Turd Pocket

I’m posting this for a few reasons today.

One: I have had so many profound shifts and transitions in my life the past month. But because of all these “things” that are really significant events it’s kinda hard to find the time to commit to a larger philosophical write and when there is a little window for me to perhaps, chip away at something, I lack the energy. Because I’m tired. Because of all the things.

Second: if you really know me, you are likely concerned about me and the things, but in short I am feeling quite proud of myself for managing the shit out of everything and doing it in a healthy mindful way. I haven’t felt this focused, clear and engaged with my life since the pandemic hit a year ago. So basically, we all good here. Mama’s handling her trials and tribulations in stride and just crossing the finish line for each thing is all I am working on, not worried about winning the race that no one really knows or cares they’re in with me anyway. (Cause when I really look outside my lane, the only one on this track is me, it’s mine and I’m feeling quite empowered to take my things (health, family, relationships, work, creativity, etc.) into my hands.

Third: today’s write is of the lighter fare. Humour has been a beacon of hope during some of my deepest struggles and so I thought I’d share with you to give you a chance to laugh and have a release to lead you into your weekend.

Fourth and finally: this blog will one day be all that’s left of my deteriorating memory so it’s nice to have these little tidbits to reflect on when I’m living in a home with Courtney and Nikki, Golden Girls style.

So here it is. This inspired recount is brought to you from a funny conversation with my nine-year-old this morning (who at the moment is in the barber seat (on a booster) getting his wicked mullet touched up). Also the context being that he may or may not be having a few academic and social challenges at school at the moment being that he is very aware of who he is and who he is not, he doesn’t always “fit” the mould, and is basically unapologetic about this fact. Because of that, I’m am so not worried about him and then there’s this…

(In the honour of imperfection I am pasting this from a text message I sent to a few friends who really enjoy Jack’s antics and then decided I would share it with you too)

From my group chat text sent from me to my golden girls and their husbands and my husband:

“Turd pocket” as defined by my son: a fun reference to where your poo is when you gotta go. As in “my turd pockets are full” or “gotta go empty my turd pocket”. I think I must be so immature because I feel like he might be a fucking genius on this one. I urban dictionared it and this exact term doesn’t exist. There are however, other forms of use with turd and pocket but it’s in reference to something that is not lame but also not hot. or can also be a rhetorical response when someone suggests something like “we should probably clean out the basement” and you respond with “what do you mean we…do you have a turd in your pocket?”
So that being said, hope you all enjoy the start to your weekend and may your turd pockets be comfortably empty. (Written and researched by sarah, who had 15 minutes of free time while waiting for Jack to get his mullet trimmed)

That’s all. Smile. Laugh. Complete the stress cycle so you can make way for some fun this weekend. ✌️

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