Here is a spin on an old joke: Question: what do you call a white guy in the middle of 8 mexicans? Answer: Dan. Ahhhh, summer time on the roof-tops. The smell of asphalt cooking in the kettle, the smoke wafting off of the "hot-mop" as you hear shouts of "Mas caliente,- ahora!!" and "ia-yi-yi-yi!," singing and generally happy chatter. The two white guys are in the corner of the roof working together, glum and morose, seldom talking even to each other. I always enjoy the opportunity to actually work with my guys, at least the hispanic ones, maybe cause I dont fully understand what they are saying about me. It is so interesting how their culture is in some ways more "chauvanistic" than ours, and in some ways, not so much. I am still learning much about the culture. One funny thing as we were loading the roof, 80 foot in the air (over a retirement rest home) with the crane, I was going over some stuff with Eloy, my crew leader. I told him not to set a whole pallet down on the roof at once because I was unsure of the soundness of it. His broken reply: "Yeah, 'cause if we break old people; we have to pay like they new".
Something much, much, much less fun than mopping hot asphalt on a roof 80' high in the air with people who speak a different language is working in the bathroom with a three year old. You see, there are certain things that are taboo to us adults that are just unimportant to people under three years old or three feet tall. Isaiah is quite potty-trained; he's a good little pooper, and the other morning he did his little #2 in the toilet first thing. "Good boy, way to poop! Nobody poops like you, boy! You are the poopingest!!" Ummm, I might interject something here, a warning or disclaimer that if you are eating lunch, or are somewhat squeemish, you might want to just quit reading this right now, as from here on I describe quite graphic illustrations of the incompetence of the local helpless father.
So, as usual, Brynn leaves to go running just about dawn, foolishly leaving me in charge of children. Tsk, tsk, when WILL she learn? I am in the living room, trying to watch the weather, so that I can tell my guys what to do, when I hear Isiah yelling something from the bathroom. I tell him "Just a few more minutes, when I get done watching the weather, I'll be right in there." Now in retrospect, the smart thing to do probably would have been to hustle right in, making this Unwise action: #1, the first in a series. Yes, that's right, he had pooped in his pants, 10 minutes after pooping in the toilet, and had done quite the number at it, too. But being the helpful lad that he is, he got impatient and had contrived to help get it off and started cleaning it up. Needless to say even Daddies who dont do diapers (it was in the pre-nup) dont need help from people less than 3' tall cleaning up poop. Appearently they have a tendency to step in their dirty underwear and walk around in the bathroom. (thank the Lord for vinal flooring!) So the first thing I do is scoop up underwear and chuck it into the sink. This was Unwise Action: # 2. Again, in retrospect, I'm thinking that the toilet would be a good place for large chuncks of fecal matter, rather than the sink. As I am trying desperately to rinse the abomination down the insignificant sink drain, Isaiah is getting impatient, so I ask if he needs to poop still, he says "yes", so in my frustration, I told him to get on the toilet and poop. Unwise Action: #3. Poop is sticky, and it smears. A LOT!! A more experienced father would have realized that little people who poop in their pants often have poop all over their back side too. And the difficultly of approaching the toilet for people who are less than 3' tall makes a mess however you do it, if your backside is sticky. How was I supposed to know all this? Brynn never told me that... I never read this anywhere, people just dont talk about it!! It seems like it would be appropriate to put some notes up above the toilet stating something to that effect if you are planning on being absent during prime pooping times of the day.
Well, the next thing I did was the first wise thing that I had done all morning. Well, sort of. I should have shut the door behind me when I did it, but anyway, I very clearly and firmly told the boy to sit and not move a muscle. Then I went outside and hailed my jogging wife in a voice that will probably cause the chickens to stop laying for a week, "BRYNN, I NEED YOU IN HERE!!!!!!!!!!" Then as she sprinted into the house I discovered Stu had crawled into the bathroom and had discovered the joys of freestyle fecal fingerpainting using an all-organic brown color. I guess it is all the rage with kids 2' tall and less. As I took turns pointing and staring, I suddenly remembered an early appointment at my office that I urgently wanted to get to. Every thing must have turned out OK, though. When I returned home from work (a few days later) the bathroom still smelled strongly of Clorox.
As I write this letter, I have arranged babysitting for the 4 children, and plan on taking my lovely, sweet, hard-working wife out for a little wining and dining. I think she deserves it, dont you? Maybe after dinner and perhaps a movie, she will talk to me again, after leaving her in that bathroom. You know, I'm am all about sucking it up and getting it done, but a man has to draw a line somewhere. After our meal, we may discuss publishing a booklet or some sort of resourse for dads. I am thinking of calling it the "Feckless Father's Guide to Feces". Hasta luego, mi amigos!
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