The inmates have taken over the asylum

I’m upstairs in my bedroom blogging. I just needed to get away. It’s not even 9 a.m. and I just couldn’t deal. How sad is that? Want to know why? Here’s a slice – my conversation with Boo at the breakfast table:

Boo: Mommy? I’m done.

Me: Okay – take your bowl to the sink.

Boo: Mommy, Missy (our cat) pooped in the bathrooom.

Me: When?

Boo: This morning. I stepped it it?

Me: When?

Boo: When I got up (two hours ago), I played Arthur (her computer game) and had to go potty. I went and then I stepped in it.

Me: Did you wipe your feet off? Did you clean it up?

Boo: (incredulous) No! That’s gross!

Me: And traipsing about the house with poop on your foot isn’t gross? Ugh!

I proceeded to send her upstairs to wait for me in the shower while I cleaned the bathroom floor. Let me tell you, I’ve changed my share of diapers on two kids over teh last 4.5 years and there’s nothing that gets my gag reflex going like cat feces.

My day is slowly descending into complete madness. I just wanted to document it so that when the men in white coats rip my tinfoil hat off my head and drag me away, you’ll have at least this to remember me by.  Maybe if I wear the robot costume Boo and I made last night (see above), they won’t be able to find me.

Move over, Mel, here I come.