my kids for Easter. By home I mean the place I was born and raised which is a small island community. My parents, and my brother and his family, still reside there and it had been nearly 6 months since our last visit. It was a great visit, drama free. And my kids (11 months and 6 years old) enjoyed exploring their grandparents home and tolerance for noise and mess.

Upon return I felt great. Happy to have had the time to go home seeing as though I'm a stay at home mom. After a day of catching up on the mess of laundry we (my hubby and I) decided to paint the kitchen cabinets. All cabinet doors came off leaving baking ingredients, a jumble of Gladware, miscellaneous canned items we'd moved from a house we'd owned 2 homes ago, and other unhealthy and unappetizing boxed food exposed to the world. Or so I felt. The job of painting became nit-picky and monotonous at best. 24 hours later I was done with it. I felt as though each coat of paint I applied only put us backwards two steps in the process. Each night my husband came home and inspected my work the report he gave was less than inspiring. "Looks like a lot more sanding. They've stuck to the newsprint again, and there's more drips." We all know I don't do the sanding so what I took from that was, "Jesus Christ! You're so damn sloppy! Are you completely useless?" Sensitive am I? Sure. I'm pent up all day long in a house with an 11 month old who'd rather I not leave the room he's in and my only alone time is sometime in the afternoon when he naps. Naptime is almost always interrupted by the rumble of the school bus when my 6 year old comes home and wants to discuss why Star Wars' characters Ankin and Luke Skywalker are so much alike.

So somewhere between the poor paint job on the cupboards and going to bed I began to feel sorry for myself. I emailed my husband. I let him know that he had no idea how I felt. His reply was, "I don't know how you are feeling but if it is trapped, isolated, bored, paranoid and confused, then just know that you feel like everyone else."

Everyone else? Come on. This was supposed to be my pity party!