We Have The Poop In Common


Got you curious with that title, didn’t I?

Our story today begins with the understanding that once you have children, life becomes out-of-control-highly-unusual-completely-unpredictable crazy. Even more so when you’ve got two of those previously mentioned children. Mr. Handler and I have painstakingly tweaked our routine down to a science so as to maintain a certain measure of insan… err.. peace. It’s rocky occasionally, and we do disagree, but teamwork has maintained our sanity for over 5 years (and another 4 pre-kids), so God-willing, it’ll stay that way.

 

 

However, our teamwork started with the basics. See, there are three things that folks with children all have in common: poop, puke, and boogers. (Sorry for the slang, but there it is.) We learned early on, Mr. Handler and I, how to team up to get a job done. Understand that my husband has a minimal sense of smell, and poop doesn’t bother me very much. We’ll just say that comes from being acquainted in detail during a fateful phone call (NOTE: Never talk on the phone while changing a diaper UNLESS you’ve either covered your mouth, or covered the tiny rear end aiming right for your face. That’s all I’ll say.)

Over the course of several months of mutual childrearing, we have since discovered that despite his lack of an acute sense of smell, Mr. Handler can definitely smell puke. And it doesn’t end well. We have also discovered that despite my iron stomach, the one thing that will get to it like nothing else… is boogers. Which became a mutual understanding. He takes the boogers, I take the puke, and we both deal with the poop.

So, if we ever fail to share the dishes.

If we ever fail to spell off on the laundry.

If bedtime is lopsided for a week or two.

 

If tooth brushing gets dicey.

If we disagree on time-outs.

If we fall asleep at the end of the day without saying much more than a grunt…

If we get grouchy, or snippy, or belligerent, or petulant, or stressed out, or exhausted, or just plain done.

 

We’ll always have the poop in common.

 

Happy Father’s Day Mr. Handler.

Mrs. Handler.

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