Did That Thing Just Pee on Me?

My daughter recently had a field trip with her kindergarten class.  The school asked for parents to drive and to help keep track of the kids. They were going to a museum, which is huge.  You could spend the entire day inside the museum, but to see everything outside would take another full day.  Outside the museum there are miles of outdoor activities, live animals, a train, boats, and even dinosaur trails.  I volunteered to go, not really thinking about how hard it was going to be having my three year old with me.  The week before the field trip, I had re-injured my ankle and was now back in my “boot”.  I left that museum with a swollen foot and throbbing leg.  I was also covered in sweat, pollen, dirt and I what I am fairly sure was squirrel pee!  
My daughter really wanted to go on this field trip and, in order to help drive, I was going to have to keep my son home from school and take him with us.  The museum was too far away from his preschool and I could not make it back to pick him up at 11:45 (when he gets out).  But, I was actually looking forward to taking him on the field trip; I knew he would have a great time and he loves doing things with his big sister.  We got to the museum to meet her class and they were both very excited.  There is a big rocket at the front of the museum and my son was fascinated!  He could not stop talking about the rocket and I felt like I made the right decision to bring him on the fun, but  still educational, field trip.
When the rest of my daughter’s class arrived, she informed me that she was NOT staying with me. My daughter told me that she would be staying with her teacher, and a select group of friends, and I was to take her little brother and avoid her until the end of the day.  Her teacher (who loves her) agreed to keep her, so “little miss independent” walked away with her cool, mommy-free, group.  I drove 45 minutes (to that museum) for my daughter, and she decides that she wants to be with her friends, not her family!   Honestly I was a little sad, but it was still an opportunity to spend quality time with my son.   
My son and I went the opposite direction of my daughter.  We spent a lot of time looking at the space exhibits and the satellite.  We studied the live owls, alligators, and birds and had just finished learning about clouds, when my son decided he wanted to go find the dinosaur trail.  We headed outside and followed the signs.  It was a pretty morning in mid-April and things were starting to bloom, but it was also starting to get hot.  It was a long walk over multiple terrains.  As I hobbled over the concrete, gravel, and mulch paths, I could already feel my re-fractured foot and leg throbbing but, my son was excited.  We finally arrived at the dinosaurs and I was relieved to find that it was one of the shadiest places outside the museum.  The trail was just cut into the very tall trees and, in a few places, the trees arched and provided complete cover from the sun.  
We walked the dinosaur trail 3 times.  I was exhausted, but he loved seeing the life-sized dinosaurs set out in the trees.  He wanted me to read him every detail about the dinosaurs.  He listened, asked questions, and talked up a storm.  He was happy as a lark, but I was hot and in pain!  He wanted to take the trail again (for the 4th time) but I talked him into going to get some lunch.  I really wanted to get off of my foot and rest it for a minute.  He reluctantly agreed, after I promised to find him french fries, and we turned and headed back toward the entrance. 
We were now retracing our footsteps and heading back down the long wooded trail toward the  cafe.  This part of the trail narrows and is surrounded by nothing but very tall, arching trees.  I was enjoying the cool shade, when I was startled by the feeling of something wet hitting my head.  I jumped forward and then turned around because I heard a loud “splat” on the concrete path behind me.   I then quickly looked up because I heard something in the tops of the trees.  The sound was a branch cracking/moving above us.  I stood there, shocked and confused, as I tried to determine what this weird gush of fluid was that fell from the trees.  
My first thought was that a bird had pooped on me.  I was looking at the wet splatter pattern and trying to determine what it could have come from.  It was hard to say how much liquid had actually fallen. It had made a pretty loud “splat”, but I don’t think it was actually all that much liquid.  It was more likely that it made such a loud noise and such a wide splatter because it was falling from such a height – it had to be falling very far and very fast!  It still seemed like too much liquid to have come from a bird, and I also heard the sound of a cracking, bending branch above me.  Something was moving on, or jumping from, one of those narrow branches 50 feet above me.  It had to be a squirrel, I thought.  On a daily basis, I see them walk up, and on, the most unbelievably high and narrow branches.  I have watched them spidey-man up the side of our house; they are unbelievable climbers!  
I was positive that only a bird or squirrel could have been up that high, and there was no wing-flapping, chirping, or squawking going on.  It was not a bird, and it was not the rain, so it had to be a squirrel.  But, I still had to determine what that furry little menace (the squirrel) had actually dropped from the tree.  Either he was up there having a drink, and spilled his little dixie cup, or he peed on me!  OK, I was now fairly confident that a stupid, furry little rodent had just peed on me (on the dinosaur trail) at the museum!   To make matters worse, I had just put my favorite sunglasses up on my head (when we hit the shade).  That squirrel had the nerve to pee on my favorite sunglasses!  Seriously!  I cant put those back on my eyes!
We went to eat and I caught a glance of my hair in a mirror in the cafe.  Nothing noticeable jumped out; it was not super obvious that an animal had just peed in my head, so I decided to put it behind me and not let it ruin the day.  I was relieved to find that, beside the forks, the cafe had set a huge bottle of sanitizer out.  I rubbed that sanitizer on my hands and tried to forget that an animal had just taken a wiz on my head.  After eating, my son felt much better but, I could not say the same.  We headed down the road and ran into my daughter looking at the stinky farm animals.  Between the smell of the animals and the heat, I started feeling nauseous.  Even though she protested, we decided to follow my daughter’s group, to the play fort.  
My son was determined to do everything his big sister was doing and she was determined to stay far away from him.  She climbed up in this tall wooden fort, but my son could not reach the steps.  She just left him hanging there – stuck!   I had to squeeze through mobs of children as I tried to rescue my dangling son.  My huge “boot” kept getting stuck between wooden slabs and impatient, stinky, older kids elbowed and kicked me as they fought to push past me and my trapped little boy.  It was a nightmare!  I got my son down and then chased him over bridges, through concrete tunnels, and down wooden ramps, all with a broken ankle.  I was covered in sweat, dirt, green pollen (which was falling from the newly budding trees), and what I am pretty sure was squirrel pee!  I felt disgusting!  
It was finally time for all of the kids to go and I was so relieved!  We got into the air-conditioned car and there was a moment of silence.  We were all tired and the 45 minute drive home was fairly quiet.  We walked in the door and I told the kids to wash their hands and gave them some fruit.  I turned on the TV and told them that I was going to take a quick shower because I was pretty sure that a furry rodent had urinated on my head.  
After I removed the sweat, pollen, and animal urine, I felt like a new person.  I came out and sat with my kids and thought about the number of people at the museum today.  There were hundreds of people there.  I wondered if anyone else had an animal confuse them with a toilet!  I was still questioning if anything else could have fallen from such a height.  I thought again about hearing the distinct sound of the branches cracking, and then watching them rustling overhead; it was as if an animal was jumping from one branch to another.  Just then, I looked out the second story window.  I saw one of the long branches shake and watched as a squirrel tightrope-walked down the thin limb.  The squirrel just sat, with unbelievable balance, on the very edge of the limb as he ate it’s red berries.  I reached up and touched my newly washed hair and found myself sneering.  
It was now official;  I am now (and forever) completely over squirrels!  They are no longer cute, agile, determined little creatures; they are troublemakers!  I thought about how they filled our gutters with dirt, rocks, and mud (to make nests) which basically turned into cement.  Those squirrels cemented out gutters, and down spouts, costing us a lot of aggravation and money.  Now, they have the nerve to go and pee on me!  I am an animal lover, but these animals truly are a total pain in my rear (and a mess in my hair).  I I don’t ever want to see one of those bushy-tailed rats again.  
Well, so much for my fun-filled, educational trip to the museum.  I hope my children learned something educational today,  because I sure didn’t.  Well, maybe that is not true. I did learn the importance of investing in a parasol, a slicker, or even a waterproof wide-brimmed hat, if you are going to be walking under trees or forest creatures!   So, I guess I did learn something today; maybe the day wasn’t a total loss after all!  
Not cool Mr. Squirrel!  That was seriously not cool!

Mom, Are Boys Gross?

My daughter walked into my room and said, “Mom, are boys gross?”  I replied, “A little bit honey.  Why are you asking?”  Because daddy just asked me to pull his finger again and then yelled “Did you hear that barking spider?”   “You usually say that is gross and stinky.  Jay seems stinky too.  Are all boys gross?”  I looked at my little girl and said, “Honey, boys tend to be a little grosser and stinkier than girls.  They like to poot and burp and make weird sounds.  They are just a little different than us, but it is OK.  They are free entertainment.”

I thought about how often I tell my husband that he is gross.  I didn’t think that I said it that much!  Well, maybe I do!  My husband is one of those guys who is only gross around close friends and family.  He is Mister Manners at most times; his manners are actually quite amazing and people find him very charming.  Then he comes home with gas, quacking like a duck, and cussing like a sailor.  I find him slightly gross, but extremely amusing.  He does know how to behave in public but, unfortunately for me, he leaves little to the imagination.

Recently he asked me to buy him some Metamucil.  I bought it, and a few weeks later he brought in the container and sat it on the kitchen island.   He then asked me to buy him more.  I asked, “Is that already empty?  Did you use it all?”  He said, “I did.  I’ve used it every day and now I’m pooping like a goose!”  I said, “That is so gross!”  He said “No!  That is great!  I am using less toilet paper and my boxers are much cleaner!  What was happening before was gross!  Why do you think I switched to all black boxers?  Because, all the other ones were getting a grayish-brown tinge!”  I shuddered and said, “You seriously have to get your own hamper!  And I think you should have to carry your own underwear to the laundry room.  Actually, just wash your underwear in the washing machine in the garage.  Our indoor washer is not for completely disgusting articles of clothing!  Poop stained pants go in the garage only! You know the rules!”

He laughed and said, “Oh honey, it is no longer a problem, thanks to the Metamucil my boxers are skid-free and safe to handle.  I said “You really are gross!”  He said, “Getting old is not easy.  Come look at my ear hairs!  I can’t believe how long they have gotten; my nose hairs too! I pulled one out last week that must have been connected to my brain!”  I just shook my head and sighed; I mean, what else could I say.  He leaves for work and I took the kids to school.

Two hours later I am pulling the clothes out of the dryer and carrying them into my bedroom.  I lay the clothes out and there are his dreaded black boxers.  Even though they were clean, I still held them like they were toxic waste.  I used a delicate pincher grasp, trying only to touch the waist band and avoid the crotch.  I was stacking up his black boxers and I realized that my clothes were completely stuck to them.  I don’t usually need fabric softener sheets on anything except fuzzy blankets, but for some reason his boxers had serious static cling.  This did not used to be a problem!  His underwear did not used to cling, for dear life, to all of our clothes!  “Why now?” I wondered; this was seriously bothering me.  Maybe it is all of that “pooping like a goose!”  Maybe the sheer amount of times that he is pulling those boxers up and down is causing too much friction in his underwear!

Going through his boxers, I was just getting more grossed out by the minute and then, I got seriously bummed out.  My delicate little panties were favorite t-shirts were static-clinged to the crotch of his black boxers.  Of all the things to get stuck to the crotch of his underwear; he could not have planned it better himself!  I pulled my “dainties” off of his boxers and apologized profusely to my clothes for having to experience that level of trauma. I then promised my lovely clothes that they would never again have to be washed with those vulgar boxers!

OK, so maybe (on occasion) I do tell my husband that he is gross.   And maybe, my children hear this but, honestly, they think that their dad is hilarious.  My daughter screams that “dad is so gross”, but she is laughing so hard that she almost wets her pants.  This is the kind of reaction that just eggs him on; my husband loves to get a rise out of both momma and “mini momma” (as he sometimes calls our daughter).  I only hope that we have not completely screwed up our children yet.  I will try to watch how often I call my husband “gross” in front of the children.  At least, I also say a lot of great things about him!  My husband is smart, strong, determined, caring, and “poops like a goose!”   It’s just like I tell my daughter – “Hey, nobody is perfect!”  But some are grosser than others!