I'll Stand By You Part 3 **Warning: It's a Story Involving a LOT of Shit**

(continuing from Part 2)

Yes, this is a true story that really happened and I'm not making this up. 

By the time the maintenance crew arrived, I was safely out of sight, as planned.  I had chosen a spot where I could zoom in on my daughter yet remained unseen.  I saw my daughter opened the door, and without a word, pointed towards the bathroom.  I saw the back of the maintenance crew as they were about to enter the scene of the crime.  I held my breath and waited for the crew to start yelling expletives and ran the hell away from the bathroom.  When none of that happened, I started thanking Jesus for Balinese people's hospitality, which apparently transcended all understanding.

While the crew was inside the bathroom, hard at work, my daughter came out to where I was hiding.  She looked worried and (rightly so) asked me, "What's wrong, Mommy?"  I looked up from my semi-crouching position, and at that moment I just couldn't continue with the lies anymore.  So I told her, "Mommy did something really, really embarrassing, sweetie. I think I threw in too many tissue papers, and now the toilet's blocked.  So when I poo-poo just now, the poo didn't go down like it's supposed to when I flushed.  Now Mommy is so embarrassed, I don't want those people to see me."  There, I finally confessed the truth.

Well, what happened next was this: as soon as I finished my shameful confession, my little 5 year-old daughter sat down next to me, put one arm around me, and started singing:

Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes...
Come on and come to me now.
Don’t be ashamed to cry...
Let me see you through...
Cause I’ve seen the dark side too
When the night falls on you,
You don't know what to do?
Nothing you confess...
Could make me love you less...
I’ll stand by you... I'll stand by you...

There I was, sitting in my little hiding spot, and my baby girl was singing "I'll Stand by You" for me.
To tell the truth, I didn't know whether to laugh, or to cry.  First, I was surprised that she picked that moment to sing.  Second, I couldn't help but feeling that her choice of song was strangely fitting given the circumstances (I mean, she could have sung "London Bridge is Falling Down," but thank goodness she didn't).  Third, if you were listening to the words like I did, you'd notice the lyrics: "Nothing you confess... Could make me love you less..."  

Yep, I was convinced that, right there, was how God punished me for having lied and used my innocent daughter to cover for my own sorry ass. Nothing feels more shit-ty (or more hilarious) than having to confess to your 5 year-old kid that you accidentally shit all over the bathroom floor, then tried to put the blame on her, and guess what she did? She sang you a song, telling you that there's absolutely nothing you could do that would make her love you less.

I'll Stand By You Part 2 **Warning: It's a Story Involving a LOT of Shit**

(continuing from Part 1)

Satisfied with all the preparations I've made, I entered the bathroom, closed the door, and made myself comfortable.  I flipped through my first tabloid magazine, not forgetting to flush the toilet every now and then as was my habit.  Can't stand the thought of having those brownies piling up only inches from my butt, you know.  Eww, gross!  (if you think that's gross, then wait til you read this...)

Halfway through my second tabloid and a few toilet flushes later, I had this peculiar feeling that something was off.  By then I had finished my business anyway, and was only there because I wanted to read in peace.  With reluctance, I started to clean myself up.  With one final flush before I go, I stood up and was just about to leave the toilet cubicle when something caught my eyes.

Turned out that all those times that I had flushed, the little shits (literally) didn't go down.  The toilet was blocked, either by all the tissue paper I had so poorly disposed of earlier, or by the motherload I had just dumped into the bowl.  Either way, the situation was quickly getting out of hand, because it became obvious to me that this shit ain't going down anytime soon.  In fact, it's slowly rising and I didn't need to be Einstein to figure out that the final outcome will NOT be pretty.

Rendered motionless by the horror of it all, I was torn between calling the hotel's maintenance pronto, or cleaning after it myself.  If I called the maintenance, how on earth was I going to explain my situation?  "Err, hello, this is room 313, and I'd like to report an emergency.  There's a rising pile of shit that's about to overflow your beautiful bathroom floor?"  How was I ever going to save face when the maintenance crew came knocking at my door?  How could I ever look those nice, friendly Balinese people in the eyes once they've seen the things that came out of my butt??  I felt like that kid who had just been caught stealing with her hands still inside the cookie jar.  There was not a single lie that could cover the predicament I was in.  I was doomed to be "that woman whose shit blocked the toilet and flooded the bathroom's floor" from here on forward.

 "No, there is NO friggin way you're gonna clean it yourself! How? Don't tell me you're gonna be scooping poop out of the toilet bowl.  Even if you do, where are you gonna dump 'em?  You're not seriously thinking to do it with your bare hands, are you??  You're OCD, remember?!??"  I was practically scared shitless (no pun intended).  I couldn't think, I couldn't move.

Finally, sounds coming from the TV outside broke me out of my stupor.  I shut the bathroom door, grabbed the nearest phone, and called maintenance.  After I told them to hurry, I just HAD to add, "I'm so sorry...  but you know how it is with 5 year olds... "

Did I just LIE?  Was that me, pointing my finger at my sweet, innocent daughter?  Bad, bad, BAD mommy!  You'd think I'd get down on my knees and repent to God Almighty right there and then.  But it's me we're talking about here.

Blinking lights, ladies and gentlemen, World's Worst Mom moment coming right up!  As soon as I hung up the phone, I told my daughter that the maintenance people were coming to fix the toilet.  I explained to her why she must open the door when the doorbell rings.  I even gave her the tip money, wrapped in paper, to give to the maintenance crew once they completed the job.  And where would Mommy be when this happened?  Well, Mommy's gonna be outside in the patio, behind that little screen right there (because Mommy is a coward who's gonna hide her sorry bump where nice, friendly Balinese people can't find her).

 (please continue to Part 3)

I'll Stand By You Part 1 **Warning: It's a Story Involving a LOT of Shit**

One thing you probably don't need to know about me, but I've got to tell you anyway since it's relevant to this story, is that I have a hard time poo-ing when I'm not familiar with the surroundings.  The same thing happens whenever there's too much commotion around me.  Like when there are guests coming over for dinner or when my daughter's having her playdates (picture little people running around the house screaming and shouting).  Also included in my blacklist are public restrooms, where the toilet cubicles are surrounded by walls that are not completely enclosed.  You know those "neither here nor there" partitions that are supposed to give you a sense of privacy?  Privacy my arse. Having to smell other people's shit on top of yours does not qualify as privacy in my dictionary.  Second, doing my business while having to hold my breath at the same time is just plain wrong.  It contradicts the law of nature, not to mention detrimental to your state of consciousness.

Another thing I probably should mention, is that last year, my 5 year-old daughter had to memorize lyrics to the song "I'll Stand By You" (by the Pretenders) for her school's Christmas performance.  I had her practiced that song enough to know that she had most of the lyrics memorized.


So with those little trivias in mind, I begin my story.  Let me warn you, it's a story that involves a lot of shit. 

Sometime last year, our family went on a holiday in Bali.  For those of you who'd been there, you would know that Balinese people are well-known for being polite and hospitable.  We were staying at our favorite hotel, the one we always stayed in whenever we visited the island.  Familiar with the hotel layout and room setting already, I was able to relax immediately after we finished unpacking.  I remembered the day as being a bit too hot for my liking, so I opted to stay in our room with my daughter while my husband went down to sunbathe by the pool.

Sensing the peaceful tranquility all around me, my rowdy husband out by the pool, it didn't take long before I felt the first stirrings of nature calling in my tummy.  Not wanting to lose the momentum, I quickly set out to prepare my pre-flux routine without delay:

• one or two tabloid magazines to entertain myself while I'm doing my #2 (checked).
• my blackberry, on silent mode (checked).  We don't want any sudden outbursts of my Eminem ringer to muck up my bowel movements now, do we?
• liquid soap and a 3 liter plastic bottle filled up with water for me to wash up afterward (checked).
• TV set on Disney channel to ensure no mid-poo interruptions from daughter (checked)
• yummy snacks for my little one to munch on while watching TV (checked)
• a small plastic cup of water for her (checked). 
• lock entrance and patio doors (checked)
• windows all closed and secured (checked)

I proceeded to prop my daughter, who was five years old at the time, comfortably on the sofa bed, her snack and water cup well within her grasp, making sure she had the best unhindered view of Disney Channel from where she's sitting.  Finally, I informed my daughter that Mommy had some "business to attend to" in the bathroom, so please do not--I repeat, do NOT--interrupt, barge in, or come within ten paces of the bathroom door unless there is a real emergency.  By now she's only too happy to obliged, her eyes already glued to the TV screen.

(Please continue to Part 2)