Tag Archives: Poo Posts

Not alone

It is nice to know that I am not the only person in the world who has had to shit in a trashbag.


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Highlights of life on my planet.

Oh, god, I have to do the poo test again. Oh god.  Fuck you universe, Fuck youuuuu.

Ok, now that I have gotten that out of my system. We are getting ready for nondenominationalholidaylikecelebrationofseasonsandalsohanukkahhere.  ( or NDSHCSH, for short)

It’s not as easy as you’d think to have  the  holidays without Jesus, or Santa. Especially with a five year old who now goes to public school. Where they apparently, talk about God. Yes, even though that is not supposed to happen. We live in the South, people.  When she came home near Thanksgiving, with a paper that said she was thankful for “god”, I was encouraged to let it slide. We figured she might not have understood the question and so one of the teachers made some suggestions about what she could be thankful for.

How about “I’m thankful for my mother, for putting up with my crap and loving me anyway?” Or even, “I’m thankful for my house, or for the fact that we can afford dinner?

Okay, maybe these ideas were over her head at this point, but still. I think they should not have given her a suggestion to be thankful for something that she has absolutely no concept of.  And had her write it on something we are supposed to cherish  and keep. I asked her, when I saw it, if she even knew what god was, and she shrugged and said no. And then when she came home from her field trip to the farm, and told me the trip was “.. a miracle.” I just sighed.  “Do you even know what a miracle is?” I asked. ” Nope” she replied, ” But Stephanie’s Mom said so.”

It’s not that I hate god so very much that I don’t want his name mentioned in my child’s presence. (Ask me how I feel about most organized religion some other day) It’s just that I do not think it is anyone’s place but ours to teach her about these things. And it is certainly not the responsibility of a teacher or some room mom to tell my kid that she should be thankful for some magical being in the sky who she has no concept of, whatsoever.

Chances are high that she is going to be raised with at least some knowledge of Judaism, and its rituals. She will probably even participate in some of them herself. And when she is old enough to really understand, we will teach her about the different religions, and also about what we, respectively, believe. And let her decide. She can make an educated choice. But it will be her choice. Not yours. Not even mine. No matter how much I want it to be mine.

I really do try to respect other peoples beliefs, or at least their right to have them, no matter how I feel about them. I really wish people would respect mine. That’s not to say I don’t talk about I feel about some of it (because I clearly do this far too often), just that I recognize that other people have the right to think/believe/pray to whatever they want. (And I have the right to make fun of it if I so choose.)

The point is, I don’t go around, trying to convert people to my way of thinking. So,  please stop doing it to me (and my kid). Stop telling me I should worship like you, or I’m going to hell.

A- I don’t believe in your hell, and

B-What do you care what I believe anyway? How does it affect your life? At all? Same goes for my kid. Leave her alone. Especially in school.

So, now that I have gone off on a tangent, let me get back to my point. We have a tree. We have stockings even, because its fun. We also have a menorah. We don’t have angels, or mangers or bible stories. We have stripped it down to the basic pagan roots, we have a tree, we bake stuff, we give each other gifts, usually on Hanukkah, with stockings for Yule, which usually ends up being Christmas anyway.

We don’t actually do Santa though. We have talked about it, and really, I have no problem with Santa, as he is mostly an obviously fictitious pagan deity based on a crazy guy who may or may not existed, and really has nothing to do with Christ, or God.

O.K. On rereading that, he does sound rather Christ-Like.

My point is, he’s not really part of the whole miracle-that-is-Christ’s-birth part of Christmas, and he is supposed to be fun. But, as the UnHusband pointed out, neither of us technically celebrate Christmas, so why should we do the whole Santa thing?

The part of me that grew up with the joys of Santa is a bit saddened by the taking away of that little bit of magic from the kid. Which is totally hypocritical, I know. But still. Its hard to let go of something you grew up with. I understand that. (I think if I grew up in a highly religious family, I’d have had a harder time letting that stuff go as well too.)

Maybe. Or maybe not, since people generally admit that Santa does not in fact, actually exist. That he is just for fun, just a symbol.

I just hope she does not go to school and ruin it for the other kids. How do I approach that? Tell her to lie to other kids? Or lie to her myself and tell her Menorahs are Santa-Kryptonite and Santa can’t come to your house if you have one?


Um, getting back to topic, (I can haz a topic?) We decorated last Friday. And had the traditional fight that lasted all of Saturday and Sunday. Ahh the holidays, just like Mom used to make.

The tree looks absolutely awesome, if I do say so myself, and, well, See for yourself. This is what the “holidays” are really about, to me. Not this, this:


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Filed under Posts About Poo, Rants, Rambling, and Musing., The Kid, and The Other Kids.


When I went to pick the kid up from school, a guy in a giant dinosaur suit was hanging out in the parent pick up line. I have no idea why. No, it was not this guy. ( Okay, when I found that link I was forced to listen to ten seconds of Barney talking. Is it me or does he sound even more like a creepy pedophile than he used to? Is that even possible?)

Yesterday, after my procedure, they were kind enough to give me forms covered with pictures of various internal parts of my body as taken by their scope of fun. Every picture looked like an anus. After much deliberation, I decided that reposting them here would probably be too much. Even for me. And no, none of the pictures is actually my anus.

With the exception of the box of crayons and the mystery wood, the dogs have not eaten anything exciting this week.

I have been trying to download a game demo for three days now. Three days. What the fuck? It better not suck!

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Filed under Rants, Rambling, and Musing., Snark, The Kid, and The Other Kids.

A Poo Post

Poo tubes.

If you have no idea what this stuff is for, consider yourself lucky. Also, you are about to be educated.  After my last doctors appointment, I was presented with a package of fun tubes and slides, for another round of “What the fuck is wrong with you this week” testing. I was going to do this all in private, and tell no one about it ever, but then I read the instructions, and I couldn’t not share them with you. It  would be wrong of me to keep this to myself.

So lets check out: “How to Collect Poo, in Eight Languages!”

Click to enlarge.


Pay close attention to the little pictures along the top. By far, the best part.img_3162

That sad face was also on the little vials. In case you feel the urge to drink the poo you have collected, please don’t, as it will make you make that face. I also like how they thoughtfully drew a little turd in the toilet illustration. Also, do not let small children play with Poo.

Feel free to enlarge that and read the list of ” Don’ts” My favorite is the one warning you not to shit directly into the tubes. In case you are confused about where you SHOULD shit, refer once again to the happy illustration for acceptable places.

Yes, that last one appears to be a bowl and a Tupperware container.

Fortunately, I had the foresight to ask  for this thing this time around:


I highly suggest that should you ever have to do this in the future, you ask for one of those things.  It seems to be called a “hat” for whatever reason. I did not get one of these last time and was left with a fun dilemma. Ended up  going with trash bag over toilet seat, which I do not recommend.

All in all, it’s an extremely humiliating experience, but at least the instructions are entertaining.

The next person that asks me “How was your day?” is going to regret it.

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