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True Confessions from the Double Stroller: Playdoh…or something else?

True Confessions from the Double Stroller: Playdoh…or something else?

Last updated on April 17th, 2024 at 11:54 pm

By Anon-a-Mom

How would you describe your life with twins? Chaotic? Comedic? Calamitous? At our house we’ve seen it all. People tell me constantly that I need to hire a camera crew to follow our family around because of the insane and kooky antics our b/g twins pull. I tend to agree with them! Our life is definitely sitcom worthy. Some of the situations they get into are so off-the-wall that I am compelled to share anonymously. You know, just in case they want to go into politics or the clergy one day. I call our show True Confessions from the Double Stroller.

Episode One: PlayDoh…or Something Else?


playdoh cars

One boring summer morning and I’m home alone with the twins. I have this crazy Pinterest mom moment where I decide to make some homemade PlayDoh. “That will be fun and occupy them for hours,” I think happily to myself. So, ingredients gathered and PlayDoh cooked and colored, I introduce the kids to the wonderful squishy stuff.

We play for hours, as hoped. Success! I am feeling very Super-Mom-ish. Eventually, naptime rolls around. Off they go to their room and, “Wow,” I think contentedly, “they sure are quiet. I must have worn them out.” Stupid, stupid, stupid me. Quiet twins…tsk tsk. I occupy myself with this and that while I assume they are asleep.

As the afternoon wears on, I begin to notice the all-too-familiar odor of a diaper needing to be changed. So I crack the door to their bedroom to see if either is awake and I am railroaded by a cloud of poop odor so strong that it tickles my gag reflex a bit. I do not see two toddlers sleeping, as I had expected, but there in front of me sat two toddlers, sitting together on the floor, totally naked, and covered from head to toe in something reddish brown. Poop. They’ve opened their diapers and covered themselves in poop!!!

I manage to pry my eyes away from my poop-covered kids for a moment and look around the room, which has also acquired a gracious smattering of poop. The walls. The dresser. The curtains. The beds. The toys. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus in Heaven, please protect these children from the apocalyptic flip-out that’s coming on…(Footnote: They’re still alive.)

With as much humanity as is left in me at that moment, I toss both kids into the bathtub and start cleaning — the room, I mean, because the crap flying out of my mouth was prolific. After many gags and plenty of tears and snot (mine), and a metric ton of Lysol, I think the room is clean and I turn my attention to my children, trusting that the tirade is over and they’re safe from bodily harm.

Vroom vroom...
Vroom vroom…

More gagging, and an entire bottle of baby wash later, they are clean. But the smell lingers. Is it just in my nose? I scan the room for any poop patches I may have missed but don’t see any. I must be crazy, I think. The smell has imprinted itself on my nose permanently. I pull back the curtains, which have been down, and, “Oh, good Lord!” more sailor talk flies out of my mouth. There, on the window sill, lie several Hot Wheels cars, half buried in a massive clump of poop. I’m telling you, everything up to this point had been mere smears. This was a clump. And the toy cars had been driven in and out of it, leaving little poop wheel tracks all over the sill and window panes. Commence flip-out number two!

By this time, my husband has arrived and is able to take the kids outside to play while I shower and use every drop of hot water the hot water heater can squeeze out. But the smell….the smell truly was imprinted in my nose for the next several days.

[End Scene]

So, in retrospect, I think I know what was going on in their little minds that day. “Mom makes us this wonderful new stuff called PlayDoh. What fun! It’s squishy and you can play with your toys in it. Now it’s naptime and we’re alone in our room and…wait…hey, look what I found in my diaper! Hey, I made my own PlayDoh! Let the play begin!”

I only hope they didn’t try to taste it…

I regret that I was not in the state of mind at the time to grab my camera to document the mess, but I assure you, it happened. And to prove that, here’s my Facebook post from a few weeks later.

true confessions mom

Because it happened…again.

This time, we were ready with the duct tape.

Are You a New Twin Parent?

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