Piddle Pads

If you are interested in reading this entry, do it now. Once the NyQuil wears off, I’ll be mortified and delete it! Also, if you are of the male persuasion, you’d better skip this entry anyway unless you want Clorox images from your brain. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Side note: It’s not that I haven’t been blogging. I have. I just seem to have some extra special tattle-tale friends that like to push my entries out to their extra-special friends in high places who seem to feel like I’m blurring some lines here. Well, based on the wisdom of a very wise uncle of mine, I’m going with claiming freedom of speech (and hoping he’ll give me a job and bail me out of jail). Anyway, I’ll be dragging some of those entries out into the open over the next few days. Get ready.

Moving on… I’ve decided that the absolute most helpless feelings I’ve had on this crazy journey occur when I get sick. Really sick… not just the occasional mental hiccup. When I get sick, things go down hill. Last week, Grant and Dasha were sick. Then, the bug sideswiped me. Last night, it got Annie. I think this sickness shows up in the DSM-5 as PLAGUE. It starts with a high fever that just won’t quit no matter how many times you alternate Tylenol and Motrin. At one point, I thought about trying to add Lysol shooters in as the third round. About the time Grant and Dasha started to recuperate, the fever took me out. So, what’s the sole adult in the house supposed to do? I just wanted to cover my head up and disappear but I kept hearing things like, “Mama, come wipe me,” and, “Can I plug this thing into the thing over here?” Disappearing wasn’t an option. What the heck are you supposed to do? Crank up the DVD player for a movie fest. Get out every crayon and coloring book in the house and hope she remembers to only color in the book and not on the walls. However, if she must color on the walls… go for it. I have the power of those magical Mr. Clean scrubby things that will take gang graffiti off of any bridge. (How do they hang over the side of those bridges to paint that crap)? Anyway, with this vicious fever came a wonderful melodious cough. It sounds like a seal that is being squeezed through a meat grinder. Once the fever sort of abated, the cough hung on. That’s where my problems are stemming from. (Please remember that I’m typing through the effects of a NyQuil slushie and I’ll most like delete this entire thing tomorrow when, in the words of Jimmy Cliff, “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone…”

When I cough, it’s not just the cough that’s problematic. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen the commercials. Sneezing, coughing, laughing… it all gets the same result when you’ve given birth to three kids. You twiddle. There, I said it. Just once, I want to see some guy bolt from a comical conversation doing the potty dance knowing that it’s already too late. At my house, this happens quite often. The kids are used to it. Close friends know not to be offended if I tear off toward the bathroom after they tell a hysterical story. Yeah, I’ve talked with the doctor about the “options” but for a girl who can’t even have a fever without denying someone the right to have their butt wiped, any sort of even minor surgery just isn’t in the cards. (And, never mind the finances…). So, this whole week I’ve spent playing a sprinkler. No, not the funny dance. I’ve been a real live sprinkler. During the first day, I literally went through every pair of drawers I owned (even those nice ones that get shoved to the back of the drawer and you never wear and wonder what the heck possessed you to buy them). So, I decided to get dressed and go in search of those piddle pads they kept advertising on TV. They strap one of those suckers between two spindles and twist it and absolutely nothing piddles out. That’s exactly what I needed! What I didn’t need was three kids in tow on this delicate mission. Oh well.

Did you know that as you stand in the aisle of Walmart and look at the piddle pads, there are about 40 different varieties? I could see that there were different brands but there were also different sizes, shapes, and absorbencies. Now, had I been standing in the baby section and looking at diapers, I would have understood my choices. First, choose the brand you want (Huggies). Second, choose the size you want (5). Third, if there’s a girl / boy option, make sure you get the right one because the piddle zones are located in different areas. Adult diapers are way more complicated. And, let’s face it. I didn’t even want to be seen standing there. I was so embarrassed! I actually circled the section several times just so it wouldn’t look like I was standing there studying.

Finally, I made a choice and thought I was getting the brand of those cool ones from the TV commercial and I hid them in the bottom of the buggy – until Annie pulled them right back out and started waving them around saying, “What are these?” I don’t remember my exact words to her but I’m pretty sure she will bring them back up in a counseling session years from now when she’s blaming me for her life.

We made it back out of the store and to the safety of the house. (How safe is it, though)? I ran for privacy thinking I’d just solved my biggest problem. I do remember thinking at one point, “My life is sort of sad if I’m thrilled about buying a package of piddle pads!” Oh well. I ripped those suckers open in a moment similar to when Charlie opened that Golden Ticket that changed his life. No golden ticket was in the package, though. Those things were the size of band-aids. Are you kidding? That’s definitely NOT what I’ve seen on TV! In a moment of desperation, I cried. I admit it. I cried over piddle pads. And, if you want to know the truth, the crying sent me into a coughing spell, which… you get the point. What a Hallmark sort of memory- Me, standing in the bathroom, coughing, peeing my pants, and crying.  In a stroke of genius, I thought maybe you could use the things like Legos and piece them together to make something more sea worthy. Hmmmm….

To make a long story short, you cannot piece piddle pads together like Legos unless you plan on using some sort of waterproof sealant to keep them stable. This was the point when I decided that doubling up on undies was my best offense. I’ll admit to longingly looking at Annie’s old training undies at some point and even eyeing those old rubber pants. This was becoming a major problem. Thank goodness we were off for the week. I’m not sure what I’d have done at work.

Fast forward to this afternoon, after a phone call to my doctor, I found out that one of the meds I’d been prescribed for bronchitis might have been exacerbating the problem. I think I might have actually said, “Hallelujah,” when she told me that. But, I have a few more days of the meds that I really need to finish so I knew that I was going to have to go back to the store and face the piddle pad aisle again. Ugh. This time, I left the kids at home. I believe I told them that I was going to go put gas in the van (which I did, too)! I snuck into CVS and prayed that no one would question my needs. Once again, I stood there dumbfounded. CVS had a completely different array. And, I’ll admit that I’d done some research and I knew darn well which brand could be twisted up by a laughing lady and not dribble. I didn’t see that brand. Crap. As an elderly couple entered the aisle and started looking at the very unmentionable products at the end of the aisle, I knew that I was about to get the church giggles and had to get out of there. (When the gentleman pulled out his spectacles to examine one of the boxes, I knew it was time to grab and go. I was having visions of him asking me to read the fine print on the box)! So, I grabbed the house brand and ran toward the cashier. Problem? There was a line. Really? I’m going to have to stand in line with pee pee pads? Dang it! Finally, I made it to the register after all three customers in front of me needed extra-special attention, which required a manager’s help. I had the cash in hand and was ready to be the speediest transaction of the day. But… What I thought was $7.99 was $17.99. Crap. If you didn’t know, teachers get paid once a month at the end of the month. There I stood with a financial dilemma with my ego melting away like the wicked witch after a good dosing with a fire hose. In a moment of sheer desperation, which sort of, no doubt about it, manifested as a lie, I said, “Geez. She didn’t give me enough money.” I made it sound like I was buying those suckers for some old lady down the street at the nursing home and she’d stiffed me. I got out of line and made the walk of shame and exchanged the darn things (not what I was thinking). I did notice that the elderly couple was still at the end of the aisle but they’d enlisted the help of the pharmacist in their quest for the perfect, well, um…. I prayed not to make eye contact with the pharmacist or the couple. I made it back out of the store with the $7.99 package that I’d budgeted for and headed home. I just wanted to get home.

Once again, I retreated thinking this time I might have gotten the Golden Ticket but, once again, realized that I had another issue. This pack held pads the size of the Titanic. Instead of band-aids, I had full-sized cruise ships! Ugh! No wonder old people don’t like to leave their houses! They’ve given up on these piddle pads and just sit at home in their leather recliners where their accidents can easily be wiped up.

I tossed the pack in the floor and walked away. The pinnacle of this entire story and the one moment of reverie came when Dasha emerged from my bathroom later in the day walking like she was riding a horse. J Oops. I guess she was a bit confused about the location of her products versus mine. The poor girl is probably thinking I’ve lost my mind and that I’m trying to kill her! I’ll tell her in the morning (right after I delete this post)!

So, there’s the story. I’m not sure why I felt the need to share this dose of TMI. Like I said, I’m still taking the medication and I think I’m probably going to feel a little differently about sharing this information come tomorrow morning. However, I now have enough piddle pads to fix any random leaks around the house, sop up any spills, or even to offer a hockey team their own beautifully packaged set of pads. Oh wait! Do they have girls’ hockey teams? If so, they could absolutely use today’s purchase as shin guards!

Good night, all. I’m going to bed in hopes that sense will creep into my snot laden brain during the night.