Pocketing Peach Pits

Jul 22 2008

As a mother, there are gross things that are simply part of the job description.  Pocketing peach pits is apparently one of them.

I took Abby, my almost-10 year old, to the video store yesterday.  She ate a peach in the car.  Reference “Excrement and Other Things My Car Smells Like” for the reason I didn’t let her leave the pit to rot somewhere in the car’s nether regions after we arrived at the store.

Side Note: Car’s nether regions sounds a little nasty.  Sorry about that.

Sure, a garbage bag would be a lovely addition to the car.  However, after the last vehicle-cleansing session, I just haven’t managed to get another bag out there.

I told Abby she could just throw her peach pit away at the video store.  It seemed like a reasonable solution until we searched the store (in and out) and couldn’t find a single trash receptacle.  By this time, Abby is reasonably less than thrilled.  First, she picks a healthy snack.  Next, she makes an attempt to take care of her own garbage appropriately.  Finally, she’s stuck carrying a slimy, gooey peach stone all over the store.

Although I’ve said to my kids repeatedly, “Mommy is not a garbage can” when they attempt to hand me everything from candy wrappers to used Kleenex, I was starting to feel genuinely sorry for Abby.  She’d done everything right and was getting no breaks.  Not to mention that this trip to the video store was to choose a movie for Family Movie Night as a way to thank her for cleaning the entire laundry room with her friend unasked.  We’ve had many conversations along the lines of “if you save Mommy time on chores, then I’m free to do more fun things with you.”  It was time for me to put up or shut up.

So I opened my pocket and told her to toss it on in.  She did, and we moved on with our day.

Of course, you know what happened a few hours later.  On a warm, summer day.  After the goo left on the outside of the peach started to really rot.

I forgot it was there.  And I stuck my hand in my pocket.

Gross.

This isn’t the grossest thing I’ve ever done as a parent.  And I’m sure it won’t even register on the grossest things I’ve had to do this year list come December.  But it is the most recent.

I’ve decided not to issue a complete list.  Mostly because I think there should be a rule that there will be no more than 2 posts in a row about poo.  So, excluding those more graphic stories, here are some of the gross highlights:

1. On an airplane… at the beginning of the descent immediately after the Fasten Your Seatbelts sign was illuminated… “Mommy, I have to go pee.  It hurts!  I can’t wait…” sliding a barf bag (aka, airplane seat protector) and my only sweatshirt under my three-year-old and then discreetly pulling down her pants so she could pee on my clothes.  That was fun to wrap back around myself to deplane.

2. Finding out that projectile vomit actually projects.  Across a full stairwell and into my hair.  After I fed her red Kool-Aid.

3. Yelling at my husband while riding next to a carsick child, “She’s going to puke! Get a bag.  Get a bag.  Getabaggetabagetabag!”  And catching it in my hands.

4. Diaper pails.  Diaper genies.  I don’t care how magical they try to make them sound.  They all hold dirty diapers, and it’s just not pretty.  Ever.

5. Holding my son’s eyebrow closed after his sister split it open for him by pushing to get into the van first.  (Probably because our minivan is such an exciting place to be.)  Turns out, the edge of the door is quite sharp.  And resulting cuts that reach through muscle into bone bleed.  A lot.

Well, my fabulous brother and wonderful sister-in-law are at the hospital about to have their first baby.  In fact, I’m typing from their room.  Not to be too mushy, but I really couldn’t be more thrilled for them.  I cannot wait for this baby to arrive.

She’ll be as gross as my children, and she’ll give her parents as many opportunities to touch things that are wet and don’t belong to them.

But I know… know, deep in my heart… how wonderful and precious these little ones are.  When chubby little arms are wrapped around your neck, when sweet baby voices say “wuv you,” when big kids do something profoundly kind and helpful and clean up the entire laundry room… these are the moments I wish for them.  Knowing the gross bits are a very, very small price to pay for the privilege.