I want a do-over today. Well, for a bit of it anyway.
I got a call mid-afternoon from Stinkerbelle’s school. I mentioned earlier on in the year that, while lovely, her teachers are not the most effective communicators on the planet, yes? Well, that hasn’t changed.
I was vacuuming. I heard a strange tinkly-tinkly-tinkling sound — I was vacuuming, but I am one of those folks that will notice out of the ordinary sounds in a din of noise. So I shut off the vacuum and followed the sound. It was coming from my purse, where my rarely-if-ever-used cellphone mostly resides.
Odd. There is a message.
I retrieve it to find a waffling message from Stinkerbelle’s teacher telling me there’s been a problem, or that she’s had an accident, it was two, it was number two… but the message sounds like she’s repeating a story she’s already told me, or perhaps is halfway through a story she began another time. It is odd.
Now, first off, I’m a little baffled as to why she’s calling my cellphone, because I left VERY EXPLICIT instructions on our emergency contact list:
1. Call me AT HOME because I am a stay-at-home mom and my cell is only for emergencies
2. Call me on my cell if there is no answer at home
3. Call BDH on his cell
And yet, there’s my cell phone, which was surprisingly ON and not stuffed at the bottom of somewhere with no charge, jingling away that there’s a message. So, clearly, my carefully crafted instructions were for naught.
And then our actual phone rings. It is ALSO Stinkerbelle’s teacher, who tells me that Stinkerbelle has pooped her pants (ah, that’s the number two), NOT ONCE BUT TWICE TODAY, and they need a change of clothes. So alarm bells start to ring on a number of fronts. First off… TWICE?? WTF?? She hasn’t had an accident unless she’s been sick in, like, two years. Is she sick? Apparently it’s just poop, it’s not the runs… So I grab a change of panties and some shorts for That Girl and off I dash.
I get to school to find Stinkerbelle, standing naked in the middle of her classroom bathroom, cleaning with the ECE. And I’m all WHY IS MY KID NAKED? So the ECE tells me that That Girl had poop all on her legs and her socks and her shoes — but the teacher said she didn’t have the runs? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?
WHERE THE HELL IS HER SHIRT?
But I am unable to voice these stunned questions, as my arrival causes Stinkerbelle to burst into tears because she thinks she is in trouble. I try to comfort her and ascertain what has happened. She can’t tell me. Her teachers apparently don’t know. And I’m all HOW CAN I GET HER DRESSED I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D TAKE HER SHIRT OFF BECAUSE SHE POOPED.
So I get her shorts and panties on, and the teacher retrieves the shirt I sent Stinkerbelle to school in today, which was in the bag with the first pair of soiled clothes but OH YEAH WAS PERFECTLY CLEAN, and I put that on her too. She’s crying, now getting angrier and a little tantrumy because she wants to stay at school, but I decide it’s 2 pm and I will just take her home, just to be on the safe side.
Because nobody seems to feel inclined to tell me what the fuck has happened today which culminated in a naked and poop-covered Stinkerbelle in her classroom bathroom.
I get her home and in the tub. There’s poop stuck to her bum cheeks and the back of one knee, not to mention she’s also gotten poop in the panties I brought her home in — has this ECE EVER dealt with a child who has pooped before? I AM HAVING MY DOUBTS — and I put her in the bath.
And it’s 4:30 and the best I can glean from Stinkerbelle is that she’s not sick, although at one point at school today there was a wagon and her tummy hurt and then she pooped and they changed her and she pooped again. I HAVE NO DETAILS BEYOND THIS. No actual timeline of events, no context, nothing.
She’s fine. She’s clean and feels hungry and she’s watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighbourhood. And I am not the one who pooped, although I WAS one of the ones to clean up, and I am feeling angsty and upset and more than a little like I have somehow done something wrong.
So the day that started okay has progressed to, well, a little bit shitty. Literally and figuratively. I want a do over.
Not a doo-doo-over. We’ve had that already.