Poo School

June 13, 2007 at 12:08 am | Posted in family, poo | 23 Comments

You get training for everything these days. Just a week in the job, and I’d already been trained in Fraud Awareness, Complaints Handling, Data Protection, and Enormous Lad Management. Not everyone gets ELM, but they said it was obligatory for me, because of the incredible size, weight and glistening shininess of my mickey.

Shut it, the rash is clearing up. Those antibiotics are doing the trick nicely.

You get certificates for them all. Certificates are important. Certificates imply that you really are making progress, you’re moving up in the world. You can display them at your desk, just like everyone else. I don’t.

Certificates convey responsibility. Authorised tea-maker. “Successfully passed…” on a certificate translates to “A wide experience of…” on your CV. CV means spicy resumé.

And there you are. You’re an individual. You’re WINNER! Just like everyone else.

You know what you don’t need training or a certificate for? Being a parent. Parents should be certified. CAPABLE. Nothing fascist, now. Everyone’s entitled to breed, yeah. Not everyone remembers that breeding produces kids though. The certificate would state that you are fully aware that you are responsible for your child’s welfare, and you’ll get your fucking bollocks, or perhaps ovaries, sliced out if you try to pass the buck.

See, if I’d had some parent training, I’d’ve been more prepared the other day when Jack shoved his hand into a warm, freshly-brewed poo. His own, I might add.

Parent training would teach you how to react in those situations. If I’d had my training, I bet I’d have reacted with something besides shrieks of horror as I watched him flailing his arms about, poo slathering his hair and the changing mat and the floor and a book that ended up so covered in faeces that I had no choice but to give it to charity.

Have you ever been painting, and a bit somehow gets on the sole of your shoe, and before you know it, you’ve accidentally planted paintprints halfway around the house? That’s what this was like. Except with poo.

There it was, the pooey arm, slippery and wriggling in my hands, like a puppy being held underwater, as I manhandled Jack into the bath and hosed him down. He wasn’t happy. I was fucking traumatised, trying to make myself have one of those out of body experiences that hippies and Tom Cruise are always yammering on about. Now I understand what my dad must’ve been going through that time when I was a baby and my mother came home to find him holding me upside-down at the sink, hosing down my hole with the powerful jet of the cold-water tap.

Dad, I forgive you.


Please note: If you haven’t got the new Queens of the Stone Age album, stand over in the corner and be ashamed. Go on now, git, pardner, or I’ll set The Swearing Lady on you.

No, not that corner. The one with the poo in it. I can’t bring myself to clean it up.


By the way, thanks for giving this place a pulse when all I wanted to do was rip its heart out. Sincerely. Although I haven’t been able to be on as much as I’d like, I have been reading every one of your comments, and I really appreciate that you take the time to leave them. So there.



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  1. I’m aiming for my “Safely Lifting a Box” certificate, got a man coming to show us how next week. Wish me luck!

    I worked in an old folks home once and have a similar poo story to tell. You can imagine!

  2. “…I had no choice but to give it to charity.” You really are the new Bob Geldof.

    Certificates at work are just insulting. But it’s the motivational posters that get on my tits the most. “Challenge” with a picture of a whale, WTF? Or “Opportunity” with a picture of a lake at dusk. Just a picture of my landlord and my girlfriend with baseball bats is all the motivation I need.

    “Now I understand what my dad must’ve been going through that time when I was a “baby” and my mother came home to find him holding me upside-down at the sink, hosing down my hole with the powerful jet of the cold-water tap.” Aye a bit of a shock for yer ma seeing as you were 23 at the time…

  3. i had 4 (still do, they just don’t live at home anymore) i can’t believe this is the fitst time you’ve have a “poo incident!” yeah, there wasn’t a parenting 101 class in my day either…

  4. He must have really grabbed a handful.

  5. My Dad was once left to watch me. Needing a change, he tackled it like any manly man would. Cloth diapers back then. Nasty business with rubber pants. Anyhow, I was changed and was still crying. No amount of soothing. He rubbed my back, bounced me, anything he could think of. Dad rechecked the diaper and found he had PINNED the diaper TO ME!!!

    At least you just had to rinse away the drama, mine left me with a life long scar.

    No worries, you’re a great parent. Poo and all!

  6. So you now have a certificate in cleaning up other people’s shit. Isn’t that the same as an Advanced Tech Support Rating?

  7. That post was shite! Aha. Ahahaha!

    And yes, Era Vulgaris. YESYESYESYES!

  8. it got so bad in our house the other day that the clothes young missis was wearing had to be cut off ! cut off i tells ya – such was the ferocity and the volume with which she shat herself !

  9. You Bastard! I’ve spent many happy hours browsing the bookshelves of charity shops and not believing my luck upon finding a rare classic for a few cent, wonderinmg why anyone would get rid of books like that. You Bastard!

  10. Ah yes the joys of parenthood! I remember one particular stomach bug with the eldest boy where he’d thrown up so many times and destroyed the bed of everyone in the house so many times during the night, we ended up (having run out of bedclothes and energy)sitting in the sitting room on couches, having placed the offending child on a chair surrounded by towels and vessels just staring at him in fear…I’d have loved a little training for that one.

  11. poor kav, that’s hideous. what about children and projectile vomiting. my niece waits until we’re in a crowded area – shudder

  12. All those courses are what keeps me in a job – sad isn’t it – must think about including ‘cleaning up shite’ in our programme 🙂

  13. So, you know, the eh poo incident… with your Dad? Eh, well if that was your first colonic irrigation have you gone back for more?

  14. Even if there were parenting classes, you still would not be prepared for dealing with a shit covered child, Kav. You don’t believe it until you see it and shrieking in horror is appropriate. That’s how kids learn not to wallow in poo. My sister was doing day care and had this big ugly baby with a square head and he did the same thing. I said “it’s all yours” and went outside for a smoke.

  15. Poo Schmoo. Our second youngest has taken to drinking out of the toilet. Second youngest child, not dog.

    It pains me to say that latest QOTSA doin nuffink for me yet. I feel unworthy.

    No cert in box lifting? EMC won’t let anyone write a line of code unless they are fully box-certified.

  16. My worst still has to be when Liam was a few months old and in mid diaper change he would start peeing like a fountain. Usually i wasn’t expecting it so when it did happen i reacted like a sniper victim, jumping back, letting out a big roar.

  17. Ah, the Arm in Poo stage, very soon to be followed by the Acting Like a Waterfountain stage. This stage usually occurs while changing the diapers.
    They made me take down my motivational poster. It was a picture of a professional Motorcycle racer taking a turn on his bike and in large letters underneath it read, “Trackdays”. Under that in smaller letters it read, “Because Golf is for Faggots”.
    I liked it.

  18. amateurs !

  19. heh… i remember those days… and i am so looking forward to grandchildren, when i can hand them over and say, “ooh.. poo alert!”


  20. I think I’m happy not to have children today. I think that would have made me throw up.

    So what kind of certificate do you get when the rash clears up?

  21. Today I got my “Hammer Your Fucking Thumb For The Tenth Time In A Row And Get So Mad You’d Kick A Horse If There Was One Nearby” certificate.

  22. Ah, yes, that would qualify for what the Spouse Sparrow calls a “shituation.”

    The Nestling Sparrow still hasn’t figured out what shit is, and that he makes it, right out of his very own ass, which leads to interesting shituations like his bed being covered in shit in the morning, and the Nestling Sparrow saying “Look, Mama, mud!”

  23. heh… how’s the thumb? 😉

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