I just want to eat my F-ing burrito

I believe it is Murphy’s Law that says when your husband is out-to-sea you will encounter toddler poop, a dog’s enema and a dead rat all in the same day.

No? That’s not how it goes?

Olive was on day two of attempt 6000 of potty training. With the promise of a trip to Target to pick out any toy she wanted if she peed or pooped in the potty, she was taking this very seriously. She tried for four and a half hours yesterday, refusing to put a diaper on after many failed attempts and luckily only one accident, she almost fell asleep before I could get a diaper back on. She woke up ready to take her diaper off and seize the day.

I have been showering with hand towels because there are never clean towels and one of the cats chewed off the button to my last pair of semi-clean shorts, so the only thing I wanted to seize was coffee and a breakfast burrito.

After going through the regular morning routine of coffee pot, breakfast for the kids, and figuring out what to eat myself, I sat down to my first bite of breakfast burrito when I realized that Olive wasn’t eating breakfast. I went back to check on her and realized that she had stopped playing long enough to pop a squat and poop on the floor and just kept playing.

Awesome. I wasn’t game to go back to the burrito at that point so I decided to drink more coffee. Because coffee fixes everything. Or maybe its wine. That was when I remembered, I was supposed to check the rat trap. When you have a large dog that spends a lot of time eating and pooping and being a dog, it inevitably invites other critters and one of our newest play date pals was pooping in his food dish. Matt decided that the best thing to do was to leave a rat trap behind Blue’s arm chair outside (yes, he has his own armchair). And of course, lo and behold, Ratatouille was dead. Disposing and resetting said trap had thoroughly made my stomach churn, so now there was no way I was touching either the breakfast burrito or the coffee.

I went back inside to find that the Olive had procured her Doc McStuffins play set and had the stethoscope around her neck and was chasing Blue with the fake syringe and alternating between giving me a shot, and then Blue, and then Willow, and then Blue again (apparently she likes to throw basic medical safety practices to the wind by sharing needles). I decided to capture the moment and took a few cute pictures of Blue’s first in home physical. I was reviewing the pictures on my phone and looked up in time to see Olive putting the same syringe up the dog’s rear end.

Luckily, I stopped her in plenty of time before the syringe went very far and although disgruntled about the process, Blue remained unscathed. At that point, I had given up. I fed my burrito to the dog and put him outside to recover and dumped my coffee in the sink.

Some days you feel like you could fart rainbows ¬†and glitter while you’re riding Lisa Frank’s unicorn, charging into parenthood and toddlerhood head on with a ¬†wreath of daisies in your hair. Other days, you pick up toddler poop, extricate a dead rat from behind an arm chair and almost have to remove a Doc McStuffins toy from your dog’s rear end.

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