Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Be careful where you leave your bag of puke ...or how to fling poop on your Mother in Law's ceiling


So first the poo...Our family decided to visit and stay a night with my husband's father and step mother on the way home from our New Year's festivities. Upon arrival we enjoyed some libation, and began to feel fairly at ease. My step-mother-in-law told me that she had printed some Can cans for me and they were on the counter. For a moment I was perplexed wondering how a "can can" could be on a counter when it was something you do as part of a dance routine. I then realized she was actually referring to a "ken ken", which is a math game similar to Soduko. Wanting to impart all of my dancing knowledge I informed her that she was mistaken and that this was actually a "can can", at which point I started kicking my legs high into the air while at the same time "singing" daah daah dut dut dut dut daah daah, dut, dut, dut, dut, daah daah...). As one of my elegant kicks reached it's pinnacle, a noticed a bit of debris shoot off the end of my perfectly pointed toe and adhere to the vaulted ceiling. Upon closer scrutiny, while squinting my eyes at a point above my head, I tried to identify the origin and type of matter that had been flung from my flawless foot. I then glanced down at the floor and noticed a small mound of brownish turds. I was just the tiniest bit, HORRIFIED. We assumed it to be cat feces, seeing that there were 3 of the little monsters in the house, but, alas, as it turned out, all of the incident fell upon our (my) shoulders. You see our youngest pint size cherub had crapped herself and most of the aforementioned doo-doo had shot out the side of her diaper, cascaded down her leg, and had been spread quite methodically it seems around the interior of my in-laws home. So if anyone should ever need someone to write an instruction manual on "How to adhere shit to your stepmother-in-laws ceiling", I'm the woman for the job.

The second incident goes a lil sumpin like dis: (1st equation) Road from Waldport to Philomath= Hailey car sick...we took the road from Waldport to Philomath on the way home from the coast because we were headed to a birthday party outside of Alsea. Just as we finished the last set of corners Hailey says, "mom I can't wait, I'm going to puke". Mark found the first place he could to pull over, while in the meantime I handed Hailey a paper bag to barf in (2nd equation) Paper bag+vomit=gigantic stinky mess. Hailey began spewing at the exact moment Mark pulled over and as she finished up we began to wonder what to do with our little package of stomach excrement. Having no plastic bags (later I realized we did) our thought processes became frenzied as the life of the bag was nearing it's end (this is one of those situations where marital bliss turns into marital screeching). Not wanting to litter but having no immediate plethora of options we left the bag near some mailboxes and in a rainbow of gravel fled feeling as though we had gotten away with some hugely evil crime. As we drove on, chuckling maniacally I realized I couldn't remember where my friends lived. As soon as we were within range of a tower and I had coverage, I called them and asked for directions. They told us the name of the road and as I spoke it out loud, Mark started making some very odd animal choking noises. As I hung up the phone, Mark informed me that much to our chagrin we would be returning to our very distasteful and smelly crime scene. So next time you invite us to a party beware...we may leave a very lovely housewarming gift under your mailbox.