Since I switched to Wordpress (don’t forget to resubscribe in bloglines using misszoot.com, not www.misszoot.com) I’ve noticed a neat thing on the “compose” page that shows you all of your draft entries not yet published. I pulled on of the untitled ones up today and found this picture in it. EEK. I have no idea what I was going to write on that entry since it was just the picture, but probably something along the lines of: She’s so tiny! Look at her!

If I could talk to myself that day, the day I was going to write about this picture, I would tell myself to savor every moment because “Before you know it, a year will be gone and you’ll miss that tiny baby.”

I probably would also warn her of the horrid of the solid-food-poops to come. I might have even encouraged myself to never introduce the baby to solid foods so as to avoid the nasty poops the future would hold. No one prepared me for the poops to come. They are bad. Oh so bad.

(Sidenote: Does anyone read titles to blog entries? And when you read this one did you stop and wonder what this entry was going to be about? Because I’m curious who you thought might be pooping in the house?)

We’ve all commiserated before about how we take very innocent things our partners say or do and blow it up into some big argument about how tired we are…and over-worked…and under-appreciated and Would it kill you to bring me flowers sometimes? Just because they washed the dishes.

Well, last night I took it to new territory.

MrZ: It smells like poop in here. (He was standing right next to the litter box)
Me: I just changed the kitty litter! Jeezus, I’m doing my best around here, if you have complaints why don’t you do it yourself! I can’t do it all!
MrZ: I meant that one of the cats was actually pooping at that moment…no one can keep that from smelling like poop. Even you.
Me: What does that mean? Are you saying I don’t do a good job keeping this house clean? Are you saying we live in filth? ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?
MrZ: Yes. You are a filthy fat good-for-nothing slob. Make me dinner, bitch.
Me: *sob*
MrZ: I need to learn when is a good time for sarcasm and when is a bad time.

I have had many blog-topic tidbits pop into my head lately - and I realized a lot of them seem to be related to Poop. I’ve decided it would be unhealthy to squish these thoughts back into the basement of my mind, so I am now subjecting you all to my poop thought in all of their glory. Just think of it as Bulleted Poop.

• We saw a bumper sticker the other night that said, “I’m speeding because I really have to poop.” It came complete with a graphic. Of poop. Steaming poop. MrZ is still laughing about it as we speak.
• One of the chores that have been neglected since having a baby is the Periodic Dog Poop Removal in the backyard. Let’s just say that our grass seems to be thriving under these conditions. Evidently that’s the secret: Let three dogs crap all over your yard all season and enjoy the lush grass that grows as a result. Of course, you can’t really enjoy the grass without stepping in the poop…maybe the idea is not that great.
• Sometimes, when you research information about training for marathons, you stumble upon phrases like Runner’s Trots and your outlook will never be the same again.
• Now that NikkiZ is eating more solid food than she is nursing, her diapers are toxic. I’ll leave it at that except to say that daycare is worth it when I am only changing less than a third of those diapers a week.

You’re never coming back here, are you?

MrZ is taking the day off to get started on some of the home improvement projects he was looking to get done this summer. I called him to check on how things were going and he informed me that every inch of the equipment in the storage bin in the screened-in-porch was covered in mouse poop. So, since the first step was going to be to trash the bin, he had to clean out all of the crap first. Literally. He opted to throw a lot of the stuff away, which I think was a good call since I can’t even recall what was in that bin to begin with.

And we’ve only lived in the house a year. Imagine how bad it would have been in two or three years. Yep, I think that’s a good rule to live by, if you can’t even remember what is in a storage unit? Chances are you don’t need it. And if it’s covered in rat poop? Definitely trash.

How is it that I can be so incredibly anal about some things around my house, but not with others? I can’t stand if there is anything just sitting on the island in my kitchen. I obsess over cleaned off countertops. I don’t even like keeping appliances out on my counters, and I only leave the ones there that we use daily, like the coffee-maker and microwave. If you leave something on a counter? Give it less than an hour before I’ve snuck up and moved it. And I scrub them incessantly.

But - I have no problems with letting rats crap on all of the toys in the storage big outside. Toys my kids might play with. I also don’t care about shower mildew or dust on shelves I can’t see. But the DVDs must be alphabatized, the toothpaste lid must be clean, and the TiVo must be organized.

What are you anal about? And how pissed would you be if I moved your stuff everytime you laid it on the counter? Because that drives MrZ crazy.

Of course, given a sacred family tradition like dyeing eggs, mix it with a pre-teen boy, and what do you end up with? An orange egg with the word “poop” written on it. Actually? There were TWO eggs with the word “poop” written on them, but the blue one didn’t show up as well as the orange one.

We didn’t dye as many eggs as we normally would have. I broke two while we were boiling them and one while we were dyeing them. I’m kinda klutzy like that. I was really glad we did get a chance to dye eggs though. Easter is not complete unless you have eggs with “poop” on them. I’m pretty sure that’s written in the New Testament somewhere.