Things more scary than Santa Claus

Today, we took the kids to SeaWorld. It was a dreary, overcast, mid-week day ... the ideal conditions to visit a water park. It was just us and maybe 100 other people, a more preferable scenario than when we tried to visit last week - with the better half of the population from Southern California.

The kids took their nap enroute to our outing, so rather than a nice 2.5-3 hour siesta at home, they caught a 45 minute snooze in the car. But, with a full day of adventure before us - and loveys for the car ride home - we had absolute faith that today would be a perfect day.

During our last visit to SeaWorld, the kids didn't fully appreciate the Dolphin or Orca show and were unable to pay attention for more than two minutes. I'm surprised what a few months of maturity will do for a toddler and their ability to sit still for a 30-minute show and stare agape at aquatic mammals. Not only did the performance hold their rapt attention, but when everyone left the auditorium, the five of us were still sitting in the bleachers, while three tiny tots were enthusiastically clapping for an encore to see the "Doffin!" and "Waale!"again.

The children loved the Clydesdale horses, they adored the polar bears, they laughed at the beluga whales and they called all the fish in the huge fresh water aquarium "Dory". I think my adoration of Dory has rubbed off on the kids. We've been watching a lot of "Finding Nemo" lately and Dory's outlook on life is absolutely awesome. What an amazing attitude this little fish has - despite some of the greatest obstacles.

Face to face with sharks? Bring it on!

Swimming in to a black abyss? No problem!

Stuck in a jellyfish swarm? Not an issue!

Swallowed by a whale? The fun never ends!

Maybe it's because she has no short-term memory and can't remember where she's been - or where she's going - but Dory is my all-time favorite cartoon character. I'm already convinced short-term memory loss is a good thing. Infact, I think I could use more of it.

Back to my story...

Everything was going splendidly, until we visited the walrus. While the kids climbed up to see the walrus - which was swimming beneath our field of view - it quickly surfaced right in front of them. I've never seen the kids jump as fast - fall down as quickly - or scream as loudly as when that massive walrus emerged before their very eyes.

They were petrified.

We made a quick exit from the walrus exhibit, with three terrified and screaming children, and headed over to one of the animal shows. As we sat watching the performance, Charlie leaned over to me and whispered that he smelled a poop. At about the same time, my sniffer was alerted that something was amuck. But, because of my keen maternal smelling capacity when it comes to our children, I immediately recognized that the odoriferous stench was not one of our own.

It was then that I saw the humongous pile of bird dung on the bleacher in front of us. It was then, that I also saw that Elizabeth had a brown gunk across her face, all over the front of her jacket, and bunny - which was tethered to her - was no longer pink and fluffy, but brown and stinky. William's blanket, was smeared with brown. Carolyn's hands were brown and stinky ... and the legs of my pants, which the children had been crawling across - were brown and stinky too. We were covered in bird poop.

I was horrified.

We made a quick exit from the animal show, scrubbed the kids in disinfectant wipes, slathered their hands in antiseptic wash, and chewed mint gum to disguise the smell. As we made a hasty exit to our car ... Charlie asked if we should call the doctor. "Jen, what if they ingested some of this sh*t?? Is it possible that they could come down with, uh, ovarian flu?!!"

Ovarian flu? If I didn't know better, I might think Charlie has a spin-off of deficient noun disease. I know I have it.

The car ride home, which took us over an hour due to massive amounts of traffic, was punctuated by three overtired and screaming children because their loveys, which they wanted more than the world so they could fall to sleep, were covered in bird dung. I weighed the odds and decided I'd rather listen to them holler, for 72 minutes, than run the risk of contracting ovarian avian flu.

We couldn't have fed them, bathed them, or put them to bed fast enough when we got home. I then jumped in to the bathroom to take a quick shower and was greeted by more than 80% of what had been a full roll of toilet paper, clogging the commode. Before I could stop myself, I called out to Charlie ... "Did you do this?!"

I'm not sure why I asked him the question.

The only thing I can come up with is that maybe, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I must believe that my 40-year old husband gets his kicks from unraveling an almost entire roll of 475-sheet toilet paper in the toilet.

Thankfully, Charlie didn't do it.

When I told him that I was feeling nauseous and really needed to go to bed, he told me that he'd take care of the toilet by flushing the paper wad. I, inturn, told him that he should physically remove it, because otherwise it would surely clog. Charlie is a bit of a germ freak, so he was disgusted.

But as I walked to bed, I sang out over my shoulder, "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming ...What do we do we swim, swim, swim...!!!"

That Dory, she's great. With two-year old triplets, I'm more convinced than ever that if we struggle too much against this riptide, we'll surely be washed out to sea and consumed by toddlers sharks.

Tomorrow is a brand new day. At least I think it is ...?