No more for me, please. Thank you.


Okay, I have just have to let you in on a slice of my life. Words only…

This morning I was thinking of all the cool things I was going to do with my little Beanster on our day off. So, we started off the day well for about 30 minutes. Then he decided that he needed to potty… or pretend. So, after gallons of water and a half a roll of toilet paper, I realized what he was doing. Well, in a home with one bathroom, you have to share. He got mad. I had to potty. No big deal.

Or so I thought.

He comes to me about 20 seconds later after storming off and proudly announces, “I pooh-poohed.”

Me: Really?

Beanster: Yes.

Me: Did you pooh on the carpet (again)?

Beanster: Uh-huh. (Deep sigh and rising anger on my part.)

Me: You pooped on the carpet? (trying to get the real story…)

Beanster: Yes. I pooped on the carpet.

Me: You crapped on the floor? (rising anger still…)

So, I do what I have to do and go check it out. Sure enough, there’s a load on the floor. Right in the walkway of a very narrow space. Right where we step. Right on the carpet. Right next to my purse. Like, 1/32 of an inch away from nailing my purse. Okay, someone’s in BIG trouble. Time out on the potty. Well, as I’m cleaning up, he gets off and says he’s done. Now there are doodoo smears on the toilet seat. I put him back on there and go back to cleaning the floor.

Beanster: Momma, I’m done with time out.

Oh, my gosh. He gets an immediate shower and even asks for the soap bottle to be opened so he can bathe himself. Okay, there’s nothing like doing a good deed after doing the deed. A small bit of pride in the fact he can do that. So, I get through cleaning up and we have a talk about where pooh pooh goes. Well, it turns out that it goes pretty much anywhere (including outside), but not in the potty. He’s adamant.

Me: No, son. Pooh pooh is nasty and it goes in the potty. (we just went through this last week.) It needs to be flushed.

Beanster: No. It goes on the carpet. And outisde. (rising anger again…)

Me: Fine.

I dry him off and get him dressed. Then, I get a phone call that I have to meet somebody in about 30 minutes. Okay. So I give it a few, then we start to load up. He’s dressed, I grab a change of clothes for him, just in case, I grab my coffee, I grab my purse (or start to…) and I pull up short.

Lo, and BEHOLD! There’s a load IIINNNN my purse! IN my purse. In my PURSE! Yes! In all it’s oozy, smelly glory. On top of my billfold. On top of cash receipts. On top of it all. A LOAD!

Me: Really?

It all begins again. So for the next 10 minutes, I’m carefully taking out untarnished items from my purse. Unfortunately, he nailed quite a bit of stuff. There were some things thrown out. My sunglasses (which I desperately need) were ground zero. They are still (at the time of this posting), still lingering in the sink. Lots of antibiotic soap and bleach water. I still feel tight in the chest.

I literally had to throw my purse away. In the trash. The handle and the inside were covered in pooh!

Fast forward to just a little while ago. I have been having some trouble with my photo application on my computer. So, I bought a new backup the other day and transferred everything over. Well, today, the photo app crashed. C-R-A-S-H-E-D! Crashed. I had JUST uploaded about 453 new photos off my camera. Great pics. Gone. Just like the snap of a finger. GONE!!!! I had some that I was going to send to a friend. I had some that I was going to print off, because Beanster’s expression was priceless! Now I know what priceless really means now. Gone…

I felt tears welling up, but I just couldn’t let them go. I am still in shock that they were *zap* gone! Why?!?!?! It’s been a rough day. I don’t even want to cook dinner. I’m afraid, actually.

I treated myself to a Starbucks earlier for the pooh incident. Now my photos are gone. I need a country fried steak dinner with fried okra and a HUGE glass of sweet tea. I really just need my photos back.

If anyone has ever seen “The Princess Bride”, you will understand what I mean when I say, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my father. Prepare to die. Promise me riches.” “Yes, anything you want!” “I want my father back—” Okay, so I didn’t lose a parent over this, but my heart just breaks over the fact that these shots are GONE! Yes, I’m whining now.

If anyone wants to know what to get me for my birthday and Christmas, I would like photo albums and a gift card to Target to get my photos printed out….

Things will get better, I know. But to end up like Biff in Back To The Future (he always ends up with a pile of manure on him)…it’s been a rough one.

Keep the faith. Chin up. Soldier on.

Peace and love, everyone.


4 thoughts on “No more for me, please. Thank you.

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