- My middle child, Michelle, had no filter at all.
- It was important to me to teach my children the correct anatomical names for body parts.
- My father-in-law was a very, very conservative, Catholic older gentleman.
That was a recipe for disaster.
Grandma and Grandpa came to visit all the way from Ohio.
Michelle was about three or four.
She sat on Grandpa’s lap and began rubbing herself against her grandfather’s knee, announcing, “You know what, Grandpa.I have a V-A-G-I-N-A.”
I thought I was going to faint.
I was pretty sure that although he had a wife and four daughters, he had never heard that word out loud, and certainly not while someone rubbed his knee.
He paused and seemed speechless for a moment.
But he made a good face for the evil game, put them gently on their feet, and answered, “Yes, yes, that’s true.”
I can only imagine what thoughts of our method of raising children later took place behind closed doors.
Another time Michelle (again) decided to get me to run away and hide.
I tried to get the good old Michelle clean.
I showed her the wonderful, colorfully printed diaper panties.They are like diapers, but can be dressed like underwear.
“These are for big girls.We don’t want to let them get wet. Tell a mom if you have to go to the toilet.”
Michelle seemed unimpressed.
We drove to TJ Maxx.Me, Stephanie, a baby, Michelle, two, and Andrew, four.
Andrew climbs under all the clothes racks, Steph screams to be fed.It’s time to go home. Everyone is about to freak out.
I fish out Andrew under the hanging clothes when I hear Michelle grunting.
I turn around just as the diaper panties with a huge SPLOOSH slip off her thin little butt and the feces-filled panties come to lie between her feet, with shit everywhere from her butt to the shoes.
Her legs are basically tied together, so she starts screaming because she can’t walk.
I discover the toilet.I grab Michelle under one arm, push the shopping cart with the howling Steph and hiss Andrew to follow me better, and I don’t make jokes, and we approach the door.
I’m so relieved that we’ve made it to the toilet that I need a second until I realize that the water isn’t working.
No problem, I have baby wipes.
Oh crap!I left her in the car.
I do my best, spit on toilet paper to clean Michelle.Now she has dried shit and small pieces of toilet paper glued to her butt everywhere. I don’t have any other underwear, so I just pull her dress down.
We’re just going to run to the checkout, then to the car, and I’m going to clean them up.
I pay for my purchases when I feel various disapproving, stinging glances on my back.
I look over.Oh dear God.
Michelle pulled her dress up to her armpits.She dances around and snouts hang from her bare back. She sings from full neck, “Old McDonald had a farm, e-i-e-i-o”.
Stephanie is now in the hyper-scream room, initiating that her feeding will be further delayed.
Andrew climbed under the shopping cart and sits sideways so I can’t move him.
I gave up any hope that I could actually stop our purchases.
I grabbed the baby under one arm, the singing Michelle among the others, and guided Andrew with one foot until we made it to the car.
That evening my husband asked me, “Were you not in the store today to buy clothes for the children?”
I looked at him calmly.
“I could only bring the clothes OR the children home.”
“Congratulations!You have chosen the children.”
Just a day like any other in my dreamlike life.