Stool TIme (As In TMI - Too Much Information or Toilet Musing of the Intestines) May not be sutiable for everyone to read. You have been warned.

I know this is a taboo subject.  I can hear my mom now saying "It is not a polite subject.  Women do not discuss such things."  Well, stools have been on my mind lately, and I am going to discuss it.  I guess I take after my Aunt Beulah.

My Aunt Beulah was my favorite aunt on my dad's side.  She was very talented and did beautiful upholstery and home decorations work with her sewing machine and some very fine crochet.  Unfortunately, she was a smoker and a lot of the pillows she made were not usable because of the smoke odor that never went away. 

She also had some odd quirks.  She loved to read the obituaries and guess how people died.  She would walk into a hospital and sniff at the room doors to see which rooms she thought had dying patients.  She also liked to discuss her stools. 

I found these quirks disturbing at times.  Mainly breakfast time because that is when she would read the obituaries and discuss her stools. I distinctly remember one time almost having my cereal to my mouth and her coming into the room to say that she had "pencil stools" that morning.

Now my brother and I have laughed over some of her comments about her stools over the years, but now that I am older I think I get it.  She just wasn't afraid to say things that most people keep private, but still think about.

I have suffered from IBS since college. Which means I have spent a lot of years thinking about my "stools."  It wasn't until recently that I found a doctor willing to help me with the problem and by following his advice and his prescription of over the counter probiotics that I have been able to calm my symptoms and not spend so much of my time in the bathroom.  Yet, with each trip to the bathroom that involves a bowel movement, there is a thought of the stool. I haven't named any of the shapes yet, but some are definitely more satisfying than others.

Now that most of my friends seem to have reached a certain age, I have noticed that the men have no trouble discussing their bowel movements.  I know this because Raymond used to tell me some of the conversations from the bathrooms at work, I have male friends that will blurt out their toilet confessions, and I  remember from conversations I have heard at parties where when a group of men are together they seem to have at least a few sentences regarding their daily routine thrown in.  The women never join in  these discussions, and  I don't remember this being a topic of discussion by anyone in my 20's, 30's, or 40's. 

I do understand this obsession though.  My dad had colon cancer.  So I do check once in a while for the dark stools my doctor always tells me to look for as a warning sign.

When the IBS is at its worse, there are periods of constipation, that when relief comes, I find myself extremely happy, and pleased that there are stools in the commode. 

Now that things are under control and more regular, I am still surprised at times.  Just the other day I thought "My goodness I don't think I have eaten that much in a month, so where did that come from?"

It always amazes me how much different foods change the stool.  Oranges, tangerines, etc. don't digest well, and therefore I have to waste a lot of water with flushes to clear the commode.  

Too many beets, carrots, or pumpkin and I go back to a time when I was changing diapers and would freak out when the dirty diaper was an odd color.  

My youngest at some point in his school life decided he would only eat things like Fruit Loops or Twix cereal until one day he was freaked out by the colors in the toilet.  He hasn't eaten them since and still talks about that experience. 

My youngest also discovered that when he eats Little Debbie's Cosmic Brownies he might as well just eat Ex-lax.  They are no longer considered a treat.  (I always thought they should not be allowed to use the word "Brownie" on the box.

I have to have a variety of reading material stashed in the bathroom so I can be prepared for what the day may bring.  Reader's Digest is perfect for the flush and go trip.  Ladies Home Journal works for the "I'm not sure what that rumbling means" trip, and the Kindle is for that "Uh Oh, that lettuce is not setting well trip(s)."

I'm not the only one in this family that rates their reading (or gaming) material based on the length of the bathroom trip. Just last night Loni, the oldest and I were watching television when that commercial came on where the man drops his phone into the urinal.  Loni and I always laugh at that and say that is my oldest.  I told him that last night and he said he never has his phone out at the urinal.  Knowing him so well though, I had to push and say "But I bet you take your IPad to the toilet." I knew that had to be because in my house everyone reads in the bathroom, and now that our reading comes more and more in electronic form it is a forgone conclusion that the IPad has been in the bathroom with the oldest.  

He admitted that the IPad has been in the bathroom and that he even has a system based on the amount of time needed.  Short visits he plays "Farkle", if a little more time is required he plays "Yahtzee" and for those times when there is a block, there is "Blockus." I told Loni that the boy must really consider her part of the family now that he has discussed his bathroom habits in front of her.  She said she was looking forward to reading about it on the blog.  (Here it is.)

In more open discussion after Loni left, the oldest was telling me that he and his girlfriend are quite open with their flatulence, especially in the car.   Oh, dear they will get married won't they.  

I told one of my friends I was going to blog about stools and that opened up a whole new conversation for us.  It was quite liberating to discuss when things hit the toilet that worry us.  

I wish Aunt Beulah was still around.  I would call her up and ask about her stool today.  I would also have to tell her she was right. She used to yell at me for sitting on the driveway telling me that sitting on concrete would cause hemorrhoids. Although, I don't think that is what caused them, they are a pain in the ass, but that is a different post, and one that would make my mom's ashes flutter around in the box my brother has in his kitchen (Really another post!).