The Past Seven Days

When you have three little kids a lot happens in a week. And the past seven days have been filled with my average amount of fucked up, really. But for the hell of it, let’s recap…


A lot of mornings over here start with a dance party. Why the hell not, right? Why ease into things slowly with a movie under a blanket when you can stand on the coffee table perfecting your fast-feet after telling “Lexa” to “play Pearl Jam This is Not For You.” (Thanks, Matt). Well, this week I have been fighting a losing battle against Rex and his will to perfect his latest dance move. Nope, not the sprinkler. No, no, not the running man. It is a move he created himself, where he two-steps back and forth with his dick tucked outside his pants. I have spent the last five days trying to get him to stop. It’s like I am living with a weird college dude. His dick is so often the punchline—the big finale at the end of a trick or a dance. How is that already the case?!


Of course next level Rocky can’t possibly play it cool here and has to bring his A game every time Rex shows off his new move. So Mr. One-upper stands in place, pants go down, he bends over, and just starts smacking his bare ass to the beat of the music. Perfect. I have yelled, “Boys! Private parts are private!” seventeen thousand times since Wednesday.


But, the real hero of the week is my little squish, BizzyBo. Her new favorite thing is to sneak off to the bathroom to play in the toilet whenever one of the boys leaves the door open. At least once a day I find her in there with her hands in the toilet splashing around. And on Monday, Rocky forgot to flush after a nice, long, dehydrated piss. She was so happy when I found her, splish-splashing away with a big smile on her face, covered in the smelly mustard-colored urine of a three year old. Woof.


But worse, she has been battling the diaper rash of the century. After spending a stupid amount of money trying out multiple diaper creams and at-home remedies I finally called the doctor. “Put blah blah cream on it, and after her baths put a blanket down and let her air it out for a bit.” Immediately I was kinda like, ehhhhhh she’s gunna piss on the floor—but whatever. So, later that night after her bath I put a big blanket on the playroom floor, and put her down to play in her birthday suit while I cleaned up the toys in the room. After cleaning for very honestly two minutes, I turned around and saw her on top of the plastic slide with something in her mouth. Ugh, fuck—a Lego, probably. “Bizzy! What is that? Take that out of your mouth!” I run over and I get a whiff of something bad. No. No No No my perfect little cute squishy adorable little baby!! There she fucking is—sitting in a pile of her own shit on the top of the plastic slide with a perfectly round nugget IN.HER.MOUTH. Sometimes I feel like I am watching myself in a movie that can not be my actual life—this was one of these moments. So, I screamed, put her back in the tub, washed her mouth out, bleached the slide, put her not-dried-out ass back in a diaper, and poured myself drink.

The bar for this week is now set very, very low. Wish me luck.