Wiping heinies for minimum wage. YEAH!

Summer is here, folks, and that means I do not receive a paycheck form the University for 3 entire months. It also means that because I am still insured through the University during the summer, that I cannot collect unemployment. Isn't that fabulous. Many of the house moms in my area are of retirement age so they are able to get by with alternate funds. At 37, I do not qualify for Social Security just yet.
I also found out something in interesting at the end of the semester. Apparently I am the ONLY house mom NOT receiving any kind of additional bonus or stipend form my housing corporation. Even more fabulous than my inability to receive unemployment benefits.

So, here is where I stand this summer: I singed up for a third year as house mom (although if and when a better position comes along, I am out of here) with the University at AGAIN, NO RAISE. So, basically, I will be making the same shitty paycheck I started with back in 2008, for the 2010-2011 school year. Budget cuts, state funds, blah blah blah, cry me a river, South Carolina.


Anyway, to get back on track with the title of this post which is heinies. No, not the heinies of the college aged boys I usually deal with, although, I sometimes question their hygiene habits if you you want to know the truth.

I am referring to the posteriors of small children. I took a job at the gym where I work out, and where I am often in the childcare room surrounded by pooping, peeing, screaming, mucousing little humans. It pays minimum wage but I also get my gym membership for free which saves me 50 bucks a month.
Now, I have nothing against children. We all started out in life as pooping, peeing, screaming, mucousing little people but honestly, I have never been one of those women who ooohhhssss and aaaahhhhhsss over how cute every baby and toddler is that I pass by in the grocery store. I never dreamed of my fairy tale wedding and being a stay at home mom where my life would be completed by the day to day minutia of doing laundry, changing diapers, and watching Sesame Street with little ones.

Back to the heiny part.
Did I even spell heiny correctly?

On the first day that I am at the gym alone, a young boy informs me he needs to go to the bathroom. He looks to be between 3 and 4. I think, "great, I will gladly take you to the restroom rather than risk you haveing an accident in your pants, kid!"
Off we go to the potty down the hall, where he takes down his pants and sits upon the big boy potty. I feel rather awkward as he sits there, weenie dangling and the stall door open but whatever. Men have never been embarrassed about pissing in public places or about proudly showing off their junk to whatever random woman is around, so if he's ok with the public display, I will pretend that I am too.
After he pees he is not quite finished. Oh no, this is a multi purpose trip to the big boy crapper; He actually needs to take a crap. Fine, great, again, better in the toilet than in your pants!!
Now comes the "amusing"part and I use the term amusing with much sarcasm.
He wants ME to wipe his ass.
WHAT??!!!
I look at him and say, "you can't wipe yourself?"
"NO!" he says. "YOU have to wipe me."
Oh geez. So, I tear off toilet paper and lean over to find the appropriate area for wiping, all while trying not to cry and vomit on his head from viewing his pile o' turds festering in the bottom of the commode.
I get a good grip on the paper and his arm as avoid any mishaps that may lead to him falling in the dirt water,, and wipe with enthusiasm. Paper goes in toilet, flush and wash your hands let's get out of here.

But no, he isn't satisfied with one attempt at wiping. He INSISTS I do it again. Apparently I have met the only human male in history who is concerned with personal freaking cleanliness.
So, I wipe again. He does not hide his obvious doubt for my cleaning abilities as he exits the toilet and proceeds to run his hand up and down his BUTT CRACK and viewing any possible detritus left behind on his hands.
Finally satisfied with not finding anything left behind, he washes his hands (I told you, the only human male in the history of the universe to care about personal cleanliness) and we leave the bathroom.

So here are my thoughts on the whole ordeal. The kid didn't see it as an ordeal. He was just doing his business and was quite mature and careful about it at such a tender age. For that he deserves a treat or a trip to Six Flags or a belly rub, or whatever it is kids enjoy these days.

Me? I deserve to write about it on this blog and share the absolute horror and hilarity that occurred that day. I have a good enough sense of humor that allows me to giggle over how low my professional life has sunk at this point. Wiping asses for minimum wage. Sounds like a good title for rap or a country song.
And there have been other "poop incidences" We have a 5 year old there who apparently is not toilet trained yet and who craps himself almost every time he is with us. And I swear, there are some kids who I am certain set their fecal clocks for the times they know mommy dearest will be working out in the gym and unable to change their adorable diapers. There are too many stories to mention here and I am tired of talking poop anyway.
I need a glass of wine stat.

Hobos on the train tracks

This seems like an appropriate place to begin my ample thoughts and journey down my road to poverty and frustration. I am currently an out of work house mom at a large Southern university. By out of work I mean summer has come and no paychecks until August, however, I have a roof over my head, even if that means break ins through out the community, no police force here that I can see, and no other means of financial contribution.

Back to the hobos. There are currently two living on the train tracks behind my house. Now, we do have the security of a tall chain linked fence complete with warped and worn barbed wire on top that has been breached before by drunk college students trying to prove how their parents failed to raise them correctly. Entry to the pretty, clean, white, WASPy side is easy to obtain if one walks 100 yards to where the fence ends. If one wants to slit my throat or attempt to break into one of the many BMW's or Saab's that are parked in our village during the regular school year no pass is required, no ID, no key, no special permission. Until school starts again in August, the criminals will only have my 2006 Honda Accord to occupy their sinister needs.

Hobos: we have more in common than even I think. What do hobos do? They have no real home, no ties, no way to pay bills on time, they go from place to place searching for something that I doubt they can explain, they sometimes wonder where their next meal will come from, and they no doubt leave a trail of doubt, worry, and ignored tears on their journeys.

I don't feel sorry for hobos but I can see the similarities between us. It's a sad fact to realize that I am not far off from becoming a hobo myself. Thankfully I have two living parents but what about those who do not have a family who cares? People who weren't given a fair chance and beginning? Those with no direction or focus? Actually I have described myself from 15 years ago. A hobo in training I was. I had a family who could afford upper middle class luxuries but I chose to ignore them while they were free. I made my own decisions and I stand by them even though many of the roads I traveled down led to nowhere. . My choices in life got me here but they are not the only thing holding me back. The world is a cold place to maneuver in 2010.

Not complete.....