More Crap. Literally.
Switching gears completely: today is school picture day at Viva's school. This has caused me no end of anxiety because I felt pressured to do her hair as cute as it could possibly be. I oiled her scalp last night and quickly sectioned off and braided her hair before she went to bed, so I could take it down this morning, re-comb through it, section it into tiny sections, do double-stranded twists on each section and finish it all off with assorted brightly colored butterfly clips. Viva is very patient when it comes to doing her hair, but it's always when I'm braiding or twisting the very last section that she starts to wiggle. People, it is like she knows. It is uncanny.
So I had finished her hair, she was wearing her school T-shirt and I was about to put her skirt on, when I noticed she was standing stock still with a kind of glazed look about her. "What's the matter, baby?" I said.
"I'm going poop," she said. I hustled her into the bathroom and got her onto the toilet (yes, she has graduated from the potty to the grown folks' john) and foolishly left her to her business while I got her socks and shoes and lunchbox ready by the door. In all fairness, even though The Experts will tell you not to leave a child unattended on the potty/toilet, Viva prefers privacy when she does her business, and I am not one to complain. Moments later, she came running out in just her Muckity-Muck School T-shirt, which is basically like a dress. The Muckity-Muck School requires all students to wear school apparel for the pictures, and yet the smallest size they have is a size XS youth, which is made for 6-year-olds. "Did you wipe? Did you wash your hands?" I said, knowing she hadn't, and then seeing a large wet spot on the back of THE ONLY MUCKITY-MUCK T-SHIRT SHE OWNS.
Oh. My. God.
You guessed it. She partially pooped on the inside of the T-shirt, because it was so long that part of it was hanging over her tiny bum. CRAP! This was at about 8:30, and class starts at 9:00. I had no idea what time they were taking her picture.
I grabbed a bunch of toddler wipes, and I wiped and I scrubbed and I sniffed and I scrubbed, and then I grabbed the bottom of the shirt and twisted it up to a knot at the side like they used to do in the 80s, so it fit her better anyway and then you couldn’t see the stain, and then I put her skirt and socks and shoes on, and then, my friends, I proudly took my Viva to school. It is moments like these when I ask myself not, what would Jesus do, but what would Courtney Love do? Because I think I am a slightly better parent than she. What with her narcotics problems and all. No offense.
Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Your Adverbs Here
Viva has lately become especially enamored of one of her dolls, a Groovy Girls-type (I don’t know if it’s a real one) that she likes to drag around and include in all her reindeer games. Recently, I asked her what the doll’s name was. Keep in mind that when I ask a question like this, Viva will usually say something like, “Baby Girl.” Very literal, that Viva. But not this time, no. Viva looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Actually.”
“ACTUALLY?” I shrieked in delight. “That’s her name?!”
“Yeah,” Viva said. “Actually.”
That is the coolest. I have also been informed that Actually’s daddy is named Angry. We haven’t yet come to a conclusive decision on what her mommy’s name is. I will report back.
In closing, I leave you with your Simpsons quote of the day.
Grandpa: My story begins in the year Nineteen Dickety-Two. We had to say "dickety", because the Kaiser had stolen our word "twenty". I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles.
Martin: Dickety! Highly dubious.
Grandpa: What're you cacklin' about, fatty? Too much pie, that's your problem.
Addendum: One more reason I can't get anything done: I hit "publish post" and my screen froze up and I lost half my post and had to reconstruct. I blame it on the terrorists.