household | Unmotherly Insights

NOT how things work in my world!

It is 3:30 in the afternoon. I am late to pick up Eli from the bus stop and I am literally standing ankle deep in sewage in my bathroom. The toilet continues to vomit out shit like it’s a prop in some kind of horror film and my husband is too busy to come to the phone and tell me how the hell to turn off the water flow so I can stop the excrement from flooding the rest of my house.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you think, “Wow, this is just not how I expected my life to look?” I finally figure out that by pulling the small white handle thingy behind the toilet you can shut off the water flow. But this does nothing to lessen the reality that I am out of towels, covered in shit and watching the steady stream of sewage seep ever closer to my beautiful wood-planked bedroom floors. HELP!!!

I am thoroughly disgusted. Shit is just something that’s hard to move beyond. We talk about life being “shit,” of “shit” storms, crocks of “shit,” holy “shit,” “shit” for brains. It’s like we’re a nation obsessed with “shit.” People wear “shit-eating” grins, they get scared “shitless,” they pontificate about bears “shitting” in the woods. Our culture is full of “shit!” Maybe there’s a metaphor here for me to learn from, a symbolic rationale for why I am mired down in “shit” in the middle of the desert when it’s 113 degrees and there’s no sign of it ever cooling off again, EVER!

We watched this movie the other night on Netflix about a guy who was being tracked by a vicious killer and his dog. The guy was hiding in an out house and the only way to escape capture and death was to climb into the toilet and plunge himself into the sea of waste beneath the house. He immersed himself completely and was able to breathe using an empty toilet paper roll. “Do you think you could ever do that?” I’d asked my husband. “Of course,” He said, “If my life depended on it.”

“I’m not sure I could,” I had proffered. “Even to save my life.” I guess this is my punishment for not recognizing the value of life as compared to a minor bout of revulsion.

Oh well, they say shit happens for a reason. Let’s hope it’s a good one.

An Associated Press-Petside.com poll released Tuesday found that half of all American pet owners consider their pets as much a part of the family as any other person in the household. Um…what? As far as I can see, that is messed up. Really. Think about it. I know you love your pet. You would do anything for your pet. But value it as much as any other person in your household? That’s just not right. Cute_Pictures_21213

Hey, I had pets. I was one of those artsy single chicks with cats and I loved my animals. I remember scrounging up money for an EKG for Henry who we later learned had a bad heart condition. He also needed Prozac towards the end of his life (well how would you feel being a young virile male and knowing your life would soon come to a premature end?) And then there was the chemo we forked over for Katie. Martini, my dog, needed intensive psychological attention, home-made organic food, and a personal trainer to keep him sane and fit. I’m no stranger to loving your animals and treating them like members of the fam.

But when push comes to shove, please tell me all those people polled don’t actually consider their pets to be as important as their spouse or children. I mean the poll does say that more singles see their pets as family members than married folk. I guess that’s slightly comforting. The thing is, they’re still animals. I don’t get how people can overlook that rather obvious fact

The poll also said that most pet owners feed their animals human food, nearly half give their animals human names and almost a third let them sleep in a human bed. Can you say reality check? Listen, in many ways I’d love to have a pet. But I can barely manage a husband and two little boys. Sure, there’s a certain appeal to having an animal. They’re almost always kind, on your side, sympathetic. They don’t demand nearly as much attention as your children, and they don’t talk back. Big plus. But I implore you to remember that a pet is a pet and your family members (at least most of them) are humans. So in the event of a fire (or an earthquake if you’re still living in CA), let’s all consent to saving our offspring before venturing back into the flames for Fluffy. Agreed?