Story 1 Shit happens
Oh it sure does. Literally. So yesterday we went to swimming (Sproglet has a lesson). Now I endure this weekly event, rather than enjoy it. The changing rooms smell like an old lady's pants and when you get to the drop off point by the pool, you feel like the menopause has hit early, when you sweat out every last toxin you ever ingested, long before your kid yells 'bye Mum.' Anyway, we get to the weekly hell zone and Sproglet says he needs a wee - which he always leaves to the last minute. He runs off and I get Sproglette out of the buggy and do all the obligatory sorting of bags and kit and coats and stuff and I'm thinking 'He sure is taking forever...' and I go into the men's loos and there Sproglet is - crying with his pants down. First thought - is there anyone in here? No, thank god, he is alone. Second thought - ok, so he has peed before he got to the loo, fine, we can still go swimming even thought it will look mighty odd that my kid aint wearing pants when he dries off. Then I notice a tonne of poo hanging from his bum - and he points over to an area I can't yet see. I take two steps in front and there to greet me on the floor, like a steaming brown welcome mat, is a massive turd.
He was weeing and 'it all fell out Mummy.' So I'm thinking, 'do I wipe his arse first? Or the floor?' Then I notice that in his 'clean up' mode the sink is also a fetching brown shade. Dear god, I am surrounded by poo. There is no paper in the cubicle, so I am running about trying to get loo roll and then I pick up the poo and it gets all over my hands... The sticky kind of poo that welds itself to you - determined to never leave. You could get tar off quicker. Then poo sticks to loo I am trying to disperse of it in, and I am then wiping a sink furiously, and the floor, and my hands, and my son's legs - but they are too covered so I am fighting a lost cause and then a man opens the door to let in a wailing toddler - my daughter - whom I have forgotten about in my poo hell. She walks in and stomps straight over into the remaining poo - so then poo is on her, and my hand and the swim bag and I am cleaning Sproglet and screaming and wanting to kill someone, anyone, preferably poo shaped. Just as I am realising we have to abort all attempts at going to swimming and just take Sproglet home for a bath, a man walks in and starts to get his penis out. I scream - 'hello, hello! Sorry, my son had a poo drama and I am here! I AM HERE. NO REALLY, I AM HERE.'
And he carries on pissing in a urinal. 'No worries love.'
So I drag Sproglet out, followed by a wailing Sproglette and everyone is crying except me, which is ironic as all I want to do is CRY, loudly. The folk at reception in the gym give me looks like I am crazy woman - why am I staking out the men's loos - and wondering what the fuck I am doing running around with wipes and shit on my hands??? I explain there has been a poo drama and they give me weirder looks. It only dawns on me later that they thought I had the poo drama. GIVE ME STRENGTH.
Anyway, post bath and homework and dinner I then give Sproglette her own bath. She plays and fluffs around with the foam and then she fixes me with a gaze that means business. Yes, of the no 2 sort. And for the first time ever she craps in the bath. Joy. I have to scoop tiny yellow nuggets into my hands and into the loo and I am thinking 'get me away from all this shit!!!!!!' Then, finally, she is all clean and dressed and snuggly and we come downstairs and Sproglet is eating an apple - so naturally Sproglette wants some. She eats and stuffs herself so much she toddles over to me, with an unhappy look on her face. She begins to spit apple into my hand and then she hacks, and for a split second I know what is coming - but it is too late - she vomits all over herself, me and the sofa. I have held her poo and now, I have her hot sick in my hand.
Next week is Mother's day. I want a naked Taylor Kitsch with a ten carat diamond between his teeth. Nothing less will do.
Story 2 Good Samaritan
So I had another car prang on Thursday. Yep, my car just had to make love to a steel bollard on a pavement, as I was turning in a car park and trying to get away from a man in a Merc who was stressing the fu*K out of me. He told me to go back, so I went forward, and kind of up, and around and CRUNCH. Brilliant.
So I met my friend for coffee and then showed her the spoils of my pavement mounting. She said (adopting a worried tone) 'That isn't so bad.... really.' As she said this, a car drove past and an Irish guy shouted to me 'You're Fucked love!'
So I said 'Don't say that! My husband will murder me...' And then he got out of his car and took a closer look. He vowed to help, and then, well he kind of adopted me for the rest of the day. We visited 2 different mechanics, who quoted £650 and £600... and then he suggested going to a farm nearby where he had heard from his wife's stepfather's Dad that I could get it done for £130. I followed him and his family out to this farm, miles away, thinking 'am I going to be kidnapped and sold into a life of slavery?' or 'is this Texas chain saw massacre happening in deepest Hertfordshire???' The farm certainly looked 'odd.' But a Hick like man with about one tooth in his head, did proclaim that my car being fixed would in fact cost '£875'!!!! Not so hick when you think about it.
We drove away. So nice Irish man Rory, suggested we go to Halfords and buy some wax/polish stuff and then he set to work, polishing my car to make it look a tad better. He did a grand job - refusing to let me help, instead I minded Sproglette and his daughter - both of whom were intent on toddling off to play with the traffic, so actually polishing a car was the easier job - and an hour later when I drove home - with a demented Sproglette who was hungry/tired/cold/grumpy - my car looked a tad dented, but not as bad as it had done, with white scratches everywhere. Bless Rory, he and his wife had taken time out of their day - over 3 hours in fact, to help me. A good Samaritan indeed. It wasn't their fault I had crashed, but they cared. A rarity. I will be sending them something as a way of saying thanks... But you know, this whole paying it forward is underrated. He helped me, just because he could. Try it, it is amazing how great it feels. Rory looked at the newly polished car as if he had birthed it himself. 'Will you luuuke ah dat!' he said in his fetching Oirish accent. My own little leprechaun - who said they don't exist?
Story 3 The Star.
So before Christmas I did a little bit of work for my old company and although funds are indeed tight, I decided to treat myself to a little xmas gift, especially as Husband and I agreed not to do them this year. I bought a little bracelet, from a Californian company called 'Dogeared.' Apparently you make a wish on the bracelet and every time you look at it you invest more in your wish... and when it breaks your wish comes true. I liked the sentiment, the embodiment of a wish. I knew exactly what I wanted - a wish that I have long harboured but rarely discussed. My bracelet was a thin turquoise string holding a little silver star, with the words 'joy' engraved on one corner. When it arrived, I said my wish, popped it on and let the universe do the rest.
Less than 6 weeks later it had fallen off. I had almost forgotten I was wearing it - so thin and tiny it was. I had a vague memory of some time in January feeling something break off my wrist and pulling up my coat to see and thinking 'but my watch is on my other wrist.' When I finally clocked that my wrist was bare because the bracelt had fallen off, I realised it could have dropped off anywhere, so there was no point in searching under the sofa, in the street, etc. I should have felt happy that my wish was on it's way to being fulfilled, but I felt a bit sad that the cute bracelet only lasted such a short time.
Yesterday, I was trying and failing, to put a new lampshade on the bare bulb that has hung from our bedroom ceiling for... oh... almost four years. Sproglette was toddling around being busy, grabbing stuff and creating her usual carnage. I heard a crash - and she had spilled out a small little box that I have, that I fill with coins so I always have a spare £1 handy if I get a chocolate craving or have to donate to some charity on the doorstep, or need a quick coffee at the Kings Arms (coffees £1 all day!!!) etc. I hunkered down to gather up all the small coins before she shoved them in her mouth and choked - and as I scooped them up - there, winking at me from the floor, was the little star. At first I didn't realise what it was, but then I remembered. I feel like it came back to me. I never put it in that box; I have taken coins out and put them in that wee box many times in the last few weeks, but I have never spied it; and there was no sign of the string it was once on. But there it was, out of nowhere.
All spells a good omen methinks. Hopefully no more crashes, no more crap and a bold wish coming true.