Hot Poop

Well it's hot. Hot hot hot hot hothothothothot. I signed up for weather advisories from our closest tv station (it's the only one that actually focuses on our area; Tulsa weather doesn't do us much good here). I've been getting 3 to 5 emails a day warning me of a heat advisory. It gives specific times that the advisory is in effect. I also got one severe thunderstorm warning, which didn't make any sense because when it listed the times, it said Clear after it. So I guess the storm won't hit us after all. Too bad, because we could use a breath of relief. On top of that Augustine blessing (for those of you that don't get that, it's August. So there.), our air condition is feeling its age. I'm guessing it's at least 30 years old, or pretty close to it. It is running up the bill without running down the temperature. Which means heat rash for everyone. Ian has his own ceiling fan as well as his own floor fan to blow on his bed. The baby has her own fan to blow on the crib and we have a piddly little ceiling fan that you can hardly feel, because it is too small for the size of the room. There's also a big oscillating fan in the hallway opening that's supposed to blow the cool air from the living room into the hallway. Well, it was working a month ago, but our poor AC has some kind of dementia because it has forgotten what it's supposed to do.

So we are praying for a new air conditioner. Someone told us about this great AC someone else is selling for a fraction of the price. But....it's for central heat/air. So the price plus the freon service plus the duct work plus everything would be over $1,000. Great, I know, for the price, but not exactly something that's realistic for us right now. Unless we could put our AC on Antiques Roadshow; prepare to be amazed.

So everyone is overheated and cranky. I fried some eggs this morning at breakfast time, but opted not to cook anything hot for supper. My poor HC was wilted when he came home for his dinner break. That Kevlar vest is not made for 100+ heat. And tomorrow is when the Real heat advisory starts.

So the kids have been running around in their underwear for most of the day, not allowed to go outside because of the heat, and I've been trying to keep up with messes and sooth little raw tempers. Too bad my own needs a couple hours of subarctic to help it.

And I found out today that I need to take Uncle Steven back to the airport on Tuesday because his plane leaves at 8:10am. My HC is working an overnight, so he won't be able to come with us. With check-in time and driving time together, I have to get myself and the chillens up at around 4am. Believe me, we are coming straight home for everyone to have a recovery nap. But it's going to be at least 4 hours in the car AC, so that's not so bad. And gas is down about 20 cents from when we picked Uncle Steven up at the airport, so the blessings are stacking up some.

Now to the other part of the title. No, I wasn't being crass. The kids were in the tub yesterday, playing. Erin likes to stand up and walk along the sides of the tub. She likes to throw everything out and yell until I fetch. She also likes to dump cup-fuls of water out of the tub and then yell when I take the cup away. And she likes to laugh at Ian, who will do almost anything, even knock himself out, to make her laugh. I had turned to tidy the sink and grab a fresh towel when all of a sudden Ian came shooting out of the tub yelling. I don't even think any water got on the floor. I don't even think he touched the floor. One second he was playing in the tub and the next second he had teleported to the other side of the bathroom under the towel shelf. "Ewwwww! Eww! Eww! Ewwwww!"

"What?" I asked, baffled. "What's wrong?"

"Ewwwww!" He turned horrified and disgusted brown eyes to mine.

"Baby girl POO-POO in the tub!!!!"

Sure enough, when I went to investigate, there were several articles in the tub that had not been there before. One of them was being chased by a tiny hand. Ugh!

I checked to see if she was done and swooped her out of the tub. Ian couldn't stay away. He gingerly crept forward and craned his neck to see, now that he was a safe distance away. It really didn't help matters when he spied a recycled grape. "What's that grape doing in there?" he asked. Uh oh. "Uh...that's a poo poo grape," I tried to explain.

---Today at snack time, he had some grapes (brave soul), but told Erin "you no eat grapes, Erin. Baby girl no like grapes today, Mommy." I guess he figured she'd had enough. So she got peaches. Back to our story (A good title: She Poopeth in Still Waters. har har har).---

I pulled the plug and put all the toys back in the tub basket for later bleaching. I stood Erin on the outside of the tub to watch. After some grunts and pleading, I got all the offending articles down the drain and rinsed out really good. I took out the mat and stood the kids back in the tub for a quick stand-up bath. Ian had to inspect the tub really well before he would get in and kept warily glancing at the baby's bottom like it was Mt. St. Helen's.

Soon after I had everyone clean and the tub full of bleachy water and the bath toys all in it, happily disinfecting.

Tonight, Ian remembered to tell Erin before we got in the tub. "Baby girl, NO GO Poo Poo in the Tub. Okay?"

She just grinned.