When you have 4 humans (one who’s not in control of themselves yet and I don’t mean the Mr.) 2 dogs and 3 cats you’re basically spending most of your time dealing with bodily functions including number 2. You’re a manager of poop: you’re cleaning up poop, you’re washing your hands after touching poop, you’re making sure someone isn’t touching poop and so on.
For one reason or another at this point we’ve been very lucky, for the most part Munchkin’s diapers have been normal and they haven’t really made too much of a mess. She also hasn’t been that interested in poop finger painting which I’ve heard is a common pastime for children. She has yet to discover the joys of putting her hand in her diaper and creating abstract art worthy of any modern art museum. But today I’d like to focus on the four-legged children, specifically the cats.
If any of you have cats you know the joy of the litter box, we don’t let our cats outside for a variety of reasons so that leaves us litter boxes to deal with and that means someone has to scoop them. That someone is usually me when I’m not pregnant. While I was pregnant the Mr. was great at scooping but as soon as the fear of toxoplasmosis was gone he conveniently forgot how to manage this task. Although if you have a man in your life who uses the same bathroom as you do you are probably not surprised that keeping the cat’s toilet clean isn’t a high priority for them. Most men, in my experience, don’t care what the bathroom looks like, they have a place to go and that’s all that matters. Even the Mr. who is a bodily neat freak due to a genetic skin condition seems to think I’m nuts when I say something about cleaning the bathroom. The conversation usually goes something like this:
Me: Honey you need to clean the bathroom this week
Mr.: I just did it!
Me: You mean “just” as in a month ago?
So here I am in the basement after magically finding 30 minutes to run on the treadmill after Munchkin went to bed staring down into litter boxes full of poop. We have three cats and we have three litter boxes so I’m just shuffling litter boxes around, scooping, trashing, and stirring just to make sure the litter is at least a little cleaner/drier/less smelly for the next cat who wishes to do some business in peace and quiet and I have the realization that we are surrounded by poop.
I’m going to put on my biology hat for a second: literally we are surrounded by excrement. One of the characteristics of being alive is the need take material in so if some things go in, that must mean some things come out. It’s not always poop in the way we think of it, but excrement is everywhere. And for most organisms (AKA living things) if they don’t excrete waste products toxins build up in their system and they die so this is a really important natural process but back to my life….
I’m sitting there and I’ve got my face in the litter box, I’m doing the shuffle so I can get to each littler box without getting up from the rickety chair that is going to break under me at any second and I’m struck with the understanding that this is life. Nothing in my life is glamorous: I don’t get to go to expensive parties or wear designer clothes but I do get to be surrounded by poop! There is nothing bad in my life, there are always things that could be better and ways I could be better but my life is charming in it’s crazy, messed up, sometimes very plain, poop-filled way. This is why the subtitle of this blog is “Finding Perfection in the Imperfection” because while I dream of things being bigger and better, and maybe someday I’ll have that glamorous life and can afford the jet-setting lifestyle (HA!) it’s not about life being anything other than what it is, it is my response to it that makes a life filled with poop beautiful.