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.
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.
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.