A Low Point

You know I'm some  kind of kick-ass mom all the time, right? I have a stellar career, keep my house sparkling clean, and cook balanced, delicious meals every day. I work out, don't buy sugar, wear branded yoga pants and sip wine while laughing with my other beautiful and accomplished mom friends. We all have our teeth whitened by the same dentist. Isn't that so funny? My child is gifted and speaks four languages, and is going to calculus camp next summer. I volunteer in my ample spare time, read the latest best-sellers on my bi-monthly weekend spa retreats, and have a perfect marriage. I am not aging. Somehow my body is more nimble and responsive to exercise with each passing year. My laundry room has a chandelier in it.

Choose two of the above - at any given time, that's the reality of things most days. Some days it's just one.

Now you know that I have good intentions and big dreams. Who doesn't want custom lighting in their laundry room? Fabulous.
Despite my delusions, I think I'm doing ok overall. It feels like most days, I'm keeping it together and actually having fun. The mom thing hasn't grown old yet (I guess that's a good thing since he's only eight) and there have been situations when I was pretty pleased with my parenting and the outcome. A little bit of smug mommy-ness.

There are also times when I'm not so proud. Like last week. His Great-Grandpa gave him a $5 bill, and not two hours later, I let him spend it on this plastic turd. This turd who seems to be having a difficult bowel movement himself. Dammit, I was tired. He was elated to find this turd. I was weak...and tired.

The thing is, this gross little lump isn't the whole story. You might also be wondering what the sword and gear it's wearing are about. I'm sorry, but I don't know. He was so impatient and begged me to open the packaging on the floor of DSW, when all I really wanted to do was pretend to be child free for 2 seconds and try on some cute shoes. The shredded outer box, printed with what I'm sure is a fascinating back story - or name, or just an explanation of some sort - is in a trash bin at the DSW in Middletown.

Remember I said this thing isn't the whole story? Yea, there's a littler guy. Meet Son of Turd:

This was a two-piece set of plastic, angry turds. At $3.94, this is a bargain. The turd-baby is visibly upset. Really angry with fists shaking. Maybe it's because he doesn't have a sword and protective gear? Or maybe because he's just the little squirt? Ugh, sorry, that was a gross analogy. Napoleon complex is what I was getting at. Perhaps the anger is because he lives in the shadow of his turd-father.

The next day, I spotted the duo on the dining room table, where he'd been posing them and laughing-because what's funnier than action figure turds with faces? While I couldn't take back my disastrous lapse in uh...what? What would that be lapse be in? Vigilant toy purchase approval? Basic judgement? I don't know, but while I couldn't take back letting my child buy a plastic poop duo with money my sweet grandfather, his sweet Great-Grandpa, gave him, I could at least get these things off the damned dining room table! I posed them carefully on his bookshelf. Yes, I admit it, I did it carefully and with some thought. You gotta get the angles right and they are pretty funny. And gross.