Poop juice…and other misadventures while trying to get out the door in the morning.

This story starts, actually, with the debut of Nelly’s sophomore album, Nellyville. This album came out, for me in CD form, the summer I turned 15. This meant that it was the fall that many of my friends turned 16 and began to drive. My parents did not censor my music (thankfully) and allowed me to explore whatever musical tastes sounded good at the time. Keep in mind, this was also deep in the era of Napster, Limewire and burned CDs (aka the coolest mix tapes of all time), so censorship would have been all but impossible anyway. At this time, I was already extremely into Eminem, but must have been into Nelly, too.

So many of my memories center around music and smells – I assume it’s that way for everyone, but I was just mentioning to some friends that I wish you could have playlists that make you FEEL like whatever song you chose initially. I know that’s what predictive playlists are trying to do nowadays, but to mimic feelings is an art that AI probably won’t attain for a few more years. The first Nelly album came out the summer before high school and I remember sitting in my friend’s room, playing it in her Bose CD player over and over and over. The song lyrics are etched in my brain indelibly, probably taking up space that some useful skill or knowledge could be – but no. I have the words to “Luven’ Me” number 16 on Country Grammar in that spot (as well as the other more mainstream songs). I digress.

Anyway… The second album. There was a song called Pimp Juice on it and it quickly became one of our favorites. My mom was horrified, as…. Pimp Juice…. sounds like…….. you know. A pimp’s semen. But, honestly that never really crossed my mind, because Nelly clearly explained it in the song – something which I explained to my mom: “Now your pimp juice is anything, attract the opposite sex
It could be money, fame, or straight intellect” It’s come to my attention that the title of this really required a lot of back story to get to the main story.

Yesterday morning was one of the mornings that Justin coaches, so I was alone with the kids. Trying to get five people ready and out the door is challenging, but these are inevitably the days where the most hijinks take place. We had a measuring spoon breakfast where everyone ate their food with measuring cups or spoons. (NOTE: While I wish this was a “cool” mom thing – it wasn’t. Everyone just refused to eat with regular spoons.) Then, as I was brushing kid number four’s teeth, all of a sudden, Isabelle screams – “Mommy, I think Landon pooped his pants and put his hands down them and has poop on him.” Subsequently, Carter says “Mommy, I found poop juice on the floor!!!” So, yes. Landon is doing this new thing where after he poops he sticks his hands in his diaper. Most of the time, I can catch it, but he caught me off my game. So as I was bathing him and cleaning up, the little track in my mind was playing “Poop Juice” to the tune of “Pimp Juice.” I don’t think I could have ever seen that as a possibility back when the song came out, but I’ve almost perfected the lyrics.

We did get out the door and the poop juice area was cleaned and sanitized. Until next time.