24 Hour Potty People

WARNING: This post contains language and subject matter that may be unsuitable for adults or anyone with refined sensibilities. Just watch:



Yes, poop is the theme of the day. Why? Because as the parents of two toddlers, and the owner of a cat and a dog, it's perhaps the defining feature of our lives right now.


We'll begin with "The Tale of the Blue Bucket" in which Nancy established herself as the Goddess of Jobs Too Revolting For Me To Do. As the title suggests, the latest job involved an old plastic blue pail
with a cover that served as the depository for all the plastic bags of dog poop from Peanut's daily walks. Well, we sort of forgot about the pail at one point. And then it started to rain. And it rained, and it rained, and it rained. In the meantime, the cover of the little plastic blue pail had fallen off. It rained some more. And then we remembered the little plastic blue pail full of dog poop. "What are we going to do about that?" asked Nancy. "I'll take care of it," was my non-committal reply. Finally, Nancy could stand the thought of it no longer. She went outside with a pair of latex gloves, a thick green garbage bag, and the hose.

When she finished the job she returned to the house, visibly shaken. "That was worse that cleaning the decomposed possum off the car port." And yet she ate lunch not long afterward.

I think her sturdy constitution comes -- at least in part -- from an early experience on her parents' dairy farm in Alaska. Apparently, she was riding her tricycle inside the barn where they housed the cows during the winter months when one of the back wheels caught the edge of the trough into which the cows' excrement flowed. Down she went in her little snowsuit: a little ray of sunshine in a small sea of shit. Luckily, her parents were in the barn at the time and fished her out. Her mother hosed her off and that was that.

I've had nothing so traumatic in my life, and so I am a little bit of a wimp when it comes to the dirty little realities of the human experience. But I soldier on.

Every couple of days, I go into the upstairs bathroom and begin the process of changing the bag in the diaper pail. It's a dirty job, one that requires me to breath through my mouth as I tie the opening of the old garbage bag up and replace it with a fresh one. I keep breathing through my mouth all the way down the stairs and out to the driveway where I deposit said bag into our nice new 90-something gallon Republic-issued trash can (complete with rain-proof cover).

I can't wait for the diaper days to be over and done with.

We're getting there. Thanks to a new comfy Dora the Explorer toddler toilet seat and a tasteful dish
filled with M&Ms (2 for pee, 4 for poop, 1 for the old college try), both Dave and Trin are well on their way to being diaper-free.

Of course, they are often diaper-free if left alone for more than a few seconds in the back yard. The new trend is for both kids to whip their clothes and diapers off and immediately pee on the plants. It's lovely. Really. Even better, on two occasions, Dave has come running into the house to tell us that Trin has pooped. Sure enough, on both occasions, Nancy and I were reduced to picking up after Trin in the same way that we might for Peanut.

Basically, we're living like animals at this point. Any hint of respectability is a mirage when dealing with toddlers.

And yet others seem to manage pretty well. We recently came upon a new (for us) band called Mates of State: a husband and wife combo with two small kids and a growing music career. Check out this video which features their kids (one in costume at the end, the other in utero it seems).



You can find out more about them at their fun blog: Band on the Diaper Run.

They remind me of my former grad school colleague, and all-around impressive guy, Jake Smith who, along with his very talented wife Freda (former drummer for the Blake Babies and Some Girls, among others), fronts Mysteries of Life, leads a successful academic life, and has raised two kids. How do they do it?

Beats the shit out of me.

Finally, I would be remiss were I not to include in a blog entry about poop, a clip of one of my heroes, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Triumph's existence is made possible by the likes of the great George Carlin, whose passing has left the world without its most accurate bullshit detector. But here's Triumph sniffing out the excrement in the most poop-laden profession in the world: the professional spin doctor.

Enjoy!