Years ago, when my children were pre-schoolers, our friend Frankie commented, "When you’re a parent, you’ll touch about anything." 

This remark followed my telling him and his wife about the "clean-up" I had encountered earlier that day.  Rachel was potty training and she had "filled" the commode with all sorts of toddler-toxic human waste–amazing the amount a child who eats n.o.t.h.i.n.g. can generate.  When she flushed (a child’s immediate reward for "going" in the potty; Barbie underwear, M&Ms or a trip to the Disney Store are delayed gratification), the water went up, not down.  I was with her (skilled wiping doesn’t come for years :/), so, with horror, I could do nothing but watch as the toilet overflowed.  OF COURSE, Tad was at work.

I ran to the linen closet and threw towels on the floor to attempt to dam the impending flood that was nearing our carpeted hallway.  Because her "job" had been the serious business of #2, it wasn’t just colored water covering the bathroom floor, it was the swimming pool scene from Caddyshack all over again, but without the humor and Baby Ruths.  I’m not sure where the plunger was, but feeble memory tells me I was shrieking like a banshee and flinging Rachel to carpeted safety, and had there been "any" left, scaring the crap out of her while I tried to do three things at once.

Ironically, I was reminded of this yesterday when I had to perform yet another heroic act of motherhood, this, the day before our most celebrated of days.  Yes, as every mother will agree, there have been countless similar scenes that have taken place through the years that attest to my mother-ability to touch anything–vomit, snot, poop, boogs, blood, bugs, frogs, lizards, snakes–all usually without the aid of rubber gloves.  Things "happen" way too fast to reach for those.

It’s Springtime as you know, and in the South that means "tick and flea" season for our outdoor/indoor pets.   We check daily, and usually either Aussie or Callie has picked up some critter, and repulsed, we do whatever we have to do to remove them and squash those suckers into oblivion.  Tad does it without the drama.  Me?  Well, it’s usually some kind of production.

But NEVER like it was yesterday.  Although I thought about taking a picture, it was just too disgusting to capture it digitally.  Sure, I’ve seen photographs of children with pudding- or snot-encrusted faces on the web; I’ve even seen steaming piles of manure (thanks to Ree and Vicki) that almost stopped my blog hopping.

Callie had a tick. 

It was millimeters away from #12 on the diagram.  And if there were ANY questions, I DID glove for the procedure!

A mother’s work is never done…;)


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