Everyone Poops

Women can't handle pooping at work.

Women can’t handle pooping at work.

I love the book Everyone Poops. Kids get it, why don’t adult women? We all poop. Obviously it is much more pleasant to take care of business in the comforts of your own home. However sometimes when the feeling arises, you may need to “leave the kids at the pool”, or should I say, at work.  However, us women at the workplace are very finicky about pooping at work. We have an unspoken etiquette to abide by when doing our do-do at the workplace.

Today I walked into the office bathroom, only to find a small, typed note taped above the light switch saying, “Please leave the fan on, if air quality is LESS than optimal”. In other words, “if you took a shit, and it stinks, leave the fan on, so nobody else has to suffer.”

This got me thinking about all the awkward gestures we take when taking a crap at work.

Stall Selection
At our office facilities, we have two stalls in the women’s bathroom. A handicap stall and a smaller stall. When you needs to go #2, you always use the larger stall. Mainly because you can’t peek-a-boo under the wall and see who’s feet are next to you, when peeing in the smaller stall. And when you’re pooping, it is nice to know that the other potty goer can’t see that it is you stinking up the bathroom. It is such a well known fact that everyone uses the larger stall when pooping, the can of Lycol permanently has a home there.

The Stand Off
The worst is when you’re in the bathroom alone, doing your business, and along comes someone else strolling into the bathroom and parks themselves in the smaller stall next to you. You think to yourself, “ok… they’re just going to take a quick pee and be on their way. I can hold it until they leave, and then continue on my business. If it becomes an emergency, I can fart when they flush, so they can’t hear”. 

You wait, and wait, and wait. And then it becomes apparent that they are pooping too! What the hell? Don’t they know you’re next door? Maybe they didn’t hear you. So then you shift a little on the toilet or wrestle the toilet paper around, politely letting her know that you were there first and waiting for them to leave. But they don’t leave….

Now you have two options. First, just wait it out. If they’re adamant about wrapping it up before you, you can just hang out. Maybe check Twitter, read the back of the baby powder bottle (yes, someone in our office has brought their own baby powder bottle, and it lives in the big stall), or just twiddle your thumbs. Or second, you can go for it, do your business, flush, wash hands super quick, and run out of the bathroom before she even knows it was you who was “letting one go” next to her.

My husband and I always debate about farting in the office. His thought is that if you have fart at work, do it! Crop dust if you have to. Are you kidding me? Maybe it works for his silent but deadly farts. But my farts are rippers. I could never fart at work. But when you are in the bathroom, sometimes one needs to slip out. When this happens, I try and do it discretely. For example, if there is someone in the stall next to me and I feel a fart coming, I will cough at the same time as I fart. Hoping that the cough will drown out the fart. Try it next time, it works. Or at least I hope it does…

The Fake Poop. Or Bathroom Nap
I did this more when I was pregnant, but will still use this trick when I am especially tired from a long night with the baby. I will take a 10 minute cat nap in the large bathroom stall. If anyone is wondering where I am, they can just assume I am “using the facilities”. But I will sit on the toilet, put my head in my lap, and doze off for 5-10 minutes. Usually I will only do this is there is no one else in the bathroom. It just sucks when you are suddenly startled by another woman entering the bathroom. But it works for a “quicky”.

There are so many other pooping tips and quirky stories I could write about. I’m sure this will be the first of multiple poop posts. I guess with 2 kids, one of which who is still in diapers,  and the other who freely talk about her poop, I feel pretty comfortable with the subject. I mean, shit, everyone poops!



Failing at being Supermom

With this being a new blog for me, I am still finding my voice and my writing style. I would love every post to be knee slapping funny, have a sense of sarcasm and just touch every parent who reads it on a level of connection with humor attached. But sometimes, my posts are going to be more of a barf of words. A rant of how I struggle with parenting, or hopefully succeed in parenting. With that said….



Failing At Supermom

I am failing at being a Supermom! (I feel like I am in an AA meeting right now, introducing myself, “Hi I am Delia, and I am failing at being a Supermom.”)

Before I had children, I had this ideal image of what motherhood meant to me. I would be the soccer mom, the bake sale mom, the mom with the bumper sticker on her mini van that says, “My child is an honor student at…”. I wanted to stay home with my children and spend my days cleaning house, cutting coupons, trying new recipes, be the perfect at home mom.

Ok back to reality. Supermom is a myth. Reality is that I work full-time and I am a full-time mom. I chose this path. I wanted to be with my kids and not in the office full-time. But I am wearing myself too thin. I flake on parenting participation commitments for school. I “heat” vs cook dinner. I let my kids watch WAY too much TV. And I always have the huge mountain of dirty and clean laundry that needs to be washed or folded. I can’t do it all!!!! Plus I am balancing the kids school and home, along with checking emails, and working late nights.

Tonight, after getting the baby to bed, I rushed out to the store to buy paints and mushrooms for a life lab project for the kinder class tomorrow. Two weeks ago, it was my turn for life lab again, and I forgot half the items on the list for the project, and had to back out last minute.

I also work in the kinder class every other Tuesday. Which I have my mom or my sister in law watch the baby. At 5:30 this evening, I got a wave of panic, realizing I had forgotten to arrange childcare for him for tomorrow, so I could work in the class.  This over extending of my time seems to happen on a daily basis for me.

Field trips, bake sales, nutritious homemade meals, storytime every night, arts and crafts, properly brushed teeth twice a day. It just doesn’t happen on a regular basis. If I am lucky maybe once a month? Ok, I have to admit, we have gotten better about the teeth brushing. But this is after 2 “princess teeth”. That is a nice way to describing her 2 silver crowns due to root canals.

Oh well, what can I say? My heart is into it. My intentions are good. My kids are fed. They have clean clothes and a roof over their heads. And in the end, they feel safe and loved. What more can I ask for…. oh yeah, maybe some sleep and a big bowl of ice cream. That would be nice.

My mom hates my gay socks


These are my rainbow “diversity” socks. Aka, my gay pride socks. And I love them!!!

You may be wondering why on earth would I name my blog post, “My mom hates my gay socks”? Well, I will get to that. But to build up to such a interesting title, I will need to give you some background first.

I have mommy issues…. Doesn’t every grown woman? Probably started in high school, as many mommy issues start. I love my mom to death. We are very similar and yet very different. We are both artists, dancers, lovers of gardening, charismatic, and huge drama queens who love attention. But while her artistic style is more vintage/retro, mine is more spiritual/natural. We are both belly dancers. But while she is a glittery cabaret dancer, I am more an earthy tribal style dancer. She is pretty much a diva. She walks into a room and owns it. She is always put together. Make-up, hair, fashion, shoes, everything.

Then there is me…. long pause…. I blame it on the “Rebellion of 1994”. When every teenage girl claims she will never be like her mother. And I think it has subconsciously never gone away.

She told me the other day, and I quote, “I will tell you something my mother told me and now I will tell you. If you don’t look good for your husband at the end of the day, after he has been around a bunch of professional well put together women, he could be led astray”.

WTF does that mean? I am sorry but if my husband ever cheated on me because I look like a hag when he comes home from work, there are some larger issues going on. And who doesn’t look hideous after a day of chasing around 2 little kids? And who needs to look fabulous dropping their kid off at school or grocery shopping? Not me!!!!

(Note, this is exactly why I am blogging anonymously. And if my mom ever were to read this, I write this with love mom!)

If it was up to my mother, I would be on What Not To Wear in a heartbeat.

I told my husband this story and he laughed his ass off. The same husband who I have been with since I was 14 years old. The same husband who lives in sweats and a t-shirt unless he is going out. What if I am led astray from the hot professional men when I go to work 3 days a week? All because my husband isn’t “put together” when he’s at home. Shouldn’t he be worried about that?

Ok, I have to admit, I pretty much live in 2 pairs of jeans, yoga pants, some cotton skirts, bright colors hoodies, solid colored fitted t-shirts, and either flip flops or Vans shoes. But hey, I live in a hippy surf town. What can I say? I put on make-up 3 days a week when I go to work. However if my hair doesn’t look good when I wake in the morning, I will wear a hat vs styling it. I have diapers to change and lunches to make.

The other part of me pleading my case and feeling extremely defensive about all this, is that I don’t feel like spending money on myself for clothing. Shopping for clothes is not fun for me. I do it out of necessity. Because, you can only wear clothes for so long. Eventually you will get tired of looking at the same spit up stain, or you can’t hide the holes anymore by tucking them into your pants. And with 2 young children, I enjoy spending the little extra money I have on them. Swim lessons, new underwear, new shoes that fit well, etc. I guess I just feel as though I get more enjoyment out of spending money on them than myself. Someday that will change, I am sure.

OK, to get to my “gay socks”. I have this rockin’ pair of rainbow knee-high socks. I normally only wear them under long skirts or around the house. I call them my “gay pride” socks. I love anything to do with rainbows. I love gay people. I love anything having to do with promoting equal rights for all. And knowing my mother just hates my fashion sense combine with anything supporting gay pride, I decided to wear them when we were together and flaunt them around.

“Look at my gay pride socks, mom. Don’t you love them? I am celebrating diversity!”

Yep, her and I share another thing in common. We are both pros at the art of passive aggression.

Stay tuned for more posts on mommy issues. Oh yeah, we have more to come.

I love my morning commute!

Singing In My Car

This isn’t really me… but this is what I probably look like while singing in my car

3 days a week, I drive 50 minutes to my fulltime job. 3 days a week, I get 110 minutes total of uninterrupted time. Now most people would complain about this. I mean to any normal person, why would you want to be in the car for so long to drive to work. What a pain in the ass, right? Not me…. To me, driving to work for 50 min each way, is heaven.

For 50 minutes twice a day, for three days a week, I get to play music as loud as I want. I get to think and think, and then think some more. I get to yell and scream and no one can hear me. I get to curse at anyone who pisses me off. I get to pick my nose and not worry about shit. And I love it!

When I am in my car driving to work, I become a totally different person. Most of the time, I am imagine myself an American Idol contestant, winning first place, with my award winning voice. Didn’t you know that anyone who sings in the car with music loud enough, sounds like a wonderful singer? And did you know, that the louder you sing, the better you are?

And of course, when I am singing in my car, I have to accompany my singing with some mad dance moves. Picture table dancing… but I guess you could call it, “car dancing”? Anyway, it is some rad dance moves. And of course when I am in the zone in my car, no one can see me performing. Well at least in my mind, if I don’t make eye contact with you, while I am in my performance mode, you don’t see me.

When I am alone in my car driving, I can be a born-again teen and rock out to Justin Bieber. I can be a hardcore rapping bi-ach to Eminem. I can switch it up and bang my head to Nine Inch Nails or take it old school to Marilyn Manson like in high school.

Today, I was rocking out to Pink. Pink and I are “besties”. She knows me better than anyone. Pink understands me. And by the time I got to work, my voice was raw from yelling (I mean singing) from her latest album. I found it very interesting that when I would come up to another car in front of me, they would move over right away to let me by. I think they may have mistaken my singing, to road rage. Opps, my bad.

And of course I need to round out the commute experience with a song to pump me up, right before I arrive to work. That would be somewhere along the lines of Lady Gaga, Black Eyed Peas, etc. You know, like a workout playlist, to keep you going…. That is what I am talkin’ about!!!!

If it wasn’t for my commute time in the car. Time to reflect on my inner most desires and contemplation on life’s mysteries, I would probably wither away into the fetal position on the floor, and die. Just sayin’