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Sometimes one needs to examine all the shit in their lives.
I’m talking shit. The reason I’m talking shit is because there’s a lot of it in my life right now: kid shit, dog shit, cat shit, personal shit, old shit, new shit, marriage, too much shit. The amount of shit is less than a year ago, but I still smell shit, wipe shit, scoop shit, and feel shitty on a daily basis.
Rayden, my four year old, shits in the toilet, but I still have to help.
“Daddy! I poohed!”
We peer into the porcelain together, a bonding moment.
“I think it was a clean getaway,” I’ll say.
“Yes Daddy.”
“You have to deal with your pooh. Get rid of it…holding pooh in gives you owies.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Jaxen, my youngest is two years old. Thankfully he wants to wants to use the toilet like a big kid, and has miraculously potty trained himself. The problem though, is if I’m not standing there the moment he’s done, he slides his dirty ass across the seat.
“Stop!” I’ll yell, but he’s off to go give Rayden shit, his job as a little brother.
I won’t even talk about the time the kids ate shit on my watch.
