And It All Started With "Fart"

Actually, if I’m being completely honest, it all started with Pumpkin’s poopy diaper at 5:15. I woke up around that time because I heard the garage door closing as Hubby left for work. I lay in bed awhile (seriously, who wants to be up that early? Not me), and got up to wander the halls and check on the girls. Pumpkin was out of bed and standing at her doorway. “Mommy, it’s Pumpkin!” she said to me. She then said, “I got poopy!”

Fantastic. Nothing better than starting your day with stench. I got the wipes and a fresh diaper, got her changed, washed my hands and put her back in bed. I told her it was still “night-night” time – not time to be awake yet. I was being cautiously optimistic, I really didn’t think she’d fall asleep. Lo and behold – SHE DID!

I went back to bed and curled up under the covers. At 6 a.m., The Princess came in. She usually sleeps in until after 7, so this was odd – but she was in a good mood and curled up in bed with me. I told her that there was NO snowday today (Wahoo!!!) and that we’d get up and start getting ready in a bit.

Fine. No problems.

The problems didn’t start until all the girls I watch came over. They were upstairs, playing in the playroom and one of the girls farted. Of course, she didn’t excuse herself so instantly the other girls started checking Pumpkin’s diaper (Yeah, blame the two-year-old), at which point, the perpetrator took ownership for the smell.

All fine and good (and gross, really! I can’t believe I’m blogging about gas), until the other girls started making fun of her. Oy. Really? I heard a lot of raised voices and so on, and then She Who Dealt It came to me crying about how she farted and how all the others were making fun of her. And the She’s Who Smelled It were saying, “But it’s so gross, you’d say something too!”

And let me be perfectly clear: I really REALLY hate talking about farting. Writing about it ain’t much fun either. I said to all the girls (big sigh): “Everybody farts. I sure hope none of you ever fart while you’re here, or you’ll know that EVERYONE is gonna make fun of you.” Then I got out my gingerbread air freshener, let them spray the hell out of the upstairs, and all was fine… I thought.

When they went out to wait for the bus, minutes after they’d gone outside the girl who had already been crying once knocked on the door, crying again.

“They’re being mean to me.”
“They won’t play with me.”
“They’re talking.”
“They’re talking about me.”
“She kicked my back pack.”
“She made a face at me.”

Oh. My. Hell. That school bus could not get here soon enough this morning. I’m not entirely sure what was going on. For the most part, the girls were behaving as normal. The girl in tears this morning was the one often provoking tears in others – as I pointed out to Hubby, “She’s usually harder than that. She usually doesn’t let people get to her. She’s usually the instigator.” I’m not sure what her deal was – but I was in no mood to molly-coddle. Those girls outnumber me, and that ain’t good!

Happily, the bus came and they were off. Pumpkin and I ran some errands and I came home to a call from the school asking where The Princess was. This is the SECOND time this has happened. “Um, she better be at school.” The secretary said, “Oh, I’ll check.” Minutes later. “She’s here. I’m sorry.” You’re sorry? You call me to tell me that my five-year-old, who I watched get on the school bus is not THERE and you’re sorry?! That woman drives me nuts.

And it’s only Tuesday, people. God only knows where my week is gonna go from here.