Reporting for Doodie - J.L. Smith (poetry books to read txt) 📗

on the move. Of course he is…it’s 3 a.m. and he’s trying to get out the back door because he thinks I’m out there.
At this point it’s easier to just let him get in my bed, so I hoist him up and prepare for a couple more hours of semi-sleep with arms and feet in my face. If only I were so lucky. He tosses…he turns…he sneezes…he does everything but sleep.
Why, oh why, can’t this be a man…between the ages of oh, let’s say 35 and 50…in my bed…tossing and turning…unable to sleep because he’s burning with desire for me? He turns…he reaches for me…the passion mounts…then he sneezes in my face. Back to reality…the whole “passion” thing is not happening any time soon in this bed.
I’m drifting back off to sleep…finally. Then someone is tapping me on my face. Where am I? What is going on? “Gramma…I pee-pee potty!” You have got to be kidding me!!! All night I’ve been trying to get you to pee-pee potty (with no success), now at 3:33 in the morning, you want to go pee-pee potty…yippee!! So I go with him to the bathroom and let him handle his business while I go get another Pull-Up. Boy these things work great…you’re really learning to go pee-pee potty…at 3:30 in the morning!
Why is there a whole roll of toilet paper all over the floor? How much do you need – aren’t you old enough to put the roll back on the right way? I sigh and begin to roll the paper back onto the cardboard cylinder, wondering why I’m even awake.
But Marcus…its 4 a.m.!!!

At 4:21 a.m., I hear those fateful words (again)…”Gramma, I want Teutron, I want juice!” Isn’t this supposed to be happening about 3 hours from now? And why does he keep laughing? What the heck is so freakin’ funny at 4:33 in the morning?
It can’t be that ridiculous Jimmy Neutron episode where he looks like a hamster. Gives me the creeps; Jimmy looks kind of creepy any way, but as a hamster, he’s just downright scary. Why is this child laughing at the lamp next to my bed? I don’t feel like laughing…I fail to see the humor of it all.
But Marcus…its 5 a.m…oh, who cares?

Must be 5:00. The alarm clock that I turned off yesterday morning and the morning before at the same time is now blaring static from that place somewhere between radio stations. I know I turned that darn alarm off when this happened yesterday morning. How does this stuff keep happening?
“Gramma…I want Power Rangers, go go go!!!” Of course you do…let me just put that on for you. It’s another day in paradise with my favorite man.
At 5:08 I resign myself to the fact that my day is beginning, ready or not, so I turn on the coffee pot. As it chugs, I walk through my house and look around in the sheer wonder of it all.
Our father raised my siblings (Karen, Richard, Robert) and me with the “white glove” philosophy. After we cleaned the house each week, he did the “white glove” test and God help us if he found some dust!
Now there are Tater Tots under my dining room table…how did those get there? I used to frown upon women who fed their children those things; now they're a permanent staple in my refrigerator. I smell the unmistakable scent of a dirty diaper and flashback 27 years to when my daughter was a baby. I smile at the memory of it – VERY briefly. Guess I should take out the trash at some point, huh?
As I walk through the kitchen, I begin to wonder where fruit flies come from and how they just suddenly appear around your fruits and vegetables. Why do I continue to buy avocados…particularly the ones with the big red "Ripe" sticker on them? All the grand intentions of the big, beautiful, fabulous salad I was going to make "tonight" have somehow morphed into squishy red things that used to be firm, luscious tomatoes and black, wrinkled blobs that were avocados in a previous life. Hmmm…what's that purplish thing? I'm not even sure what that was when it was "alive".
In the living room, I notice chocolate milk and juice stains on the carpet that I just shampooed last weekend. Stupid sippee cups…the label says “no spill”…what do you call this, then? There’s spillage going on somehow! Is that a donut hole in my plant?
Did I miss these spots or are they new stains? New…guaranteed…Judith, this just won’t do. Yes, daddy…I know. I look towards heaven and say “mommy, help me…you’re up there…can’t you do something about this?” I know she would, if she could. Somebody help me.
Where’s my hairbrush?

"Just about the time a woman thinks her work is done, she becomes a grandmother."

~Edward H. Dreschnack

As I continue to walk through my home, I'm left wondering where the heck my hairbrush is. I know I picked it up off the living room floor yesterday and put it back in the drawer in my bathroom. Or was that the day before? Now it’s nowhere to be seen. I would ask him if he knew anything about its whereabouts, but no…I think not. Talk about opening "Pandora’s box"!
Did I leave the refrigerator door open and why is there a tiny footprint INSIDE the refrigerator? Why don’t I have accent pillows anymore? They were so pretty one time…long ago.
Why is that business card for the car detail guy lying on the counter with the thumb tack still in it? I’m not having my car cleaned until little “Mr. Crayola” goes back home. Oh, that’s right, Marcus brought it to me last night at 10:00 when I was in bed, drifting off to sleep. “Don’t touch! Why aren’t you asleep?” Why, oh why, is there yellow crayon on my 50” plasma TV? I guess to match the yellow crayon on my car window!
As I walk through my bedroom, I notice my copy of “You’re Not You” laying dusty, untouched on my nightstand. When did I start reading that book? Oh yeah…it was in March. What’s this…August? Guess I’ll have to start it over; I’ve forgotten what it’s about. Besides, Marcus pulled out the bookmark, so I don’t even know what page I was on.
Come to think of it, when IS the last time I read a book to myself instead of to someone who can't read…or watched a real movie that didn’t involve cartoon characters? Isn't there something wrong with the fact that I know what every Jimmy Neutron episode is about the minute it comes on?
Why is there a shot glass in the sink? Oh…I’m sure he found the Patron (tequila) in the freezer last night while I was asleep…and how nice, he cut himself some lime with a sharp knife. Oh no…that’s right…that was me. Maybe if I give Marcus some Patron before bed, he’ll sleep straight through the night? Just kidding…no, really…I am just kidding! I'm not THAT desperate…yet.
As I enter his bedroom that used to be my “guest” room…I see about an inch of dust on the top of the dresser. I thought I cleaned the house last weekend…must have missed that…was it last weekend? Must have missed a lot of things…seems there are a lot of places begging to be cleaned. Oh well…there’s always tomorrow…or next month.
Time to start our day…again!

"A hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove, but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child."

~Forest Witcraft

Well, time to start our morning ritual. As I load him, his huge backpack and his lunch box into my car, I take note of all the crayons, cars, candy and toys that I need to clean out. Oh well…there’s always tomorrow…or next month.
I’m rushing him into the daycare facility, when I notice that his face is dirty again. Didn’t I just wash your face? What is that stuff all over it? Can’t let them see it, so I lick my thumb and hurriedly wipe his face with my spit – yes, I said my spit – every mother/grandmother has done that at one time or another. If you say you haven’t, I think you’re in denial.
“Happy Hour” takes on a whole new meaning.
"Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them.”

~ Richard L. Evans

After a full day at work, I return to the daycare center to retrieve my little bundle of joy. Funny…I had imagined 6:00 p.m. being a time when I would be enjoying Happy Hour at a local haunt with my girlfriends, laughing and flirting with eligible bachelors. Now I find myself rushing to his daycare to make sure I don’t miss the 6:00 pick up deadline.
Once home, we play together outside for a while; where does he get all this energy? Then it’s time for dinner. Yes, I’m making him Tator Tots… again. I give him his plate and he hungrily reaches for one. “Gramma hot!” he squeals. “No it’s not…just eat it!" I say while reaching over to pick one up and see for myself. “Oh, it is hot…sorry!”
Its official…Marcus is going to survive the summer in spite of me, not because of me.
What’s that on the rug?

"Young boys should never be sent to bed, they always wake up another day older."

~ From the movie "Finding Neverland"

As I put on Marcus' diaper and get him ready for bed, I stop and wonder how there could be poop under my manicured fingernails. And today I got some AARP (American Association of Retired Persons) stuff in the mail. These two things can’t be happening simultaneously!! It’s one or the other…isn’t it? Either you’re a young mother with poop under your fingernails or you’re an old grandmother with no worries other than whether or not to join the AARP!
He’s finally in bed. Ahhh…now for a few moments of quiet relaxation before I turn in too. Yes, I know it’s only 8:30, but what’s a tired Gramma to do? I sit down on the couch and don’t even turn on the television, content to just savor the peaceful quiet of the night.
"Some days you feel like the dog, others you feel like the hydrant."

~Author: Unknown

Hmmmm…what’s that on the rug…candy? I bend down and pick it up to examine it more closely…I don’t remember giving him chocolate candy tonight. I bring it up to my nose to try to determine what kind of candy it is…OMG…this isn’t candy…it’s hard little boo-boo balls and I’m holding them in my hand!!! Arrrggghhhh!!! Ewww…why aren’t they in his diaper where they belong until I’m ready to release them? How did they escape and end up here on the floor?