I’ve been neglecting you fine people. On purpose.

I can’t blog.

I slept almost the entire day. Carter watched hours of Dora and Diego this morning. (Damn, I LOVE those two little bastards lately.)  I slept during nap time and lied on the couch the rest. It’s now 5pm and I finally got my ass up from the couch long enough to read email, clean my desktop and write this. Not shower though; haven’t done that yet. But the teeth are brushed, so it’s all good.

I feel so accomplished.  It’s wonderful.

So, I bombed my guest blog yesterday.  Sorry Ali. I thought it was going to be great as I started writing. *pout* Didn’t work out so well.

I wrote something else over here yesterday too (since today has been a complete wash). Please, take a gander… I need some hits so I don’t get canned. (Seriously, I’m not privy to the traffic information over there so I have no clue… but it makes for good guilty clicks.)

That’s all I got.

It will get better. Promise. I hope.

Hell. I don’t know.

Hi! I’m Laural from The Misadventures of (Mommy) Laural, and I’ll be blogsitting for Sam today. Luckily she gave me several days to think about what I was going to say, because a) I have never done this before and b) Sam’s blog is very different than mine. Her only guideline was that no asterisks were allowed, and one of my rules is no swearing allowed…

You can see my angst.

But, I’ve decided that blogsitting is an awful lot like house-sitting. And, so I got thinking about what it would be like to visit Sam’s house. I’m guessing that she’s the kind of person who would leave the cupboard full of yummy food, tell me to help myself and enjoy my visit.

So, here I am, feet up, sitting on my couch and enjoying my visit to Sam’s place (eating Hallowe’en candy) and I am ready and willing to discuss the one issue I’ve been thinking about for awhile … POOP – I’m sorry Sam …. Shit!

Here’s the thing. I’m a mom to a 3-year-old and poop has been on my mind a lot lately. Matt has been a trooper as we’ve been toilet training and have given up the diapers. And the occasional accident doesn’t really bug me – as long as it’s pee.

The poo does me in.

But I deal. Because he’s my child. And I love him. He also has a slight aversion to flushing the toilet. And, there’s something pretty gross about walking to the bathroom and seeing a fresh turd sitting waiting to be flushed.

But still I deal. Because I love him.

And we push on and I’m hoping by the ripe old age of 4 he’ll know that poop is private and you flush it.

The thing is … apparently some people never learned that. These people I’m referring to are the people I work with.

Up until April I used to work on my company’s “executive floor” where I rubbed shoulders with the CEO and senior staff. Some may call that a perk. It was fine. But, what I appreciated more was the fact that the toilets on that floor were self-flushing. I never gave a second thought to my co-workers’ bowel movements. But then I moved to a new floor. With new bathrooms. THEY ARE NOT SELF FLUSHING!!!!

Do you know what this means???? Nothing you say? That is because you are normal, and you flush. Apparently for my co-workers it means we do not flush. And I walk in to a floater at least once a day.

At first I thought this was just a mistake. But, it kept happening.

And you know what else I noticed? As another group of co-workers moved to a new location that renovated with, you guessed it, self-flushing toilets, the floaters became a bigger issue. Multiple times a day I walk into a bathroom and I see more poo.

It’s like someone is using their bowel movements to say Fuck You to our management who have not yet deigned to equip our floor with self flushing toilets. Yes, we have great vacation days, fair salaries, and a pleasant work environment, but the flushing capabilities of our toilets are causing people to revolt.

It’s bizarre. And nauseating. Especially nauseating since for the last 3 months I’ve been hiding my pregnancy and occasionally I have morning sickness. And, let’s be honest, when you’re going to puke you’ve gotta move fast and the last thing you want to burst into is an unflushed toilet.

But, I’m not about to take this sitting down (hee hee) so I decided to figure out the pooping bandit. For the last week I’ve been stalking the bathroom frequently. Now that I’ve come out with my pregnancy, no one thinks twice about me running to the bathroom frequently. And, let’s be honest, while stalking the pooper I do take the time to pee because I usually need to.

And then the other day I thought I found her. It was someone I’d never seen. I walked in, right into a stall (that I thought she’d walked out of) and there was that characteristic floater.

Aha! I thought. I ran out of that stall and said “I think you forgot to flush.” She started to laugh. And admitted it wasn’t her, but added that she has a tendency to visit our floor’s bathroom because it’s even worse on her floor. The reason - she’s convinced it’s because half of her colleagues got moved to the new area that was renovated with the self flushing toilets. As she said, “there’s less people but more messes. WHY?”

Why indeed? I tried to convince her to join my hunt for the poopers, but she mumbles something and walked away. I hope I don’t bump into her again.

So, I decided to give up my quest. It is a little weird to ask people if they are flushing.

So, I did the only thing that I could actually do. I found out who is responsible for the building renovations (which we are undergoing) and I’ve made my suggestion – auto flush toilets for all! Sure there are many many ways to make a difference in this world. And, someday, somehow I will. But for today, and just for today, I’m out to change my workplace one turd at a time.

And, until I sort out this issue and our toilets are self flushing, I’m going back to the executive floor to pee. Afterall, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and I have had it woth my co-workers’ shit.

Holla!

It’s Jennifer from Playgroups Are No Place For Children. Sam invited me over to play, so here I am, sharing a story about my fear of the dentist and a story I promised my husband I wouldn’t share. Good wife, I am.

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The other day, Tate and I both had dentist appointments. He had only 1 cavity. Me? I had 2.

Tate really loves to win. He especially loves to receive rewards *ahem* for his winnings.

He informed me that protein deficiencies are the leading cause of cavities in women of child-bearing age.

Nice try.

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Did you read the above line about me having TWO CAVITIES?!?! I’ve only had one other cavity in my entire life and now I have TWO. I blame my two pregnancies (or my love of Chocolate Malt Ovaltine) for this unfortunate turn of dental events.

I’m not what you call a “fan” of going to the dentist. I barely made it through just having my teeth cleaned. I hate when they poke that sharp tool into your teeth to check for cavities. One false move and you could end up with a nasty gash. Sitting there with my mouth open and not being in control of how much water the hygienist is spraying also freaks me out. Drowning, people! I’m afraid of drowning at the hands of this crazy lady squirting water in my mouth! And then that little suck-up-the-water thingy. Ewwww. I hate that.

Also, I’m perplexed as to why the hygienist makes conversation with you when you’re obviously not in a position to respond. I worry about nodding my head in response because of DROWNING or SUCKING accidents.

Don’t even get me started on the noises you hear while sitting in the dentist’s chair. Gaaaaarosss. Squirting water, suction noise, and of course, the worst noise…the buzzing of the tooth polisher. Even typing “the buzzing of the tooth polisher” makes me cringe.

So yeah, I’m not handling this I have 2 cavities thing very well. It is very possible that the dentist and the hygienist will have to tackle me to get me into the chair to have these cavities filled. Hopefully they’ll give me lots and lots of laughing gas. Or beer. Beer is good, but not if it’s in the spraying thing. I don’t want to drown in beer. That would be bad.

Am I the only one this freaked out by the dentist?! Send tips on how to get through the nightmare known as having a cavity filled!!

“Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.” Right? Right? Can I hear an “Amen!” from my peoples out there in mommybloggerland?!

My name is Megan and I write usually totally non-cliche mommyblogger stuff over on Velveteen Mind. However today, today my friend Sam’s friends, I’m gonna hafta go all mommyblogger on your asses. Yep, it’s just one of those days.

Last night, while poking random keys on my keyboard, knowing I needed to go to sleep but not being able to commit to the idea, I glanced over at my more or less hidden-under-to-do-lists calendar and noticed that I was slated to guest blog over here at the utterly beautiful temporarily me. Damn. I totally forgot. That’s not like me. Especially because I was psyched to play in Sam’s sandbox for a day, even if she wasn’t going to be here to play with me. How could I forget?

I am full of good intentions. Bursting with fantastic ideas. Overflowing with inspiration! Yet I lack follow-through. I embrace procrastination. I am brimming with excuses and distractions waiting to be indulged.

Deep down, I’m a powerhouse writer and Super Mommy. Housewife Extraordinaire! The next big thing to hit your computer screen and join the league of Ladies Who Launch!

Unfortunately, it’s sometimes tough to get down to that deep-down powerhouse through all of the crap in the way.

Perfect example– Take a look at this here book I bought a million months ago. Momfidence! by Paula Spencer. I’ve been trying to finish reading this book for a looooong time now. It’s not that I can’t read quickly, no, I can devour a book in hours flat. Nope, it’s that I can never find this book within my own home. If it’s not hidden under a pile of laundry, toys, or art supplies, then it is up on a shelf drying out from the latest drink to have been spilled on it.

Today, it magically appeared on our train table. That’s bits of dried Play-Doh you see, along with a dinosaur magnet, empty glitter glue pen, and a (probably incredibly old) Gerber Puff. Nice, right? Yeah, well, we live here.

Momfidence! is full of great ideas. Full of inspiration. Full of perspective. Momfidence! is also covered in strawberry milk. Pages stuck together with glitter glue. Buried under the giant jigsaw puzzle we just bought (what dimwit had the good idea to buy a giant jigsaw puzzle here? for toddlers?). Momfidence! is smeared with jelly. Smells a bit like a dirty diaper that was plopped on top of it by a distracted mother. And all but unread.

I am Momfidence! I am a book with torn covers and warped pages. And I love it.

The tagline for my blog at Velveteen Mind is “Relish the Velveteen. Revel in the Threadbare.” I live that every day.

I relish the moments when my brain is firing at capacity, when my focus is sharp, when my attention is brilliantly shone on my children, when no one is wrestling or pinching or spilling or falling into sharp objects. When kisses are given unbidden by sweet baby lips. When the velveteen is plush and clean and lovely.

But those things usually only happen on days when the moon aligns with Jupiter or some such nonsense that I can’t count on nor begin to understand or anticipate.

So I revel in the threadbare. My velveteen is not always plush and clean. Sometimes it is sticky and matted. But that means it has been touched. It means it has been loved by busy hands that don’t hesitate to grab and squeeze before washing off the evidence of toddler life.

I revel in the threadbare. My velveteen may not always look lovely to you. You may be distracted by the threadbare patches. You might wonder why I don’t take the time to mend those threadworn spots. But I invite you to touch those, too. There you will find the threads of motherhood. The foundation on which all of this lovely velveteen can cling and build up and shine.

Why should I fuss over the threadbare? Why should I hide it? Why should I fix it?

I want you to know that I am real. I want you to know that I have been loved. I want you to know that I am loved. I want you to know that you are welcome to love me, too. Touch me. You can’t break me. My foundation is strong. I can hold you. I can hold all that you can bring to me. I can hold all that you are.

My velveteen will not always be plush and lovely, but it will be loved. I have a lifetime of spilled milk, smeared jelly, and stinky messes ahead of me. Sometimes I clean them up, sometimes I don’t. I am a book with torn covers and warped pages. I am a mom with tousled hair and sticky-finger-stained clothing. I am a mom with lively toddlers who live out loud. They run. They fall. They play. They hug. They spill. They smear. They yell. They kiss. They sing.

And sometimes I sing with them while cleaning up those messy bodies. Particularly when I think no one is listening. This is me, threadbare. Revel with me.

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Bath Street’s Back! Wash Your Bahday!

Okay, I can’t get the video to load, so here’s the link above.