Jelly Mom(TM) by Lisa Barker
The Tale of The Skeenky Hepper© Lisa Barker, www.JellyMom.com
It starts with an odor that you and your spouse try to ignore. Then, you one-up each other with casual remarks about what that smell could possibly be. Finally, one of you dares to identify the stink HOPING that your spouse will own up to the fact that it’s HIS/HER turn to attend to it.
When that doesn’t happen, you make yourself get up and, supplied with the appropriate arsenal, you hunt down the malodorous perpetrator. There, in his bedroom, with his diaper completely off is your two-year old who apparently hasn’t mastered the fine art of changing his own diaper. It’s everywhere. “Skeenky!” he tells you. “Skeenky hepper!”
We have two kinds of “skeenky heppers” in our house. One lies around the house all day and only shows signs of life when I open a can of dog food and plop it in his bowl. That would be our dog Pepper, whom my son calls “Hepper” and he is indeed “skeenky.”
The other “skeenky hepper” happens to be just what you thought it was, a full diaper.
Nothing else on earth makes adults regress as rapidly as a “skeenky hepper.” “It’s YOUR turn to change it!”
“No way, I did it last time. It’s YOUR turn!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
Parents, just what type of behavior are we modeling for our children? Remember what all the parenting guides said? Children learn by watching us.
My husband gags and fans his face and makes a big production. “Ew, yuck, it’s everywhere!”
“Well, hand me some wet paper towels…and a gas mask!”
He hands them to me on the end of a swimming pole, while pinching his nose.
Is this why the older children who are perfectly capable of changing their younger brother’s diaper suddenly disappear whenever that odor, like a fine mist, slowly fills our home?
It’s about the only time the kids behave absolutely perfectly…so as not to draw attention to themselves.
“Here, take this outside to the garbage…” My husband runs like he has a hot coal in his hands. Kids scatter. I reach for the air freshener. Now there really is a thick fog in our house. Little by little family members begin to return. At first they sniff cautiously, then take deeper breaths and soon the house returns to a normal level of chaos….until the next time.
The phone rings. It’s my husband calling me with his cell phone from the car parked around the block. “Honey, I think the baby needs his pants changed.”
I look outside and neighbors have roped off our house like a crime scene. A volunteer from the fire department stands in the middle of the street with a bullhorn. “Put the child down and back away slowly.”
A helicopter circles overhead. They’re getting ready to sanitize and deodorize. I’ve got seconds to make it out of the house. I run down the hall and out to the garage. The door is closing. I drop and roll, reaching back to grab my hat at the last moment before the garage door slams down. A swat team rushes the house and tense minutes later they emerge…with a sparkling baby boy held triumphantly in upraised arms.
When you have children in diapers, there’s never a dull moment. In fact, I wonder why they haven’t done a reality show featuring toddlers. Whether it’s modeled after ‘Survivor’ or “Last Comic Standing” (in this case, “Last Parent Standing”) it certainly would be a captivating show.
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