Job Title: Underwear Sniffer

Motherhood is not a glamorous job, for sure. And I doubt that anyone expected it would be. There is hardly any dignity, but, ironically, no shame either. If there was shame, I would not be admitting some of the job titles that I could now brag about on future resumes, if I felt so inclined. Not that these abilities would qualify me for anything other than motherhood, mind you.

Children are gross. They have no sense of cleanliness. Other than wiping off their dirt-filled hands on your freshly laundered white shirt (because, ooh! even though they were happily playing in the mud for hours with their bare hands, as soon as they come near you, the dirt suddenly becomes gross and they must! wipe! it off now!), they really could care less about walking around with syrup in their hair, snot on their upper lip and mud between their toes. They share germs as if they were candy and don't realize that not showering for days could lead to from-unda-cheese buildup.

It is up to us parents to reign in these bacteria infested mongrels and tidy their little selves up. As Bill Cosby jokes, you must give them explicit instructions. Merely telling them to get into the shower is just not enough. If you don't instruct them to TURN ON THE WATER and USE SOAP, "they'll just wander around the tub."

I've discovered that as a parent I now have some skills that no self-respecting childless person would ever think was part of the job description. Certainly, mothers are expected to do some dirty work, it just comes with the territory.

But Mike, do I have some DIRTY JOBS for you! How about Underwear Sniffer? You see, I sniff my childrens' underwear to determine if they are clean or not. When you come across a room that is littered with clothing, some items that were actually worn during the course of the day and some that were merely thrown out of the drawer in an attempt to find the perfect outfit, you just don't know what in the hell is clean and what in the hell is dirty. Thus, underwear sniffing comes in handy. If I don't readily see any tell-tale signs of useage, I employ my nose to distinguish between the ones that need to be dropped in the hamper and the ones that need to be stuffed back into the drawer. What? You say gross? You say my kids should be cleaning their own damn rooms? Yes, I agree, but that is not how it is; it is not the reality. Left at their own will, they are certain to just throw ALL the clothes in the drawer, clean or dirty, or in the hamper, where I already have more than enough laundry piled up! So yes, I resort to underwear sniffing. Just call it a form of task management and work efficiency.

How about Fecal Quality Control Expert? Just as another mother has pointed out, I too have surrendered myself to the intricacies of poop investigative work. Its a dirty job, but someone's got to go in there and get to the bottom of why that stool looks shiny today. One shallow poke into the offending matter and you discover that your toddler decided that a dime apparently looked like a fantastic treat instead of calling the doctor to inquire about the possibility of radioactive bowels. Or you may find that the Not-for-under-3 McDonalds toy must have gotten mixed in with the chicken McNuggets somehow.

I am also the designated Booger Collection De-curator. It seems some children in this house like their dried up nose mucus so much that they consider them museum quality pieces worthy of display. And their medium of choice is the walls of our home, especially the walls by the toilet and their beds. It is my job to disassemble these showcases and dispose of them properly, a job that sometimes requires various scraping tools; my nails just don't seem to be strong enough for the larger collection items.

I love my job, I really do, except for when I don't. These jobs? They just make me want to turn in my resignation or do something to get fired. But damn it, I can't fire myself! And so, it seems, until these filthy beings are out of my house, it is my dutiful "honor" and "privelege" to keep things clean and in order any way I must. And if that includes sniffing some crack, so be it.


*** I had a nice surprise when I turned on the car yesterday morning. It seems the children had sorted through my old cassette tapes that I just can't seem to part with and inserted my all-time favorite comedy routine. Bill Cosby, Himself. If you have not heard this before(or even if you have, but have not listened to it in a very long time), I demand that you go and get yourself a copy immediately. You will not be disappointed. Just make sure you have on extra underwear for when you pee your pants.