Making poopy memories
So, we got home after 9 pm last night. That’s late for our family, but I’m trying to forget about time and make memories here.
Anyway, back to the memory-making… We were at my work picnic, outside, for five hours! My kids were filthy, but they had a blast.
We walk into the house, peel the chocolate popsicle-stained clothes off our dirt-tanned little gingers and throw them straight in the washing machine. The clothes, not the kids.
Then, Preston marched their dirty little hineys to the bath.
As I flipped the washer to on, I heard two screeching kids and Preston yelling, “the pilot light is off, I’ll go get it, you watch the kids.” There was no way these kids were staying in a freezing cold bath. So, now we had mud dripping from the side of the tub where they jumped out.
Great. Guess I’ll just drain this.
Then I heard Preston yelling something from the basement, but I couldn’t understand what. I ran down there to see water in the utility room around the water heater.
“That’s dead, isn’t it?”
“Yep, and I snapped the water shut-off valve clean off.”
Perfect. Just what we need at 10 pm. A broken water heater, just waiting for the bottom to fall out and spew 50 gallons of water throughout my newly finished basement, and two muddy kids. And, did I mention exhausted? These kids are normally in bed 3 hours ago.
“Do they just go to bed like this?”
“Um, no, they are disgusting, they’ll just get a cold bath. It’ll be just like the pool. You jump in the shower while I throw the kids in the bath.”
For the 30 seconds I was in that ice-cold shower, all I hear is blood-curdling screams from the kids. Torture. Complete torture.
By 10:30 pm the kids were in bed, we were showered, the water heater was draining in the sump pump and then I heard Maddox quietly talking in his crib, “Daddy, I pooped.”
Why did I think making memories was such a good idea?