Zeros Only Make Me Hate You

Sometimes, after a long day of cleaning up poop and feeding the 3rd Dependent Division, I find myself staring at a clock that says 9pm and wonder why I’m standing there staring at the microwave.  I should totally be sitting.  So I sit.  And then I think, “I should blog about this awesome day.”  And then I think, “But no one would believe it anyway.”  Then I crawl into bed after washing my hands but without brushing my teeth, kick the cat off of my pillow, and make a mental note to keep a tally of the number of times I come into direct contact with poop the next day.

Today’s total?  Five.  And it was a slow day in the household excrement department.

So, before you ask, “Where have you been?” or “Why haven’t you written anything lately?” or “Oh, do you still have a blog?” count the number of times today that you’ve wiped poop from a butt, the carpet, the bedspread, the sidewalk, the bathtub, wherever.  Now, multiply your number by whatever large number you can come up with.  That number?  That astronomically huge number?  That is where I’ve been.