Ahhhhh…Impulse Control (Like the Prince Song).

I had one of those moments today.  One of those moments that makes me want to set fire to something.  Anything really, as long as it’s flammable.

It wasn’t the whole day really, just the moment when my son decided to poop in his diaper, remove said diaper, remove poop from diaper and place the poop on the floor.  If that wasn’t enough to set the whole world on fucking fire, he ran a Little People plane through the poop on the carpet over and over and over and over again.

My mom happened to be here when Joey decided to go all Jackson Pollock on the beige carpet and she just laughed.  Just fucking stood there and laughed at the whole thing while I strung together one of my best swear sentences ever.  Through the tears she managed to say, “At least you have something to blog about.”  As much as I wanted to also set her on fire, I had to admit that she was right.

Here’s the kicker though.  I had a different blog post started about how the key to happiness was acting on random impulses.  Not crazy impulses like setting your mother ablaze or feeding your husbands body to pigs to hide evidence, but cool things like pushing random buttons and tripping kids in the park.

I do think that recognizing your inner weirdo is the key to happiness.  If you can just be appreciative of the quirks of your brain and be entertained by them, you will always have the funniest thing in the world happening just for you inside of your head!

So, sometimes I have issues with impulse control, again, not creepy stuff like impaling worms on chopsticks to give them better posture, but random stuff.

For a very long time I had the urge to tap my husband’s front teeth with my fingernail while he was talking to me.  Quite often, I did tap those pearly whites…and he loved it. No, I am lying.  He didn’t like it.  He still hates it when I do it once every year or so.

So, what does this have to do with fucking POOP on my carpet?  Not really much, but I have to think that perhaps Joey was trying to entertain himself and not just being a total asshole.  I mean, that has to be it, right?  Is that why kids finger paint with poop?  To entertain themselves?  What other reason could they have?

Sometimes when I hear a high pitched sound, I imagine that is the sound that will turn us all into zombies.  Not all sounds, like a piccolo or bee, but electronic sounds like this weird noise my microwave makes or a bank of cheap florescent bulbs.  Manufactured sounds that will trigger a chemical reaction in our brains that will turn us into the mindless walking dead.  We’d be slow zombies, too.  Fast zombies are just too scary and I don’t like running.

So, there you have it.  To keep myself laughing I imagine everyone on earth turning into a zombie while I heat up some leftover tacos and tap my husbands front teeth. My son’s idea of entertainment is running a toy through poop.  POOP.  Jesus fucking Christ.  I will be cleaning that spot in the carpet until he leaves for college.  Well, eff.