Shit Happens…and I Stepped In It

This morning I stepped in it and not in the figurative sense. No, this morning after finally clearing the mountains of breakfast dishes and mounds of laundry, after I’d finally gotten around to eating my (cold) oatmeal and drinking my equally cold coffee, I stepped in it. Shit happens. What more can I say?

If you have kids or dogs, you know there are certain things you just don’t do. White. White is strictly off-limits in this house. Carpeting, another banned item. Ditto for shag, sherpa and chenille. Kids and dogs. It’s like they have some sort of homing device, like they know the exact worst place to poop at the exact worst moment. Their timing is impeccable; like Jay from (insert spam company here) who always, always has some sort of telepathic sense for knowing when the baby’s sleeping or when I’m getting into the car to pick up the girls or when I’ve finally gotten the baby to sleep in the car because he refuses to nap in his crib so I try to time his “mobile nap” with my mobile app pickup.

Does anyone else immediately lose Internet connection in the Cider Mill pick-up line? I finally got that stupid sign rigged up to my dashboard and they went all 2021 on me. And there’s Jay, calling me (again), testing the patience I lost earlier that morning when I stepped in it, asking me how I’m doing today, ma’am? Poor Jay. He really got an earful.

Do you ever notice how sometimes it’s easier to unload on a stranger, like somehow the verbal diarrhea just flows so freely when you know you’ll never have to actually see the person? On the upside, I feel relatively confident he won’t be calling again.

You know who has really good timing? Squirrels. I mean they are like the most punctual rodents. Always waiting by that bird feeder in the morning with a gleam in their eye and a nut in mind and it’s all about strategy now with snow; like a game of Whack A Mole, half of them tunneling up out of nowhere, putting my heart through a series of random stress tests. Aggressive, relentless and undeterred, there is no such thing as “squirrel proof”. They’re the felons of the feeders, the great Houdinis of hoarding and stockpiling, pulling nut jobs like they’re on the brink of some sort of acorn apocalypse or something.  Those poor birds. They never stood a chance. I swear to God, they’re making Kind Bars in a lab somewhere.

But timing, it’s everything. Had I just put that diaper on two minutes sooner, had I just had the wherewithal to look before I stepped, had I just not missed that train and sat next to James. Oh wait, I’m not Gwyneth Paltrow and I guess this isn’t Sliding Doors. If I had to make a train though, I know I’d be the girl to miss it as I’m frequently running late or caught at the light (the one that takes forever by Cider Mill) or stuck in the middle of the Starbucks line with the baby screaming and no way to escape once I’m in it because let’s face it, by 3 p.m. that six-dollar latte seems really, really worth it. Can Tusk and Cup put a drive-thru in?

I can never find my keys, my shoes; I really desperately need someone to invent a LoJack for my coffee. That woman I promised myself I’d never be, I’m her, only with more grey hairs and the absence of a good bra. I feel like that Alanis Morissette song, if I drank Chardonnay or smoked. I do have an exorbitant amount of spoons though, for some reason. Seriously, I can’t even close the drawer anymore.

But sometimes you just can’t prepare for poop, the irony or timing of it. It happens with or without a diaper, on or off the carpet, whether you want it to or not. Poop waits for no one. At least the squirrels have it together. I mean if the squirrels are organized, if they’ve managed to systemize and sort it out, then I suppose there’s hope for the rest of us. One day I’ll get the changing table set up. I’ll have a centralized location for things like diapers and wipes and coffee. Who knows? If I wait long enough he might even be potty trained by then which I guess might imply being organized enough to train him and you know what, maybe I’ll just keep stepping in it. Maybe it’s easier.

Columnist Lesley Kirschner grew up quiet, in the woods and devoid of siblings so her hobbies quickly became reading, writing and talking to inanimate objects. She also spent a considerable amount of time doing voice-overs for her dolls and watching too much daytime television–channel 3, sometimes channel 8, if the weather was good and the antenna wasn’t acting up. She was in attendance at school, graduated from a very much not notable college not worth mentioning and was transplanted to Wilton with her husband, Ambler Farm‘s Farmer Jonathan and their (baby makes) three children almost a decade ago. Although she never quite found her calling in life, other than perhaps the doll voice-overs, which in hindsight were eerily convincing, she’s happy to try her hand at writing and is thankful to the support and community she found on Facebook’s Buy Nothing Wilton. Lesley realizes while this is all very exciting, she’s not winning a Pulitzer so she’ll wrap it up and be quiet. She’s had a lot of practice. 


  1. Lesley, I agree with Silvie! A good sense of humor goes a long way with 4 kids. I always include husbands. Eliot is about the age when you will have more hilarious stories to tell us… E.g. one morning I woke up and heard crackling. I went downstairs and my 18 month old had crawled out of his crib, gone downstairs, was sitting on the floor with a dozen eggs Breaking them on the floor one by one. He looked at me with those beautiful hazel eyes and said Robbie told me to do it. That was his older brother.Than he looked up at me and said mommy, I love you! So much more fun to come. He’s 53 now and still makes me laugh but I don’t step in shit. Most of the time. Little boys really know how to snow their moms! But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Easy for me to say. He’s all grown up and has an adorable son of his own. Now he tells me funny stories! Keep writing, little stories like yours take away the reminder that there are so many Mondays. For me it always seems like Friday.

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