It’s Not All Mary Poppins

The Worst Shit Story Ever

I hope.

Naptime, my time to catch up and relax. Me, I start with the relaxing bit, so of course I was emailing friends, a cup of tea hot at my elbow. All is quiet, save for the tickatickaticka of my keyboard, and then, from above: bump, thump thumpa thump, scrape. I sigh, heavily. Inappropriate activity upstairs, must go put a stop to it.

Creep quietly quietly up, wanting to catch whoever it is in the act, so as to determine the culprit without opening the wrong door and waking an innocently sleeping child. Attain the landing, breathing softly. Gah! Inhalation freezes in my throat. Oh, lordy, lordy! Can one spit out air? Can’t I? Please?

My eyes watered as a foul stench oozed round me, but which bedroom was the source? Little thumper, whoever he/she is, must’ve heard my muffled wretching, because they’ve gone silent. Gagging slightly, I sniffed outside one door then the next. It seemed to be coming from Riley’s room.

The door creaked very softly as I cracked it open. At two and a bit, Riley was no longer sleeping in a crib, but on my young daughter’s bed, with his own pillow and quilt. I could just see the bed through the sliver of opening – and it was empty! But the stench: the stench permeated every square millimetre of the room.

Taking a big breath of clear(er) air from the landing, I entered The Toxic Zone. The room of devastation, with the greeny-brown miasma of shit almost visible in the air, a stench so strong as to be tangible. Little Riley stood before me, his big punkin head hanging, sandy hair falling forward, masking his face. He is naked from the waist down.

His evident shame holds him silent, but the evidence before me told the tale I will now recount.

Riley had filled his diaper. Riley decided that, rather than call me, he was a Big Boy and could deal with it himself. Standing on the bed, he removed his very own diaper, All By Himself!! Oh-oh. Something fell from the diaper. Best pick it up and put it back. It pays to be tidy.

Except now, oh no, he’s got the mess on his hands. So he wipes them off on the wall. Little brown handprints adorn the wall by her bed.

Handprints on the wall are Bad. Riley knows that! That’s okay, we’ll just wipe it off with the bedspread, no problem. Only, when the bedspread is lifted and scrubbing commences, the diaper sitting on the bed is upended, partly onto the pillow, the rest on the floor. Dear, dear, dear. Now what?

He’s scrubbed at the wall as best he can but now he needs to deal with that mess on the floor! What to do? Bedspread, pillowcase, and sheet are soiled, and can’t be used as cleaning cloths, so he casts about for inspiration. And find it, clever lad that he is.

Brilliant idea!! There’s Emma’s dresser, just filled with nice clean cloths for scrubbing up messes… It would be his footsteps across the room to the dresser, and the thud of the drawer falling out that alerted me to the mayhem unfolding. Sadly, I did not arrive before he’d emptied two entire drawers into the filth with his sticky brown hands.

“Riley?” I’m not sure what my tone of voice was at this point, but I think incredulous might come closest. Who knew such catastrophe could occur in 132 seconds?

His head lifts slowly. His green eyes are huge, wide with sincerity, pleading with me to understand, guilt mixed with the desire to reassure. “It’s okay, Mary. I cleanin’ up.”

August 14, 2005 - Posted by | eeewww, potty tales, the dark side


  1. That is pretty bad. I caught Owen many moons ago in a similar situation. It was all over the floor, and he was playing trucks in it. Ewww. Meanwhile, Harry was screaming in his crib the whole time I was disinfecting the area. I was glad I was a smoker then. I think it probably had 2. Sounds like Riley is “ripe” for potty training heh heh.

    Poor Mary.

    Comment by Heather | August 14, 2005 | Reply

  2. Ugh . . . I’d gladly clean up the remnants of the dog’s hork-fest rather than deal with that. Even at 4:16 AM.

    Comment by Sharkey | August 14, 2005 | Reply

  3. Heather: driving trucks in it, huh? Well, it’s probably about the same consistency as my torn-up street, with all the rain we’ve had the past three days. My street smells better, I’ll bet! I’ll further bet those trucks went in the garbage…

    Sharkey: Seven loads of laundry resulted from that particular fiasco. Yup, I’d rather dog-barf, too! But you know what? Such is Riley’s appeal that I actually laughed. And since he’s now about nine years old, he obviously lived to tell the tale – and thus I earned his mother’s unending gratitude. She knew it could’ve been a close call!!

    Comment by Mary P. | August 14, 2005 | Reply

  4. Mary, YOU are my new hero. Should I say a prayer now that I never have to deal with human feces…on my personal garments…or my pillow, or heaven forbid, MY WALLS?

    And now Riley has this little bit of history preserved forever on the Internet. Be sure to show his future spouse!

    Comment by ieatcrayonz | August 14, 2005 | Reply

  5. Oh. My. God.

    SEVEN loads of laundry?

    And I will say again: OH. MY. GOD.

    (Glad you are all recovered, Mary P!)

    Comment by Susan | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  6. It sounds like you frequently go above and beyond the call of duty 🙂

    Is there an equivalent of the Victoria Cross for nanny’s?

    Comment by Si | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  7. Ewww

    Not nice, thankfully our 3 little horrors have not attempted Excrement decorating…just permanent Markers on the new carpet

    Comment by Aginoth | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  8. I would definatetly rather clear up dog puke too….

    Comment by Liz | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  9. Crayonz: Thank you, thank you. Reading it, I’m pretty impressed with myself, too! I won’t have to tell this tale to Riley’s future spouse: his parents have all my Riley stories written down. In a book. That they intend to give him on that day! (I’m sure part of the reason I loved Riley so well, despite his chaos-inducing tendencies, was that his parents are GREAT people.)

    Susan: Yup. Seven. I counted. And I’ve recovered – but it happened about 7 years ago, so I’ve had lots of time!

    Si: Victoria’s Cross for nannies!! I love it. Where do I get mine?? I don’t frequently go this far beyond the call, thankfully, but I certainly earned it that day!

    Aginoth: Even though permanent markers are indeed permanent, I think I’d rather deal with them… I could be saying that, though, because I have no carpeting! I do, of course, have furnishings with upholstery.

    Liz: you and me both (and Sharkey, too!) Dogs tend to leave it in one spot. Heck, if you leave them to it, dogs will clean it up FOR you!!! Ewwwwww….

    Comment by Mary P. | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  10. OH man ! Your sick on Friday, You have to endure the smell of skunk on Saturday, and On Sunday you have to deal with a plethora of excreta. Ewww does not do your weekend justice.

    but as you didn’t give a date to Riley’s little clean up job maybe this is why you were sick Friday?

    Comment by Bill | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  11. Yes, CONGRATULATIONS, Mary!!! That is officially the worst shit story ever!!!!

    I echo earlier comments by saying:

    Comment by LoryKC | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  12. GROSS! I caught my son when he was about a year old using two pieces of poop as drumsticks on his Little Tykes drum. I guess he needed more fluids that day.

    Comment by SO not Martha | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  13. Bill: I was sick on Friday, yes, but the skunk on Saturday was only a near miss, and the Riley incident, as I said in above comments, happened 7 years ago. So it’s not as bad as it seems!

    Lory: I win! I win! What’s my prize? Whaddaya mean, that WAS the prize?? I like Si’s idea of a Victoria Cross. Or maybe I can make it into a hall of fame somewhere??

    SNMartha: I’m cackling away at that mental picture. Uh, yeah, the boy was a tad dehydrated, I’d say, if he was getting any resonance out of those sticks.

    Comment by Mary P. | August 15, 2005 | Reply

  14. Oh Sweet Jesus!

    Comment by Misfit Hausfrau | August 16, 2005 | Reply

  15. No, not sweet at all. Not one little bit. 🙂

    Comment by Mary P. | August 16, 2005 | Reply

  16. Ack! Yikes. So glad we haven’t had this happen. My son did bring me a hard thing of poop once. Whew!

    Comment by Kami | August 16, 2005 | Reply

  17. And I thought my handful of drippy poo was bad…

    Comment by Kat O+ | August 21, 2005 | Reply

  18. Once again Mary, you prove that you ROCK! Me, I would have been screaming, crying, on my knees wailing “Why child? Why?”

    I’m learning more everyday!

    Comment by Andie D. | December 22, 2005 | Reply

  19. […] We chortle at that. Yes, indeed. Chalk dust is the least of it, really. Really. Reeeeeallly. […]

    Pingback by Everyone can use some sometimes « It’s Not All Mary Poppins | March 31, 2011 | Reply

  20. […] even than this. […]

    Pingback by The REALLY worst shit story ever « It’s Not All Mary Poppins | October 17, 2013 | Reply

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