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tricia booker

tricia booker
Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, United States
December 20
Tricia Booker is an award-winning journalist and neurotic writer of creative nonfiction. She lives in Ponte Vedra, Florida with her husband, two daughters, one son and a dog. She has written for many publications including Notre Dame Magazine, Folio Weekly, Minnesota's Law & Politics and the Vero Beach Press-Journal. She has taught creative writing to middle schoolers and journalism to college students. She's currently a dedicated domestic engineer.

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JUNE 10, 2010 12:47PM

The first day of summer. WARNING: fecal references ahead

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The school year ended yesterday with a bang. Specifically, the bang of a balloon popping. Okay, the bang of me popping a balloon. But the Pterodactyl had let the blue balloon fly up into oblivion, so he only had one of the pink ones that his sister had given him, and when I declined to PROMISE him that I would search the world 20 times over to find him another blue one, he began beating the crap out of me with the pink one while we were driving home. So I popped it. Was that wrong?

After we arrived home, as I was checking Facebook, which is very important to my fledgling career as a Person of Consequence, the Tyrant pooped on the floor and the Pterodactyl stepped in it. Then I had to retrace the Tyrant’s steps to find little pebbles of poop to retrieve and discard before Damn Gem the dog discovered them. Because she would eat them. And I’d have to spray bleach in her mouth. Which would definitely be wrong.

Then we went to the pool, and the Tyrant pooped in the pool. She was wearing a swim diaper, because this was not an unanticipated event. But it is an event of which I am totally fucking sick. The problem is that she thinks she’s a tiny Michael Phelps, or maybe just a guppy. She’s three years old and can swim across the damn pool! But that’s slightly misleading because it doesn’t allude to the fact that she drinks quite a bit of the pool along the way. On the bright side, her insides have been completely cleansed of bacteria from the massive doses of chlorine she imbibes. The negative? Apparently chlorine doubles as a laxative.

So within a few minutes of “swimming,” her belly looks like a watermelon and she involuntarily poops. I have to check her swim diaper every five minutes so I can whisk her away to the bathroom soon after it happens. In the bathroom I change her, dump the swim diaper, put on a fresh one, and send her back to the pool so she can drink/swim/poop again. It’s exhausting. Plus I fear we will eventually be outed and expelled from the pool area.

We headed to the beach when we ran out of swim diapers. The Tyrant likes to roll around in the sand like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. The Pterodactyl likes to build volcanoes. The Diva likes to jump waves. My job is to keep the Tyrant from destroying the volcanoes and throwing sand at passersby. I’m very good at my job as long as I have not had any Bahama Mamas. Pina Coladas actually help me do my job better.

When we arrived home, the girls put on their pajamas which sent the Pterodactyl into a frenzy because “IT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO BEDTIME, MOM!” even though I told him he could wear whatever he wanted. He could have worn a pink negligee with an attached fuzzy boa, frankly, if he would just stop screeching.

Then he ate chicken, lettuce, and raw cookie dough for dinner and colored pictures of octopi for the rest of the night.

The Tyrant, apparently completely relaxed by her cleansed colon, retired early. The Diva and I watched So You Think You Can Dance and laughed at all the contestants who cried.

That was the first day of summer. And today my parents are coming to visit. BOO-yah!

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Life with young children, gotta love it.
or gotta deal with it. one or the other. ; }