Please Don't Be Poop

Brian looked at this from afar and
said, "Why are you posting a picture
of a potato?"  which I guess makes
him the mature one in our relationship.

I may have been a little cranky on Friday.  I may have been so cranky that I ate Brian's Snickers bar that I bought as a replacement for the Payday candy bar that I stole from him ate on Thursday night.

After all that protein packed fuel I decided it was best to skip my five mile run because no training schedule was going to be the boss of me.  This was a sound decision benefiting not only my physical and mental health, but also my sweet nature towards my poor family.  I guess a ton of sugar on top of a mood, combined with no exercise and the weight of my weight on my mind (not a pun)(but could be if I weighed my words a little more)(Stop! I'm pound-ing my hand on my leg in laughter!) does nothing to fix the problem of my extreme case of the Grumpies.

Saturday dawned nice and early (not really, my awesome older kids tried to let me sleep in by getting the younger kiddos up and plugging in some Chugginton, which still didn't change my outlook.  Dude! Captain Crabbypants much?)

I decided the only logical way to tackle my mood was to clean Esther's room.  With Esther at my side.  (Yes, I realize now how ridiculous this plan sounds, too.) Esther is four years old.  Since she is the third child she has missed some of the more diligent training time that got used up on lucky #1 and #2.  Her idea of cleaning her room is to take all her dirty clothes and hide them in the dress up bin.  She also thinks all things shoved under her bed are invisible fit neatly.  (Which? Totally not true.)  Another popular technique is to take any paper clutter and rip it into the tiniest pieces imaginable and strew them about the floor.  (Another formula for invisibility.)

It was when I was *helping* Esther sweep under and behind her bed when I saw it.  My first thought was please don't be poop.  That thought ran laps through my mind as I got closer to inspect.


A lumpy brown line, broken up over the span of about two feet, ran along the wall just above the floor molding.  It stuck out about 2 centimeters in some spots, and in others was a smeary mess.

Please don't be poop.  

Kelly: Esther, is this poop?
Esther: No.
Kelly: Esther, what is this?
Esther: I don't know.

I reluctantly got closer to inspect further.  I smelled it. *cringe, gag*

Kelly:  Is this candy?
Esther:  Yeah.
Kelly: Is it tootsie rolls? (My sense of smell is pretty first rate.  Plus Eve bought tootsie rolls at the dollar store so, yeah, skills of deduction.)
Esther: (with the decency to look miserable) Yeah.
Kelly: Why are they on the wall?
Esther:  I didn't like them.

Here, I was at a fork in the road.  Do I go with A) So why did you stick them on the wall instead of throwing them away?  or B) Why did you keep eating more?

Instead I went with C) Concede that some days just beat you when you are down, choose your battles, and let Esther scrape at the walls for awhile (with a knife food scraper thing, chill out)  while Mama delivers the strangest piece of parental advice ever, in a lecture called "Don't Stick Used Food to the Wall and Leave it There."  The second part of Plan C is, as soon as the husband comes home from his half day at work, leave the house and go shopping alone.  Eat a personal pan pizza from the food court at Target.

Coincidentally, I have gained five pounds this week.  I'm giving myself two weeks to lose it or I'm posting my food journal.  *Be warned.*

Thank God it wasn't poop.