**You should be forewarned that this post was created after two glasses of wine... I'm just sayin'...
So, Dr. Pop just informed me, whilst watching the Braves/Astros game, that he's "seen someone throw a baseball so hard his arm has snapped." I did not know that and the idea is horrifying.
Earlier this evening, as the shaked and baked pork chops were baking, and I was doing a little kitchen/mudroom clean-up, I came to the realization that my life literally revolves around poop. Cat poop. Dog poop. Child poop. My poop. Husband poop (but we won't go there other than to say thank you to the good doc for heading upstairs and turning on the exhaust. Don't think I don't know what you're doing when you go upstairs, big guy... And don't think I don't appreciate the execution).
So anyway, I'm shoveling the clumpy clumps out of the cat box to throw into the garbage as tomorrow is trash day, and I realize that I AM POOP PATROL in my household. What I'm about to say will issue an indignant reply of "Hey, I change shit explosion diapers and change the cat litter, too!" and my automatic response is, "Sure you do, bud, but who holds the record of being in the most contact with poop over the past two years, and do you REALLY want the world poop title?"
So I am scooping cat litter, not without my proper respect for the creators of clumping litter, and I flashback to the backyard a few days ago, where I selflessly shovel huge mounds of steaming, wet (it had just rained) dog shit into a little uncooperative plastic bag so that the good doctor could continue sweating his ass off via mowing the lawn with our upgraded, but still pretty crappy, lawnmower. I live to make his life easier. Actually, I was just doing as asked and trying not to make the smell worse and the lawnmower blades stick.
Then I flashed back to Booble-dooble's latest nasty diaper. Ugh! What a disaster that one was! Sorry precious. That would have been my fault (genetics or diet, it doesn't matter... this kid is doomed). For the rest of the evening, my focus has been on nothing but shit. Both figuratively and literally. And it reminded me of a post on my former blog about poopy diapers and how there was ALWAYS one waiting for me in the morning. What a way to start the day, huh? With a diaper full of SHIT.
But the thing is, shit happens. So are you going to wipe your ass, flush, hopefully spray a little air freshner and turn on the exhaust, or are you going to sit and talk and complain about it for the rest of the day? I'd rather put it all behind me. Pun intended.