The Ick Factor Subtitled GERMAPHOBE LIVES MATTER

My husband and I were fortunate enough to be blessed with a babysitter this past weekend. A very nice family from our church volunteered to come over and babysit all 6 minions so Matt and I could have some alone time. It took a while for us to coordinate but last Saturday was the lucky day.

I’m a creature of habit, so we ended up at a local favorite Mediterranean place for dinner. We ate hot meals without having to stop to cut up anyone’s food, wipe a butt, or clean up a spilled drink. We had a full conversation. It was lovely. After our dinner, we decided to keep our romance going by visiting the Verizon Store. What’s more romantic than being able to talk to a sales rep without having to chase children through an electronics store? After a 90-minute stint there, in a last-ditch effort to be out past 9 o’clock, we stopped at Starbucks. Here’s where this gets interesting.

OK, OK, I’m playing it fast and loose with the word interesting. Here’s where my story begins. After drinks at dinner and numerous water refills, plus an extended stay at a store without a bathroom, Matt and I both had to go. We walked into Starbucks and he ran to the bathroom while I ordered my drink. He returned and we swapped places. I walked toward the alcove in which the bathrooms were housed and stopped short. There were two individual bathrooms and both we marked with the same men/women/handicap signage.

Don’t worry, liberal friends, it’s safe to keep reading. This isn’t the conservative, Christian rant that you’re expecting. I have previously stated that I don’t care where anyone goes to the bathroom…I may alter that statement henceforth. Keep reading.

So, I am standing in front of the Starbucks bathrooms and having an anxiety attack. What was my problem? All I could think was that I didn’t want to go in the same bathroom as the gross boys...yep, that was my thought. Come on, don’t tell me that you’ve never had that thought. See, I know boys. I know how they go to the bathroom. Peeing never actually requires looking at the toilet. It’s based solely on sound. If they hear water, they’re good. Or so they think. In reality, when the sound of pee hitting water stops, it takes them 2.5 seconds to look down and locate the area where they are peeing and another second for the brain to send the signal to the body to move the stream back to the toilet. Do you know how much pee can get into unwanted places in 3.5 seconds? Come on…you all know this is true. I have cleaned up pee of the boys that I know and love in the weirdest places: shower curtain-twice, wall, bath mat…the list could go on forever.

And for real, that’s the least of the grossness than occurs in the bathroom. I won’t go into too many details but I’ll leave it with these facts. One, I cleaned bathrooms at McDonald’s for three years. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time the men’s room was the grossest and smelled the worst. Once, I even found an apple pie smashed in weird places….I don’t even want to know. Secondly, the term “dingleberry” did not originate in the description of women’s restroom issues.

So, what did I do? I reached back into the dark recesses of my subconscious memory and picked the bathroom in which I thought that Matt went, that way if I sat in pee I could pretend that it was at least the pee of someone I know and love.

I am now concerned however. We have solved the plight of the gender redefined, undefined…or whatever we call them, but what about the plight of the germaphobe? GERMAPHOBES MATTER TOO!!! If you find me smuggling bleach spray into bathrooms, you’ll know that I couldn’t take it anymore.

Water boarding

I always half jokingly refer to bath time in our home as water boarding, but seriously, either my children are overly sensitive or I should go to work for the CIA and TSA and maybe even the IRS as an advanced interrogator. I am trying to work on not being so angry but it seems that I am just not capable of getting through bath time without a fit. Let me give you an anecdotal tour of bath time in the Widmer home.

Usually the three girls get into the bathtub together. This will soon be coming to an end as Elaina is beginning to fill the entire bathtub up all on her own. This leaves the other girls to find random spots where they can fit. Once they are all squished, tetris style into the tub then we must add the Barbies. I believe we have no less than fourteen hundred mermaid Barbies and their accessories (dolphins, seahorses, etc) that must join the tub at bath time. I mean, obviously, you can't play with mermaid Barbies without water. My children really don't know how good they have it. My mother NEVER let me take a Barbie into the water. It might have something to do with the massive amounts of plastic hair that must be removed from the tub and drain after the bath is over, but I digress. So, now we have a tub full of girls and Barbies. This is now play time. During play time I must listen to them yell and scream at each other that they are not playing right, or not to get them wet (Um, you're in the TUB), or that they want the one Barbie that the other child is playing with. Then someone takes a big cup of water and sets it on the edge of the tub and then "accidentally" dumps it over the edge all over the bath mat. Next comes the need to pee or poop. Usually during bath time two of my children have to go to the bathroom even though they all just went before they got in the tub. When getting onto the toilet from the tub it is a dire emergency so that they cannot possibly dry anything off before sitting on the toilet. The result is a massive puddle from the tub to the toilet and a massively slippery toilet especially if you didn't realize that it was wet (trust me). Right about this time, I am completely and totally frustrated with the situation so it's time to wash them and get them out. Evelyn goes first since she has to use special soaps that do not bother her baby eczema. She never wants to go first and usually flails like a fish that Jillian has caught with her pishen hoe. Overall though, she is my easiest one to wash. There is only a minimal amount of whining that occurs here and is most of the time very tolerable. Next comes Jill. Jill has ear tubes so she must wear earplugs in the bath. We start washing Jillian's hair and she starts screaming that it hurts. I don't know how washing hair can hurt. I try to be very gentle, but when you get me really mad I figure if she's gonna scream no matter how gentle I am, I might as well give her a reason to scream. Then her earplugs fall out. I don't know how. Maybe it's the screaming. Maybe she just has an uncanny ability to push earplugs from her ears without using her hands. It's a gift. Anyway, then she's done and it's time to move to Elaina. Elaina is completely capable of washing herself except for most days she "doesn't feel like it." This is convenient because I always feel like washing her....yeah, that's it. Oh and she gets water in her eyes and then she "CAN'T SEE!" I did not know that water caused blindness, did you?

Once we have made it through the girls then it is Asher's turn. This is must less eventful. I have to tell you though, that every time I give him a bath I am amazed at how early boys discover their "man parts". And why on earth must they be pinched!? I think that should hurt. All I know is that it's a good thing that the good Lord did not give the male species big boobs as well or they would never get anything done.

When all is said and done the children are clean. I have a headache and very wet socks, but the children are clean. Someday, I know I will look back at fondness at some of these situations just as my mom now looks back with fondness at my brother's "fun baths" (this is where you fill the bath up as full as you can and sit in it and play but don't actually use any soap). Until then, I will be content to know that it is, at the very least, decent blogging material.

Poovember

When Elaina was a baby she had constipation problems.  She will, most likely, in a few years hate me for announcing this on the internet, but the fact remains that she was one stopped up little baby.  As Matt and I watched her grunt and strain as she tried to poo I remember feeling very helpless and thinking that, in the diaper realm, this was the most terrible thing ever.  Now having gained the perspective and wisdom that 5 additional years of parenting can bring, I know this not to be the case.  There is something worse...free flowing poo.


As Poovember started it's reign of terror, I could be found at the Dr.'s office with Asher.  He had an ear infection that required the use of antibiotics.  Many of you can see where this is going as antibiotics are great for treating infections but are terrible on the digestive systems of some babies (and Adults).  Mine happen to be those kind of babies.  So we started the antibiotic and my once-every-3-day pooper became my 3 times a day pooper.  And of course I had just bought some really nice diapers.  Way to waste the good ones, Son.  My years of parenting these antibiotic sensitive babies has led me to a solution for such poos...yogurt!   Solves it every time, except when the child will not under any circumstances eat food.  Yep, my 19lb son wanted nothing to do with any kind of real food whatsoever.  So, with every teaspoon of medicine I forced into his mouth he got an additional teaspoon of yogurt smoothie administered by dropper.  I am sorry to admit that I may have scarred him for life and he may never like yogurt again.  But you do what you have to do to battle the poo.


Poovember continued with the introduction of the "wet fart" to the Widmer household.  The repeated onset of the "wet fart" has been traced to some deli ham that has now been eliminated.  The "wet fart" seemed only to make it's appearance in the middle of the night and required my oldest child to run from her bedroom to the bathroom several nights one week.  I do not find it funny to be awoken in the middle of the night by the dreaded "wet fart" but my other children seem to think that it's pretty funny and even Jillian (2) has gotten in on using the word "wet fart."


Just when I was hoping that Poovember might be coming to a close, the worst happened.  Jillian has decided that she doesn't want to wear diapers anymore, but hasn't gotten the hang of regular underwear.  So against my better judgement, the child is wearing Pullups.  Jillian as well as my other, non-constipated children, is usually a 3 times a day pooper.  Yes, 3 times.  (I blame the Harris...it comes from that side, it has to.  The Davies are far too logical to go that many times in a day.  That obviously means that you aren't sitting long enough.)  So one day, the last week of Poovember, my girls had a party to attend without their parents.  They are such socialites!  It was with much trepidation and second thoughts that I sent Jillian to the party that afternoon in a Pullup knowing full well that she hadn't pooed at all that day.  In hindsight I should have paid attention to my uneasy feeling, but alas, I did not.  When she returned from the party I was informed that it smelled like she had pooed on the way home.  She walked into the house and showed us all the fun things she got at her party acting if nothing was wrong.  Matt noticed that the smell seemed to be very strong.  Getting a diaper and wipes I began what I assumed to be a routine changing but it was anything but routine.  The accumulation of three poos all in one caused it to overflow the Pullup and ooze onto anything in it's path.  Shirt, jumper, tights, all met with an untimely and unpleasant demise.  There was no salvaging them...not even when Matt offered to take them outside and hose them off.  Her coat got a good washing too, but thankfully the car seat was spared.


Yeah, constipation is an unpleasant thing, but can be solved for the most part with a little apple juice.  The free pooer is a harder thing to manage.  It appears the Poovember may be trying to make itself into a multi-month event.  I will never forget my "whole chipotle burrito incident" and on the 30th the children got some mints that, come to find out, have an artificial sweetener in them that has unpleasant results. (read: anal leakage).  I have wiped/changed Evelyn twice, Asher 3 times, and Jillian 4 times today.  Motherhood is a glamorous job but I suppose someone has to do it.    

Birthdays

Birthdays are funny things.  I've spent most Octobers counting down until my birthday.  I usually celebrate a Birthday Month, the celebrating gets more intense in my Birthday Week, and finally when the 25th arrives I announce at the top of my lungs to anyone and everyone that it's my Birthday!  I'm really not shy.  This year hit me pretty hard though, 30, UGG.  To top it all off, Matt started a new rotation and I knew we weren't going to get to spend any time together today.  I was prepared to have a really sucky birthday.  Now, I am an eternal pessimist.  My motto is, "If I'm a pessimist I'm either always right or pleasantly surprised."  My mother doesn't appreciate this line of thinking, but then she's the one who heard on the news that if you're optimistic it means there is an abnormality in your brain.  


Today, I was pleasantly surprised.  I can't believe all the love I got.  I appreciate all of you who went out of your way to welcome me into "Club 30."  It was a great day with even a present from Jesus.  I happened to remember an ad I saw about New Balance shoes for cheap. (Having "Fat German Feet" and high arches, NB are the only kind of tennies I can wear)  I looked on the day that the ad was listed, but wasn't interested in that particular style.  I felt prompted to check again today and found just what I wanted for less than 30 bucks and the site had free shipping for today.  Yay, God!


Yeah, so, blah, blah, blah, I had a great day but you don't really want to read all my gushing.  What really got me thinking about Birthdays was an exchange I had with Evelyn tonight.  Evelyn's pregnancy was the only time I was pregnant through the summer.  It shouldn't have been a big deal as she was born in late November and I shouldn't have been "huge" pregnant during the hottest months of the year.  Well, that was a lovely theory, but it was 90+ degrees well into October that year.  I don' t think I let Matt take the air conditioner out until November.  So, needless to say, Evelyn is the only fall baby.  Her siblings' birthdays come in March, April, and May and then the poor child has to wait until November for her birthday to arrive.  To make her feel better about this fact, I have been telling her that her birthday is after Mommy's and it's in a special time of year.  Tonight as I was tucking her in to bed she was so excited and I quickly realized that she thought her birthday was DIRECTLY AFTER mine....like, tomorrow.  I had to explain that it was in the next month.  Oh boy, poor child was crushed.  She just cried and cried.  Thankfully, I had Matt on speaker phone and he started telling her how it couldn't be tomorrow because we needed time to buy all her presents.  (Note to self: she may need extra presents.)


I do feel for her as she has patiently waited through all of her siblings' and cousins' birthdays for her's to arrive.  I suppose I should consider this when "planning" (yeah, right) the next child.  She should have someone to wait with her.


Here I've been, whining about my birthday and poor Evelyn's can't come soon enough.  I guess perspective has a lot to do with it.  I think both Evelyn and I are OK now!  Thank God for birthdays and special people to share them with!!     :-)