A poo story

One of the nicer elements of apartment life in LA is that we have access to a rather lovely swimming pool and spa. There's also a gym, but I struggle to make the most of that particular amenity. I'm lazy like that.

Last summer was easy. Miss Pie was still little, so I simply timed pool visits for when she was due to nap, popped her in the troller, draped a muslin cloth over the stroller, then frolicked in the water with the Faery.

This summer, not so easy. You see, I've never been one of those mothers that willingly visits the pool with several small children in tow. Not without backup in the form of another adult. I find it all too hard, because of my aforementioned laziness. I also factor in that Miss Pie is one of Those Toddlers who has no fear. She's a climber. She wants to investigate everything and she's not a fan of holding hands. Water safety is not a concept which concerns her.

This past week, I've been a little braver. My motivation has come in the form of hot weather, and the knowledge that a bit of water play does tend to make the kids sleep harder.

I thought I'd found a rhythm for managing both girls alone at the pool, but an incident happened yesterday. One which had me reaching for vodka the instant J walked in the door after work.

(I'm not even much of a vodka drinker, but we had no wine. Vodka it was.)

Yep, you guessed it. This incident involved poo. The non-solid variety, and a swim nappy which failed to contain it.

We'd been in the pool for less than five minutes when it happened.

Before you could say 'Shit, shit, SHIT!', I had scooped Miss Pie out of the pool.

There were only a couple of teenaged boys in the pool, and they would have heard me yelling for the Faery to get out, and why. They seemed non-plussed and stayed in. I glanced at the water and saw that the 'stuff' had dispersed. There was nothing that I could see to retrieve, so what did I do about it?

Nothing.

Don't go judging. You try holding a slippery, wriggling toddler - with crap oozing out of her nappy - and then you can judge. Besides, that's what chlorine is for, right?

I plonked her into our red Radio Flyer wagon, and - the three of us dripping wet - made our way back to our apartment. Then I realised... I really didn't want to get all that water (and poo juice) on our carpet, so I raced inside and grabbed a nappy and box of wipes.

Then I took us back to the pool and into the ladies loo. My mistake. That was where the true horror occurred. The tiled floor was slippery for Miss Pie, and as I peeled off her bathing suit, I discovered she had well and truly outdone herself. Under the lycra, seven kinds of evil had spread across her body, waiting for me to clean... and she did not want to stand still.

On those slippery tiles.

Slipping and sliding. Poo falling everywhere.

It was hell.

It was five o'clock by the time we returned home, so I immediately ran a bath, dumped both girls in, and instructed the Faery to watch... because I can be so good with my parenting like that.

Then, in need of some sympathetic cooing, I fired up Facebook and posted a new status:

"A swimming nappy plus bathing suit is no match for a toddler doing a #3 in the pool. Such horror. I need vodka. And a shower."

Over the course of the evening, many sympathetic comments arrived, soothing my soul - along with vodka and foot rubs from J. Yeah, I sure milked it.

One childless friend enquired as to what a number three is, and I educated him.

(I fear that I've scared off my newly-married friend from starting a family)

What got me, though, was that some friends hit the 'like' button. Really? Really? They liked that I got shit all over me? Surely that's grounds for deletion.

I had a fairly sleepless night last night - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Poolside Trauma from Shit Disaster? Anyhow, a quiet day is planned for today. No visits to the pool - it's too soon for me. A shaded, sandy playground will be the go... because despite my feelings about sand, it's definitely easier to deal with than yesterday's  nightmare.

I did learn a lesson... that's something, right? That lesson is this. If I'm going to attempt taking small children to the pool, singlehandedly, then at least be prepared for the worst: keep the fridge well-stocked with wine.


If you 'like' my story, please leave a cooingly sympathetic comment below. Or just any comment will do, because comments make my day.

Automatic for the people

I'm beginning to have real 'issues' with American toilets. Not the ones in homes, but public ones.

It's got nothing to do with germs or hygiene, either.

It's all about the flush factor.

You see, the lack of cistern/tank at the back of public toilets here means that they all more or less look the same. Unless there is an actual lever to pull, it's difficult to tell at a glance as to whether or not it's an automatic toilet. Just a small cylinder with pipes, and a few round buttons... or what appear sometimes to be a flush button, but is actually nothing of use.

(Photo source)

We all know what automatic toilets mean - getting one's privates splashed at times by an unexpected flush, if hovering for just a second too long between sitting and standing. I first found out the hard way when using a toilet at the airport in Amsterdam. Given the amount of Mary Jane consumed that day (hey, I was young!), to say I was freaked out is an understatement.

So there you go. I don't like automatic toilets... but if there's one thing worse than an automatic toilet, it's not being able to tell.

I like to be prepared, and know how quickly to get my butt up and away. Knowing in advance that a toilet is automatic helps to avoid those cold splashes of shock.

Unfortunately, most public toilets look the same. Too often, I go about my business and hurriedly retreat, waiting for the flush... and waiting... to realise it's not automatic. Then begins the fun of trying to locate a button on the pipes at the back. Sometimes it's easy to see, sometimes it's well-camouflaged - one of several round, shiny surfaces on the pipe.

Sometimes the small black circle is a motion sensor. Sometimes it's a manual flush button.

You know, signage or labels wouldn't hurt, would they? Or maybe it's just me.

Having had family in town this past week has meant that we've been out and about every day, and have had to rely on using public toilets from time to time. The odds of me getting peeved with my 'awkward' toilet encounters were quite high.

Please. Someone tell me I'm not alone in hating these modern American loos, or whatever you call them.
I'm not weird, I'm really not...

Toilets aren't the only things of an automatic nature that are prolific here. It seems that in most restrooms, the taps (faucets) and soap dispensers have motion sensors too. Again, I often feel stupid when waving my hand around under the tap, waiting for that stream of water to start. Sometimes, waiting... then realising the tap is faulty and I need to move on to another one.

Then there are the paper towel dispensers that have motion sensors.

Only this morning, I saw a video taken by some friends of mine, in a parents room, changing their daughter's nappy. Some genius had thought it would be perfect to place the paper towel dispenser flush level alongside the baby change table. Brilliant! Every time my friend's baby kicked her legs, more paper would churn out of the dispenser. It was noisy, got in the way of her legs, and scared her - making her kick her legs more, starting the cycle all over again. Painful and funny to watch.

The argument that these 'advances' in technology are great for hygiene makes me laugh. What's the point in avoiding touching those things, if in the end, you still need to touch the doors to get out?

This need for things to be automatic - to have one less button here to push, one lever less there to pull... does it really improve our quality of life? Especially for such trivial tasks? I can't help but wonder about the culture of laziness that's inspired this technology.

Misunderstanding #1

The toilet - AKA  the loo, porcelain throne, dunny... or potty

When the Faery began attending preschool over here, there was much excitement. At the time, we were still waiting for our container of belongings to arrive. Although we decided not to bring all of our treasures - and got rid of a lot of things before The Big Move - the one room which had every item packed for shipping was the Faery's. I figured that whatever she'd outgrown, would be used again for Miss Pie.

So we waved goodbye to the big truck, and six crazy weeks raced by. Six crazy weeks of staying in various places, saying goodbye to our friends and family, a fourteen-hour flight, living in a hotel room (all four of us!) and looking for our own place to rent. By the time we'd settled in to our apartment, the Faery was well and truly over living out of just the one small suitcase of her favourite toys and books. She was over having no play mates. She was gagging for preschool, and we were lucky to find a great one, close to home.

After she'd been going for a week or two, we were walking home one day and she shared with me, "Mum, in America, when children want to go to the toilet, they say 'I want to go party'."

I had to stop and think about that one. 

Then it came to me: 

- Firstly, for some reason, American kids don't say toilet. They say potty, whereas in Australia, a potty is strictly the smaller, mobile, plastic version used for purposes of toilet-training kids. Potty-training, if you're American. Go potty = go to the toilet.

- Secondly, the way Australians say party, and the way Americans say potty? They sound exactly the same. Either way, it's /pɑːti / 

(Unless you're from New Jersey. Then, it'd probably be /pɔːwti / ...sorry - years spent as an English language teacher mean I can't help myself at times, and the nerd in me rears her head when phonetics are involved. I have so little need for them these days.)

Anyhow, that was one of the Faery's introductions to toilet lingo in the US. Between myself, J and the Faery, we've each had some misunderstandings - some awkward, and some funny - so I will try to share them here from time to time.

And speaking of toilets, I am still getting used to the American ones. Something about the wider bowl and the closer proximity of - ahem - contents to the surface. Turning around to flush, there seems to be much more on view than I really want to see...