Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 5: Fear The Poopy)

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When we finally got back to the school it was evident that class had been dismissed as there was a line of mini-vans and SUV’s wrapped around the parking lot. The sea of blue parking spaces were, of course, empty so I motioned to a lady in a 2004 Sherman Suburban Tank to move a little so I could squeeze my little car thru. She rolled her eyes and turned away, pretending I wasn’t there. Oh no she didn’t, if want to be ignored I’ll go to Best Buy and wait for help. I didn’t need this shit, not now. I got out of the car and approached her window with my hands up in the air.

“Hey lady, what gives? I just need to get thru. I know you see me in there. I can see your beady eyes through your Sally Jesse Raphael glasses”

She buzzed down her window.

“Those are handicapped spaces. And you obviously aren’t handicapped. Why don’t you pull around and park in the visitor spaces in the back.”

Visitor’s spaces? I didn’t have time to wait for the shuttle bus to take me from the visitor’s lot to the school. Who died and made her the moral majority anyway?

“Listen, Geraldine Falwell. Unless there is a Boeing 747 full of handicapped people getting ready to land in the next few minutes, I think there will be plenty of handicapped spaces left. Now would you please move aside so I can get in?”

“You know what, it’s people like you that make this country so rotten. Young punks always thinking about themselves with no care in the world, and no responsibility, thinking everyone owes them something. You make me sick.”

Yeah, it was on.

“No princess, what makes this country blow is soccer moms like you living in your little suburban bubble, driving your gas guzzlers filled with bratty uncontrollable kids, with no concern for the environment, your community, or the other people of this world…acting all holier than thou, like your shit don’t stink….”

EEEEEEEE….EEEEEEEEE….EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Our little debate was interrupted by my nephew who decided he would lay on the horn for a while to bring the attention of the entire school and surrounding neighborhoods to the developing parking lot rage that was about to take place. I was embarrassed, not by our altercation, but by my horn. I have a nice sporty car, but the horn is a little lacking in the masculinity department. It doesn’t scream “BACK OFF!!!” or “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!” like some bigger vehicles. No it’s more like a sniveling, wimpy, “umm, excuse me…if you don’t mind, the light is green, and well, ummm, hey we are all waiting for you to go…patiently of course...hahaha…whenever you’re ready…don’t hurt me or I’ll cry for my mommy.” Yeah, that’s just what it sounded like. Nonetheless, Soccer Mom and I tried to continue our civil conversation through the racket.

“Oh yeah well bite m…”

EEEEEEEEEEE!!!

“Kiss my…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

“You cocksuc…”

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

“What did you call me, well I oughta…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

“…and shove it up your…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!


Maybe the other drivers in line were getting tired of my wussy-ass horn or maybe they were just bored, but they all started laying on their horns too. With the blaring cacophony building to an annoying crescendo, my mentally outgunned adversary retreated back into her vehicle, told me I was #1 on both hands, and pulled her tank up.

I pulled into my space and got out to let my nephew out of his kiddie-seat.

“Haha, Wyatt. You and I make quite a team don’t we?”

“Yeah, me and you, we a team Unco Onionhead!”

“That’s ‘You and I” Wyatt.”

“Yeah, me and you.”

As I was unbuckling him from his seat, trying to figure out why he brushed good grammar aside like brusell sprouts under the table, I smelled something funky. And not the funky poopy smell that I had braced myself for the entire trip back. No, it was more of a funky ammonia-like smell that just took over and burned my pesky nose hairs.

“Wyatt, what is that funky smell?”

“I dunno Unco Onionhead, but I kweened up real good,” he said as he took one of the fifty balled up discarded tissues and started wiping his face again. I grabbed the tissue out of his hand, and realized my nephew had “kweened” himself with half the container of Armor All Wipes I had in the backseat of my car. In horror I grabbed the container and read the back.

“To achieve that natural low-gloss finish use directly on leather, windows, dash, vinyl, fabric and painted surfaces.” Nothing about nephews or snack cakes. Damn.

“Do you feel OK? Does your skin burn at all?”

“NO, I’m kween now. I smell good, don’t I Unco Onionhead?”

“You smell like a cheap sofa, Wyatt.”

I grabbed my freshly-detailed nephew my his hand and started walking to the school entrance. What would my sister think when she saw me walking back with her only son who had been sitting in his own congealed poo for hours, covered in spongecake, and smelling like a discount furniture outlet. I wouldn’t have long to find out as she met me at the sidewalk, along with Principal Pissypants, and an entourage of concerned teachers. She ran to meet us at the curb.

“Oh my god Wyatt, are you OK?”

“I’m fine mommy. Don’t I smell kween?” and he stuck his arm in her face, as if everybody within a 100 foot radius couldn’t smell him. She looked up at me.

“Onionhead. I heard he was in an accident. Then we heard the horns blaring out here. I thought something terrible happened.”

“Oh haha! I didn’t mean to startle ya like that. He had an accident in his pants, and I didn’t know what to do so we came back here. Then I got in a fight with this lady in the parking lot, and then Wyatt made a mess eating a Ding-Dong and used Armor All Wipes to clean himself up. And…ummm…so here we are. So how was your day?”

My sister gave me one of her looks that I remember her giving me growing up. Yep it was the same look she gave me right before she gave me two black eyes after I dissected her teddy bear with safety scissors after science class one day (yeah I was a nerd, but a safe one).

“Onionhead, if you’re not busy being an idiot, you’re just not busy are you?”

“Well, sometime I watch TV and…”

“MARCH!” she screamed and pointed back to the school. I grabbed my nephew’s hand and we both did the walk of shame into the school. I could hear Principal Pissypants and my sister’s colleagues chuckling behind us. Instead of the conquering hero returning from battle in all his glory I felt like the conquered zero who couldn’t keep a 6-year old in check for 3 hours on his own. O the humanity!

When we got into the office my sister turned her frustration on my nephew.

“And you. You are six years old now. SIX!!!! And you still poop in your pants like a widdle baby.”

He looked up at me again, eyes all watery, trying to talk.

“But…But…But…”

As much as it pained me to do so, and as much as he deserved a good scolding like I had just endured, I just couldn’t throw him under the bus. I made him a promise, and I owed it to him to keep it.

“Hey, it was an accident. I got him all worked up over this Build-A-Bear thing and it just happened. I told him that if we came back here that you wouldn’t be mad with him. C’mon he looks up to me. Help me out here will you?”

We both stared at her, still sniveling (ahem, mine was for effect), with our big blue eyes batting and begging for mercy. She just shook her head, and then eventually smiled.

“Are you sure you aren’t his father?” she said

“Ummm that would be a little sick.”

“You know what I mean. You’re like a big him and he’s like a little you. Alright, I’m just glad everybody is OK. Wyatt has a change of clothes in my classroom.”

“Fantastic”, I exclaimed with a deep sigh of relief, “I’ll just be here in the office while you’re cleaning him up and stuff. Bring him in whenever you’re done.” And with that I sat my fat ass in a big comfortable chair for a much needed power nap.

SCREECH

That was the sound of my plans coming to a halt as my sister grabbed me by the ear.

“Oh no. You got him into this mess and you will get him out. I have a meeting to go to. My classroom is open and there is a bathroom inside. Kaitlyn is in there and she will show you where Wyatt’s clothes are. Just clean him up and get him changed and then you can go back to the mall. Do you think you can handle that or do I need to get one of the 4th graders in here to help you?”

“Oh no, I got it. No problem, haha.”

And with that she went to her meeting, and we walked down the hall to her classroom. My niece was in there with another teacher’s daughter, and they had the desks moved against the walls because they were dancing and doing cartwheels all over the floor.

“Uncle Onionhead, what are you guys doing here. I thought you were going to Build-A-Bear? she said.

“Oh hey, Kaitlyn. We were but he forgot something he needed, so we came back.”

“Mommy yelled at Unco Onionhead, Kaitlyn, hahahahaha!” my nephew said about falling over from laughter. They all laughed at me. After I stuck my neck out for you, Et tu Wyatt.

“She didn’t yell at me. We were talking about adult stuff. Ummm so where are his change of clothes at.”

“Oh brother, did he poop in his pants? They’re over her in this cubbyhole. Don’t worry about it Uncle Onionhead, nobody can handle him. I didn’t think you would either. Actually you lasted a lot longer than I thought.

What was that supposed to mean? My own 8-year old niece didn’t think I could keep up with her 6-year old brother. She was smart for age, perhaps too smart. Or maybe she was still fuming about the Draw 4 I laid down on her in Spongebob Uno last night. That must have been it, sore loser.

“Whateva, Kaitlyn. Ok Wyatt, here are you’re clothes. Go change and let’s get out of here.”

“Uncle Onionhead, you are going to have to help him. He is too much of a baby to do it himself,” she said.

“A’M NOT!”

“ARE TOO!”

”A’M NOT!”

”ARE TOO!”

The cyclical pointlessness of their argument was too much to bear, so I looked down at Wyatt.

“Do you need me to help you Wyatt?”

“Yeah.”

“HAHA! BABY!” she screamed back victoriously

“SHUDDUP KAITLYN” he retorted intellectually.

My sister was right. A day with these two really was like a commercial for birth control. I don’t know how she does it. Seriously, I don’t.

I followed him into the bathroom and he locked the door. He started undressing himself so I figured I would turn away and let him have his privacy, plus I definitely didn’t want to see any poop. I don’t have the stomach for it. When my niece was born I would babysit her, and for all the hell she put me thru she never ONCE did a poopy diaper, and because of that I think we have this connection. We understand each other. She understood my fear of the poopy diaper and I understood her fear in making one because of my probable ineptness at handling it. Like I said, she was and still is, smart beyond her years. My nephew on the other hand, well he is another story.

“Unco Onionhead.”

“Yes, Wyatt.”

“Can you wipe my butt?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you wipe my butt, Unco Onionhead?”

“Wyatt you’re a big boy, wipe your own butt.”

“I got poop on my butt, can you wipe it for me?”

Obviously my reasoning wasn’t sinking in, so I went for the straightforward approach.

“HELL NO I AIN’T TOUCHING THAT SHIT!!!”

I know I shouldn’t have cussed, after all these little kids are human tape recorders. But when I signed the contract to be an uncle it didn’t have any fine print about wiping no butts. It said I would be subject to getting stuff thrown at me, and punched at, and scratched, and climbed on, and run around until my last lung shriveled up in defeat, and answer a million questions I didn’t know the answer to, and kiss dolls and stuffed bears good night, and watch Shrek a hundred times, but never did it say anything, not one word, about wiping poop. I was protected under the law and that was good enough for me.

“Hahaha!!! You funny Unco Onionhead”

He didn’t pester me any more about it, and once he got done I helped him get changed and got him washed up in the sink. As we walked out of the bathroom, I looked at my niece who was attempting back flips, which were ending up more like back-flops on the nappy-time mats.

“Hey Crouching Platypus!” I shouted.

“”Who me?” she said after falling on her face.

“Yeah you. You and I. Spongebob Uno. Tonight. Bring you’re A-game or you will be defeated again, and great shame will fall upon your family.”

“I will be there Uncle Onionhead. I may have underestimated your prowess in the discipline of Spongebob Uno in the past, but never again. I shall show no mercy, and your end will be quick and painless.”

“We shall see.”

“Indeed we will.”

Like I said, she is way smart beyond her years. The lines were drawn in the sand between her and I. But that would be a battle for later. I had more pressing tasks at the moment, namely getting my nephew to Build-A-Bear. We walked back down the hall and there was my sister, who had gotten out of her meeting, and was waiting with a coat for my nephew.

“Wyatt, it’s getting cold out. Put on this jacket,” she said.

“HELL NO I AIN’T TOUCHING THAT SHIT!!!”

My sister stood there flabbergasted at first, then intuitively looked at me.

“Uncle Onionhead, where does he learn such language?”

“Fuck if I know.”

If my sister had a hat on her head she would of hit me like the Skipper hits Gilligan, but she didn’t have a hat on, so she reached for her purse like Aunt Ester getting ready to hit Woody, but my nephew sprinted out toward the door and started yelling at the top of his lungs.

“BIDABER, BIDABER, BIDABER…WOO HOO!!!!!”

Out of my sister's clutches, I pursued helplessly after him.

Deja vu is a bitch.