Let Me Part The Curtains

In What Would Keith Richard do (hereafter referred to as WWKRD) we learn that Keith thinks that secrets are a bad thing. It's his philosophy that he can tell you a truth FAR WORSE than any lie you'd make up about him. If you want to peep in his window, he'll open the curtain to be certain you don't miss anything.
I think I'm pretty straightforward and out there about how things are around here. It's probably why I get so freaking peeved at people who say stuff about how awesome and amazing our lives are.

I just want to say, WOW are you NOT paying attention?

Maybe it's because I am happy.

My son's speech therapist, after learning that not only do I have the gifted little boy who has a speech impediment but also have autistic twins, said "I can't believe you're so cheery and smiling. I'd be sobbing with everything you've got going, AND A BABY?"

I don't ever know what to say to that.

You can't be sobbing all the time.

You can't.

Yeah you kinda want to. But, you can't.

Sure we have bad days and the husband and I stress out and yell at each other when what we want to do is yell at recombinant DNA, or pollution, or mercury, or flu shots, or WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS that causes autism.

So I thought that since I normally share a lot of my sunshine, but maybe recently not so much of the grit, that I'd reintroduce the grit the best way I know how.

With poop.

Early Monday morning I was luxuriating in my awesome hotel bed in the Aloft hotel in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Which, incidentally was incredibly swank and awesome. They truly are my favorite hotel not owned by Disney ever.

So anyway, the firs thing that crossed my mind as the wave of pain wrapped around my midsection was "Oh GOD not my PERIOD AGAIN!"

But I shortly realized that wasn't it and dashed off to the equally awesome and luxurious bathroom.

I'd go into a lot of details about gut wrenching pain and watering eyes and straining but that's not what happened. Instead, my body said EVERYBODY OUT and something I can only describe as being the size and length of my large colon immediately exited my body in one motion.

After I had recovered my wits, we all got dressed and went over to UNC hospital for our appointment with the autism research study.

Yeah it went well. This isn't about that.

Next we went for brunch. While at brunch, the poop incidents continue.

One twin, as I'm cleaning him up from his diaper change, I realize, is POOPING. So I plop him on the toilet where he screams and cries and makes quite a scene. And refuses to poop IN the toilet.

Sigh.

Then I change the girl, and she's the damn playdoh poop factory.Mid diaper change she just starts pooping and pooping and pooping. That was AWESOME. I think the lady who walked in while I was changing her wasn't as keen on it though as me.

Once we got to our restaurant for dinner, again - poopie pants all around. Except the biggest boy. Kudos to you, 8 year old in the gifted class, for not giving in to peer pressure in the van and pooping your pants.

Six in the course of our meal at Buffalo Wild wings, did I change a diaper. And at least half of those were poopie diapers.

Really. Does that sound idyllic and magical to you?

Here is the lesson. Let me part the curtain for you.

No, it's not all bad. But don't be fooled by the happy smiling pictures above. Because I'm pretty sure than in at least half of those photos, one kid has a load in their pants.

And now if you'll excuse me, from the smell emanating behind me, someone has pooped their pants. Gotta go.

Oh and my HOW TO COPE tip of the day. Cotton Candy Cosmopolitan. Please see below.