Notes from Camp Cheapo – Day 4

I warn you, this is mostly about body functions.

The day began very ominously with dark clouds, diarrhea, urine, and chafing (none of it mine)…all before my first cup of coffee (I average 3 per morning)…

To begin, Ana had chafing on her inner thigh from her pool vest worn on camp days 2 & 3 so she refused to wear underwear or pants. Instead, she walked around like a tiny cowboy with flesh tone chaps- bowlegged, pale butt, tan legs. And she swore she didn’t have to go potty (foreshadowing here people, pay attention).

I came downstairs to find that Mr. Bojangles (the dog) had a bout of diarrhea on my area rug. Why must it always be the area rug?!? He treats it like some goddamn indoor grass. What’s wrong with the hardwood?  Brian was mad, saying Bo must have eaten the leftover egg guts thrown at the trees on camp day 3. I disagreed. As the appointed “poopologist” in the house…what’s a poopologist you ask? Well, it’s like a person who reads tea leaves but instead of predicting the future I can determine what stupid shit you ate. Anyway, I argued that “if the eggs were in fact eaten, this poop (said while holding a magnifying glass and sounding like Sherlock Holmes) would smell like rotten eggs AND have remnants of eggshells. However, this poop has surprisingly little aroma and is…” (Brian’s about to spoon yogurt into his mouth…wait for it) “as smooth as yogurt.” Besides, we recently found out that we’ve been feeding our dog the worst dog food on the market. Supposedly it has something akin to chicken beaks, unicorn hoolves, and ground car parts in it. His stomach is plenty strong.

As I’m cleaning this up, naked Ana tells me she has to use the bathroom. I notice she has a funny look on her face that I can’t place. I tell her how proud I am that she’s using the potty. The face then changes to one I easily recognize- guilt. I retrace her footsteps ( it’s easy because they’re all wet) and find HUGE puddles in the sunroom. At least the cleaning products are out already.

I eat, drink coffee, then the kids have arrived. They are bummed because the approaching storm is keeping us from our whipped cream fight. However, we can still body paint in the garage. Yay!
 
I set out the tarp, paint, brushes, baby wipes, and away we go. Right away I am disturbed. I anticipated painting rainbows, hearts, and pirate faces. Instead I’m asked how to spell “slaughter”, to paint an arrow on an “I’m with stupid” chest, and my 3yr old is painting her whole body in black paint.

If i wasn’t already certain, I quickly realize this activity is going south when I see one child painting “LMFAO” on her arm.

We hose down. All the paints wash off easily except the red and black colors so, of course, “Man Slaughter”, “I’m with stupid”, and “LMFAO” are clearly legible. This is how they go home. We’ll see if their parents send them back tomorrow.