They’re paying for this crap? Yesssssss!
There’s some place outside of Boston that’s paying people $40 a day for their poop. By my estimation, if my children were to participate, and if I took a 10-15 percent cut as their momager, I could retire in roughly eight months.
According to Boston.com, OpenBiome is the only independent nonprofit stool bank in the country, and it “collects, tests and provides fecal samples to 122 hospitals in 33 states for one of the most interesting medical treatment innovations today: fecal microbiota transplantation.”
That is interesting, but what’s even more interesting is the idea that I can profit off of my kids for stuff they’re already doing that’s not costing me anything (except for maybe some sleep and dignity).
Here are 7 ways I would make a mint off my kids without ever leaving home (you know, other than to make deposits at the poop bank):
1. Whining
Surely there’s a social scientist out there just waiting for the perfect subjects to decipher exactly why they whine and what each whine means. Of course, as a mom, I am pretty good at differentiating between even the most minute decibel levels (perhaps the difference between someone stealing an M&M and a treasured rock being misplaced, for instance). But I don’t claim to be an expert.
However, should a trained professional with the right budget need the perfect whiners, may I present my kids, who could rival any middle school band with their cacophony of complaints.
2. Fighting
I’m sure my kids love each other. This, despite the fact that they spend approximately 78 percent of each day engaged in World War IV. They don’t do as much damage as, say, members of Fight Club (although even if they did, it’s not like I’d be at liberty to acknowledge it). But their words and claws can be viscous enough that I’d hazard a guess and say someone might pay us to come over and shoot a documentary on two little girls with the biggest hairpin triggers this side of the Mississippi.
3. Knock Knock Jokes
If I had a dollar for each of my kids’ knock knock jokes, and even more specifically, for those that make absolutely no sense and are based on nothing even remotely humorous, I could pick up the tab at every bar everywhere in perpetuity. Of course I wouldn’t start paying until I bought myself enough liquor to drown out the noise of incessant knocking.
4. Saturday Morning Alarm Clock
Why set my alarm clock on Saturday morning when I know my kids will appear in my face at the precise time I appear in theirs on weekday mornings — only to have them cry and mewl about being too tired to get up. Yet on weekends, there they are. Up, alert, and ready to start the day with me at their side and at their service. If I had a dollar for each time this passed, I could hire someone for them to bother in the mornings instead.
5. Messes
Surely there are maids-in-training who would be eager to learn how to clean even the most nuanced of messes. If so, I’d like to throw my kids’ room in the ring for consideration. It’s not as if I don’t want my kids to pick up after themselves, it’s just that no amount of threats, cajoling, punishments, or bribes can get them to do it and maintain it. So, since this is a lose-lose situation for me, I’m going to try and turn this frown upside down and offer others the opportunity to pick up after my kids while paying me for it. After all, once they go on to more professional jobs, everything will seem like a breeze if it’s not underneath my kids’ bed. You’re welcome.
6. Inopportune Kisses and Nudity
I love kisses from my children. I love when they don’t hesitate to get undressed for a bath. What I don’t love is when they attempt to smother me with kisses when their hands are coated in paint, their teeth aren’t brushed, or they’re trying to kiss me in an effort to distract from the task at hand. Also what I don’t love? Public nudity. It was cute when they were babies and it was summer and we were at a backyard barbeque. But every time they strip down in the supermarket I realize we may be in need of a bare-belly-button-and-naked-butt intervention.
7. Toots
Yes, as previously mentioned, I could retire if I got paid-per-poop created by my kids. But the only thing they produce more often than poop is false alarms, or toots, as we call them in our family. Unfortunately, they don’t smell as charming as they sound. However, I’d be much more inclined to smile each time one of them passes gas if there were some greens being presented to me as hazard pay for having a naked butt in my face (see No. 6) so very, very often. The sweet smell of money is just about the only thing that could snuff out the other, not-so-sweet smell.
Photo credit: Meredith Carroll
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