December 5 – “The … uh … ‘other’ Discovery”

I was a bit hesitant about the blog post today.  I debated with myself whether to ask Chris about it, but I knew what her counsel would be, so I looked elsewhere for a second and third opinion.  As I pondered the situation I recalled another family Thanksgiving event.  On the Saturday of the Turkey Bowl Nathan and April (Yes, April was in on it, too.  Nathan assured us all that she wholeheartedly approved the purchase) arrived with an inconspicuous little package from WalMart.  He was near giddy as he tore open the package.  There on our dining room table, where only two days before we had eaten a wonderful Thanksgiving feast, was a package of … poo dough.  No, that’s not a typo or a spell check auto-fix.  Really.  Poo dough.  A plastic mold and some brown and black play-dough to go along with it.  Oh, and small bit of yellow play-dough as well.  Why? Because included in the mold was a special little place for those tiny bits of corn that never truly get digested.  It was … awesome.  Zak in particular had the time of his life with the stuff.  Let me just say that we have some classic photos of him by the Christmas tree.  I’ll leave it at that.  Poo dough.  Thank you for that, Nathan and April. 

My final verification came just this morning as I checked my FaceBook feed.  There was a memorable post by my good friend Jim Stone to his lovely wife Laura.  It was an advertisement for one of his heart’s-desire Christmas gifts.  Seems that for only $9.90 you can now purchase two dozen Glitter Pills.  What are they?  According to the item overview: “Handmade item.  Materials: gel capsules, non-toxic glitter.  Only ships to United States from Newark, Ohio.”  Still not enough information?  Well, I did leave out three little words from the item description.  See they are actually “Glitter Pills (For Your Poop).  Anything beyond that I will leave to your imagination (Although, that would be a sight to behold …).  Thanks for the encouragement Jim.  I always knew I could count on you.

So now, with two such grand confirmations, I proceed with the post for today:

Chris made an unusual discovery the other day.  She hadn’t yet done her weekly deep clean of our entire abode.  She simply went into the bathroom in response to a call from Cailyn.  Cailyn was … er … busy at the time.  She just wanted some company.  As the two talked, Chris began to notice a particularly … intense … odor permeating the room.  It was not coming from Cailyn though.  And I hadn’t been in there in a while.  The two finished their discussion, and Cailyn left for home soon after.  But Chris just couldn’t shake the after effects of that “distinctive” aroma. 

So Chris being, well, Chris, she returned to the bathroom and began a search.  Nothing in the bathtub.  Or in the drawers.  Or in the greenery.  The toilet was sparkling, as usual.  Only one other place to look.  She reached for the trash can.  It’s not an intimidating trash can, by any means.  Quite petite, actually.  It was about half full (optimistic little thing) of bathroom trash kinds of things, spent Kleenex, used Q-tips and the like.  And the smell was without a doubt emanating from within. 

Now remember, we had just had a houseful of grandchildren a day or two prior.  This could be anything.  A discarded, now rotting piece of fruit.  A creature of unknown origin, found already deceased and disposed of in a totally reasonable location (or not already deceased, but enjoying the culinary delights embedded in the wads of soft paper around him).  But no.  In this case the source was nothing quite so … creative.  As Chris gingerly removed the bits and pieces of paper and debris, the smell got worse and worse.  There was no doubt the offender was within.  One more bit of paper.  And there it was.  Deftly hidden beneath an array of toilet paper.  Someone had … how shall I say this … used the trash can as a receptacle for plain, unadulterated, non-glittery … poop.  A poop can.  Chris immediately went into nurse mode.  For those uninitiated into the realm of nursing, that means she magically stopped breathing, cleaned out the can, and sprayed it down with a spritz (or 20) of Fabreze. 

Later she let me in on what had happened, thankfully long after the cleaning process was complete.  Doing my best to stifle the swelling desire to explode with laughter, I assured her that there was certainly no malice intended.  Whoever did the deed at least made it to the correct room.  And after all, the trash can is at a much more convenient height than climbing all the way up on that toilet seat.  I don’t think she was convinced.  Guess we’ll have to be a bit more vigilant at the next cousins’ sleepover.  Maybe provide a trash can for each one.  Hey, we could outfit a whole backpack with toilet paper and maybe some age-appropriate reading material.  We could make it a portable potty that would outclass anything I have ever seen Pot O’ Gold put on the streets.  Of course there is still that minor detail about the odor, but at least they would be taking it home with them.

Proverbs 17:22 says, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”

Father, thank you for adding that random element called a sense of humor into your package of creation elements.  Sure makes life more fun.  Amen.