Kids Are Gross

O: It's okay, momma.  I don't need a tissue. I can use my shirt!

Today, I found

a half eaten apple in my bed,

at least a tablespoon of sesame seeds ground into my kitchen rug,

paint splatters on the wall in the living room,

three and a half pairs of sand-filled shoes on the dining room floor,

a mysterious, grey and brown smear on the wall behind the toy basket,

and a sippy cup of what used to be milk under the couch. 

 Geez, kid, get it together

Geez, kid, get it together

I have wiped butts, noses, and hands, and the hands were the grossest of the three.  I have been sneezed at, peed on, and licked.  I have made them beautiful meals, only to turn my back for a minute to discover that they have poured the milk over their fish, or dropped hunks of mashed potato into their cup of water, creating some inedible, unholy stew that I will later have to scrape off of their tiny, brightly colored dishes.  

 Don't let that sweet face fool you. GROSS.

Don't let that sweet face fool you. GROSS.

There is a smell in the car that I am afraid to investigate. 

Once, P actually blew her nose directly into my mouth.  Please don't ask about the logistics. Just know, it happened.  

God, they are gross. The grossest.  

 So gross

So gross