Thissss.....is.... the way I live....

I have a tune wedgie. It's "The Way I Live" by Baby Boy Da Prince. If you haven't heard the song, you can click on that link and go hear it on his MySpace site. Be careful, though. It might become your tune wedgie!

Every time my life takes a detour down the road I didn't intend to travel, that song pops into my head.

Like two days ago.

I picked up my 3 youngest children from school. My 4 year-old was playing on the playground, which is right next to the entrance. As soon as I saw him, I knew something was up (or, rather, OUT). He was standing off to one side of the playground by himself, grasping his behind with one hand.

"Oh, great. PLEASE, God, don't let that be what I think it is."

I went inside, picked up my 6 and 2 year-olds, and met the 4 year-old in the lobby as he was coming off of the playground with his class.

As soon as I saw my son's teacher, I said, "I think Quinn had an accident." Her reply? "Yeah. I know."

Huh? IF YOU KNEW, why is he still outside with dirty drawers on?

(There are other teachers out there to watch her class. I don't see why she could not have brought my sweet boy in and helped him clean himself up. He even has extra clothes in his classroom cubby for such a time as this! My son is potty trained, but he is painfully shy and will not tell a teacher he needs to come back inside to go potty. The teacher KNOWS THIS.)

My son was crying, and had been for awhile. Bless his heart.

I took him to the car and cleaned him up. He continued to sob and apologize for soiling himself. I was furious with the teacher. The poop was dried and stuck to my son's sensitive skin. I had to scrub hard to get it off. I was almost in tears by the time I was done, because I knew I was hurting him.

(On a funny side note: The only clothes I had in the car were my 2 year-old daughter's bike shorts. I put them on my son, which made him look like he was wearing a Speedo. I wish I had my camera!)

So anyway.... I got my son cleaned up. I just threw the dirty pants into the trash can I keep in the car. I wasn't going to bother cleaning them. No way.

I got back into the car and I couldn't find my car key. I keep it separate from my key ring because it's one of those big keys that has the remote unlocker doohickey on the key. I had set it down in the melee and couldn't find it.

The kids were roasting. It was so hot in the car (which has black upholstery... not my first choice, but we bought it used...)

I found it! And we were off to get my daughter.

On the way to her school, I stopped off at the gas station (did I mention my gas gauge is broken just like the one on the van we traded for this "new" car? Yeah. I hate cars.)

I took the stinky trash can out of the car and dumped it into the one at the gas station.

And that's when my 4 year-old started wailing.

"My Power Ranger underwear! MOMMMMMEEEE! My dirty underwear was in there!" And on and on and on and on... He gets so very attached to things, and when he starts crying about something, he becomes fixated on it and repeats the same phrase over and over... So, on the way to the school I had to listen to him mourning his lost Power Ranger underpants. After all, they had the red ranger on them. How could I not know that?

And that's when the song popped into my head.

"Thiiiissssss..... isssss..... thuh..... way I live....."

It's always something.

Just a few minutes ago it was something else.

I had promised my kids ALL.WEEK.LONG that we would give "Sparkle" (our car) a bath on Saturday.

We had breakfast, the kids changed into their swimsuits, and we went outside.

I wanted to get the interior clean first, so I loaded all of the kids inside the car and got them to pick up the trash and toys. Not five minutes into the process I hear...

"MOMMY! Lillian's peeing in her car seat!"

Camryn (who is 9) had been nice enough to get Lillian dressed for me, but she had forgotten the crucial step: the diaper. So, I told Camryn to take her sister back inside and put a diaper on her.

I continued to vacuum.

The boys got rowdier and rowdier. I had to separate them.

Then I heard Camryn yelling for me.

"MOMMY! Lillian fell off of her changing table and landed ON HER HEAD!"

Just shoot me. Shoot me now. WHO KNEW washing a stupid car would be this much trouble?

Lillian was fine. She was just scared. She didn't actually land on her head. My older daughter just has a flair for the dramatic.

So we all went back outside and finished cleaning up the car. By the time we were done, there was a stench coming from the vacuum. I don't know what it was, but it smelled dead. I don't think I want to know what it is.

I sent everyone back inside and I moved the car from the garage to the driveway. We prepared the bucket of suds and brought it outside. Everyone was excited. They couldn't wait to turn on the water and spray each other (er... I mean.... clean the car....)

We went around to the side of the house to unwind the hose, and we found a dead mouse. Evidently I squished him in the process of moving the car.

Now I'm a mouse killer. My 4 year-old: "Mommy? Do you not like mouses? Won't his mommy miss him?" My 6 year-old: "He sure is cute. Or, he WAS. Now he's squished."

We turned on the water to power up the hose

AND

there was no water. It's been turned off all winter long. The valve is in the attic, and I have no idea how to turn the water on. That's my husband's job, and he's at work.

So guess what he gets to do when he gets home?

Clean dead mouse guts off of the driveway and supervise the car wash.

"Thiiiissssss..... isssss..... thuh..... way I live....."