Friday, April 8, 2011

The "Poo Can" and Other Things That Smell This Morning

Morning Readers,

     At present, I'm trying not to smack my computer with the banana I just retrieved from the kitchen. Besides being nearly too ripe to eat, the banana didn't do anything, but that doesn't mean I can't squash it in frustration. I just deleted my "Writing" playlist from i Tunes, and with it, a carefully constructed compilation (I'm not too angry to use alliteration, apparently) of songs that remind me of college, summertime, times I enjoyed dancing in large groups, and selections which cause me to spontaneously break out the "air piano" and do my best impression of Alicia Keys (sans corn rows and fedora). It's all gone. That stinks. You see how I did that? Talking about something stinking? And now we'll talk about the "Poo can", because Fridays at There's More Where That Came From are for talking about ridiculous things.

     When others heard the stork was getting ready to land on our abode, I received the new parent's best friend, the Diaper Genie, or rather, the Diaper Genie II (I'm still not sure what was wrong with the first one). For those Readers who don't know, the Diaper Genie is a magical contraption that some parent, somewhere  crafted out of a plastic tube, a plastic bag and an ingenious design that keeps the odor of poo from leaking into the atmosphere.
     It does its job. Once the little poo packet's been dropped in the opening, its sealed in the bottom, never to be seen or smelled from again - that is until you extricate the giant, rectangular "poo block" and gift it to the trash man on your route, who, no doubt considers himself a lucky man. There's just one problem. Money.
     Unfortunately, those hermetically-sealed plastic bags aren't free. Which wouldn't be a problem if we had one baby, but at the rate these kids leave droppings, I'm lucky the city's landfill hasn't left a note on the door:

Dear Mrs. Kellerman,

     Cork your kids or find another place to live.


The City People

      Husband and I recognized this fiscal problem and decided to go the old fashioned route...plain old trashcan.....which, in turn, created what we know today as "Poo Can".
     Poo Can used to be a regular, old, college dorm trashcan. I can hear it crying at night, wondering how it got demoted from crumpled essays to a fine mixture of human feces, disposable diapers, and a mountain of generic wipes. "Sorry, Poo Can." I think. "Husband and I are poor, and that means you're going to have to be "The Little Poo Can That Could". Because we do stuff it to the brim, and this brings about the main dilemma of creating Poo Can.
     Emptying it. A crappy (pun intended) job. When the point comes where we can't "Jenga" anymore diapers on top of it, the massive dumping (again, I can't help myself *snort*) must commence. This predicament usually results in a lot of mental "rock, paper, scissor" type standoffs with Husband. When there are two of us, we do it together. No one likes Poo Can.
     But, like this morning, I was left to excavate the poo by myself. Honestly, I would've put it off until Husband strolled through the door, but the guilt of putting my son down in the sea of  "poo stench" that was the twin's room, seemed a bit too cruel. And I'm not cruel...I just hate poo.
     On that note, I must leave you, dear Readers. But tune in on Monday for some exciting announcements from the Editor....if the poo hasn't killed me first.

Have a Great Weekend Readers!