Soundtracks

Does your life ever have background music? I mean, have you ever been living your life and music starts to swell in your ears like some soundtrack for a movie? Except it’s not a movie, it’s life, real life.

No?

Well I do and yesterday afternoon it sounded something like this: doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo

Which is to say it sounded like circus music.

Ladies and Gentlemen! May I direct your attention to the center ring!?

Yesterday was day 3 of I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-so-last-ditch-attempt-make-K-sit-on-the-potty-all-afternoon-until-he-poops. Quite frankly I’m tired of having a 4-year-old wearing pull-ups, and if I put him in underwear he just craps those too. And I’m not cleaning poop out of underwear every day (sometimes 3 times a day) when I have an infant to take care of.

We’d picked M up from school, and K was ordered up to the bathroom to begin his sit. M had homework so we were going to get that out of the way right away like we have all week.

Cue music.

M’s homework consisted of having to write out her telephone number, which she insisted she didn’t know. Then, moments later she recited our number perfectly. I told her she was right and that she should write it on the spaces provided on her sheet. Somehow she forgot the number within 30 seconds. I insisted that she just think for a while and it would come to her. Things quickly degenerated to her crying and wailing “why do you have to keep it a SECRET all the time!?” like it’s just a big conspiracy that she can’t remember what she said two minutes previous and I’m just not telling her because I don’t want her to know how to call home when she runs away.

So, M’s bawling over a telephone number she’s known since she was three and K is upstairs sitting on the potty singing some made up song about pooping in the potty except he’s not doing any of the pooping.

D is lying on a pillow draped across my lap, looking at me and smiling.

This continues until M finally remembers the number that she recited perfectly an hour before. Whew. On to question two on the worksheet: write an emergency telephone number. This could be a relative’s telephone number. Oh for shit’s sake. I just told her what numbers to write on the lines and moved on. The rest of the worksheet was completed without incident just in time for Dad to arrive home.

I whipped up another culinary feast (cough cough) and ate quickly. Craig took a plate up to K who was now sitting in his room on the little potty.

I took my contacts out, put my jammies on, had Craig pack my incision and went into K’s room to get his pj’s out. K’s room was a disaster so I told him he had quite a mess to clean up. O-kay Mommy! he chirped.

I headed downstairs to get Ms. D into her sleeper. I started hearing K cackling maniacally and hearing pinging sounds of projectiles being hurled around the room.

Stop throwing stuff and get it cleaned up!

I’m not!

Yes, you are. I can hear you. Just clean it up.

No! You!

I’d had enough by this point. My fun meter was full for the day.

You know what? Forget it. I’ll just take all the toys out. You go sit in the bathroom.

{Intermission while we scream various things at one another. I doubt either of us knew what the other said.}

So I spent the next half-hour or so packing up all the toys, books, stuffed animals, etc and carting it all out of his room.

Craig sat in the recliner, holding D who fell asleep. M was listening to the High School Musical Soundtrack in her room for most of the spectacle, then just observed, wide-eyed, as her lunatic mother carried boxes of things out of her brother’s room.

He has his pillow, one blanket and one stuffed animal.

I don’t think he cares.

I don’t think I accomplished a thing.

Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo.