"Mom!" Jack shouts in that special voice that tells me tattling is about to follow.
"Yes, baby," I respond, a bit distractedly as I am busy plating mac & cheese, green beans and fruit assembly line style.
"Sam has Will's baby."
I look down to see Sam gazing at me with big innocent eyes, a green blanket sporting a frog's head draped over one shoulder. Their grandma got each of the trips an identical lovey frog before they even made it home from the hospital.
"Thank you for telling me honey. But that is actually Sam's baby. Will left his in his bed."
I smile down at Sam with a look that at once conveys how much I love him and also assures him that I will always do my best to pay attention to what is going on and treat every one of my children fairly in situations like these. He smiles sweetly back at me before raising the frog over his head and shouting, "Will...I got you baby!"
Sam sprints down the hall. Will hot on his heels. I can hear Sam laughing until he loses his breath when Will pounces on him. Ignoring the wrestling match that somehow now involves not two but four bodies, I turn back to their almost prepared dinner and decide to focus on keeping them fed. They can arbitrate their own disputes from here on in.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Dog By Any Other Name...
...would smell as sweet. NOT!!
In the last moments before I have to declare nap time officially over, I amused myself scouring the internet for the perfect tall boot. Slouchy enough to wear with jeans tucked in, yet tight enough that it won't slide down my chicken legs and pool around my ankles should I decide to mix things up and wear it with a skirt. Mutually exclusive desires, you say? I refuse to believe it. If it be the Fountain of Youth, then I am Ponce de Leon. If it be El Dorado, then I am Pizarro. If it be the Holy Grail, then I am...that Monty Python guy who thinks he's riding a horse, but it's really just his faithful servant running along behind clicking two coconut shells together. O.k., enough with the obscure references. Suffice it to say, I was really focused on finding the elusive "Perfect Boot." The dog had just returned from a potty break and was nestled at my feet. And Jack was absorbed in the latest episode of the Backyardigans. I am an AWESOME mother.
Deep in my avaricious fog, awareness dawned slowly that another presence had entered the room. I pointed, clicked, and sniffed. I looked at Jack.
"Do you need to go potty son?"
"No, ma'am," he replied, never taking his eyes from the television.
"Well did you fluff?" (I don't know what you call it at your house, but if you have boys, you better find a name the grandmothers can tolerate hearing on a regular basis).
"Nope," he assured me.
I glanced over at the dog. He lifted an eyebrow and gazed at me lovingly with his big chocolate eyes. "I love you, mommy," those eyes said. "I don't know what the trouble is, but I'm sure it could not possibly involve sweet little, lovable, velvet-eared me." A valiant effort, but the effect was spoiled by the waves of noxious fumes radiating from the suspicious crusty patch I now noticed on his neck.
"Out!" I shouted, pointing toward the door and choking back a gag. I herded him out the back door and locked it behind him. I knew Gus couldn't open the door on his own, but I was taking no chances with THE SMELL. It hung around him like a malevolent green cloud, daring me to take it for granted. I cannot begin to tell you how bad THE SMELL truly was. I can only tell you that if I saw THE SMELL hanging out by the ATM, I'd get back in my car and drive to another one. It was that tough.
I leaned on the kitchen counter and tried to devise a plan of attack. My first thought was to leave the dog outside, wait for Jason to come home, and let him discover the problem. Sort of a he-who-smelt-it-has-to-deal-with-it strategy. But I quickly dismissed the idea for several reasons. Once of which -- I actually like Jason. Another being that I prefer to stay married. So I began seeking other options.
I could deal with it myself. I thought of my master bathtub. Big enough, but really difficult to constrain him in. Not the kid's bath, because that would just be gross. The guest bath is used primarily by my MIL and if she knew I had let something like that loose in her shower, no matter how many times I cleaned it afterward, there was a chance she wouldn't come back. One does not risk free baby sitting EVER. So scratch that.
This only left the mudroom shower. It would have been ideal, only it's the size of a postage stamp. Calling it a full bath is something none of us can do with a straight face. And the shower head is so high that whatever is on the dog gets splashed all over the entire bathroom. Yuck. And the bathroom is just off the kitchen, so that option is just too disgusting to entertain for more than 2 seconds.
The VET!!! I'm a genius. Yes it costs money, but they're only 5 minutes away. I call and beg, whine and cajole until they agree to try and get him in and out before they close at six. It's already after three by this time, but I assure them that I can be there in under five minutes. The deal is DONE! I hang up the phone and race to clean out the cargo section of the van.
Extra car seat. Check. Double Stroller. Check. Both are moved out into the garage. Now to just clean out the odds and ends that had fallen underneath them. There are two plastic grocery bags already in place, so at least I have something to work with. One of the bags is empty, the other has the cloth napkins I brought to a friends baby shower...when was that? August?...and apparently never brought inside to be washed. Oh, well. They're white. Lots and lots of bleach should do the trick. To that bag I add the flip flops I took to the beach this summer. Wonder why they never made it back into the house? Several sleeves of golf balls...all squashed, of course, so the balls are all over the place. I collect them and the empty sleeves and shove them into the second bag. Then add a tub toy, a kazoo and a size three diaper. I try to remember when the trips wore size 3. 2006? Early 2007? This was turning into a freaking archeological dig! Did I really tell the Vet I could be there in 5 minutes? I am such a liar. I decided to call it done before I inadvertently stumbled across Jimmy Hoffa.
I looked at Gus and pointed to the storage well. "Get in," I said. Gus sat. "Get in the van, Gus." He lay down. Although not smart enough NOT to roll in excrement, Gus is fully aware that a trip in the van always ends at the same destination. He rolled onto his back. "GUS!" I shouted. "GET. IN. THE. VAN!" I didn't want to touch him for obvious reasons, so I tried to impress him with the force of my personality. I got nothing in return. I resorted to clapping, stomping, and thinly veiled threats of violence before Gus finally decided I meant it and got in the van.
The trip was thankfully uneventful, and we quickly made our way to the front desk to check in and wait for the tech to come take Gus to be fumigated. I looked up as another patron entered and recognized a really nice woman that I knew slightly from church and recently met again at a friend's party. She spotted me and smiled. I smiled back, and this was the part where I would normally chat her up and leave feeling like I had won at least one more person over to Team Jodi. Instead my welcoming smile was followed by the frantic admonition that she keep her distance, as my dog was covered in a very nearly sentient form of offal. She looked at me funny and her smile slipped a bit. I was sure it was because she simply wasn't close enough to THE SMELL to feel threatened. The green cloud just hung there, mockingly, as if any moment it might begin to clean its nails with a switchblade. The punk.
Opting to leave bad enough alone, I gave one last apologetic smile to the nice lady, and began to stare fixedly at the door to the kennels, willing the tech to hurry up and make this nightmare end. Finally he arrived, and I was struck by the unkempt hair, the air of general dishevelment, and the grimace he gave me by way of greeting. To my great surprise, THE SMELL perked up. Actually preened a little in the presence of a like mind. They made a rather nice pair. Two surly rebels thumbing their nose at the world, confident that no conformist deodorant could fence them in. Once they remove Gus from the equation, I think the tech and THE SMELL will be very happy together. And our house is full enough as it is.
In the last moments before I have to declare nap time officially over, I amused myself scouring the internet for the perfect tall boot. Slouchy enough to wear with jeans tucked in, yet tight enough that it won't slide down my chicken legs and pool around my ankles should I decide to mix things up and wear it with a skirt. Mutually exclusive desires, you say? I refuse to believe it. If it be the Fountain of Youth, then I am Ponce de Leon. If it be El Dorado, then I am Pizarro. If it be the Holy Grail, then I am...that Monty Python guy who thinks he's riding a horse, but it's really just his faithful servant running along behind clicking two coconut shells together. O.k., enough with the obscure references. Suffice it to say, I was really focused on finding the elusive "Perfect Boot." The dog had just returned from a potty break and was nestled at my feet. And Jack was absorbed in the latest episode of the Backyardigans. I am an AWESOME mother.
Deep in my avaricious fog, awareness dawned slowly that another presence had entered the room. I pointed, clicked, and sniffed. I looked at Jack.
"Do you need to go potty son?"
"No, ma'am," he replied, never taking his eyes from the television.
"Well did you fluff?" (I don't know what you call it at your house, but if you have boys, you better find a name the grandmothers can tolerate hearing on a regular basis).
"Nope," he assured me.
I glanced over at the dog. He lifted an eyebrow and gazed at me lovingly with his big chocolate eyes. "I love you, mommy," those eyes said. "I don't know what the trouble is, but I'm sure it could not possibly involve sweet little, lovable, velvet-eared me." A valiant effort, but the effect was spoiled by the waves of noxious fumes radiating from the suspicious crusty patch I now noticed on his neck.
"Out!" I shouted, pointing toward the door and choking back a gag. I herded him out the back door and locked it behind him. I knew Gus couldn't open the door on his own, but I was taking no chances with THE SMELL. It hung around him like a malevolent green cloud, daring me to take it for granted. I cannot begin to tell you how bad THE SMELL truly was. I can only tell you that if I saw THE SMELL hanging out by the ATM, I'd get back in my car and drive to another one. It was that tough.
I leaned on the kitchen counter and tried to devise a plan of attack. My first thought was to leave the dog outside, wait for Jason to come home, and let him discover the problem. Sort of a he-who-smelt-it-has-to-deal-with-it strategy. But I quickly dismissed the idea for several reasons. Once of which -- I actually like Jason. Another being that I prefer to stay married. So I began seeking other options.
I could deal with it myself. I thought of my master bathtub. Big enough, but really difficult to constrain him in. Not the kid's bath, because that would just be gross. The guest bath is used primarily by my MIL and if she knew I had let something like that loose in her shower, no matter how many times I cleaned it afterward, there was a chance she wouldn't come back. One does not risk free baby sitting EVER. So scratch that.
This only left the mudroom shower. It would have been ideal, only it's the size of a postage stamp. Calling it a full bath is something none of us can do with a straight face. And the shower head is so high that whatever is on the dog gets splashed all over the entire bathroom. Yuck. And the bathroom is just off the kitchen, so that option is just too disgusting to entertain for more than 2 seconds.
The VET!!! I'm a genius. Yes it costs money, but they're only 5 minutes away. I call and beg, whine and cajole until they agree to try and get him in and out before they close at six. It's already after three by this time, but I assure them that I can be there in under five minutes. The deal is DONE! I hang up the phone and race to clean out the cargo section of the van.
Extra car seat. Check. Double Stroller. Check. Both are moved out into the garage. Now to just clean out the odds and ends that had fallen underneath them. There are two plastic grocery bags already in place, so at least I have something to work with. One of the bags is empty, the other has the cloth napkins I brought to a friends baby shower...when was that? August?...and apparently never brought inside to be washed. Oh, well. They're white. Lots and lots of bleach should do the trick. To that bag I add the flip flops I took to the beach this summer. Wonder why they never made it back into the house? Several sleeves of golf balls...all squashed, of course, so the balls are all over the place. I collect them and the empty sleeves and shove them into the second bag. Then add a tub toy, a kazoo and a size three diaper. I try to remember when the trips wore size 3. 2006? Early 2007? This was turning into a freaking archeological dig! Did I really tell the Vet I could be there in 5 minutes? I am such a liar. I decided to call it done before I inadvertently stumbled across Jimmy Hoffa.
I looked at Gus and pointed to the storage well. "Get in," I said. Gus sat. "Get in the van, Gus." He lay down. Although not smart enough NOT to roll in excrement, Gus is fully aware that a trip in the van always ends at the same destination. He rolled onto his back. "GUS!" I shouted. "GET. IN. THE. VAN!" I didn't want to touch him for obvious reasons, so I tried to impress him with the force of my personality. I got nothing in return. I resorted to clapping, stomping, and thinly veiled threats of violence before Gus finally decided I meant it and got in the van.
The trip was thankfully uneventful, and we quickly made our way to the front desk to check in and wait for the tech to come take Gus to be fumigated. I looked up as another patron entered and recognized a really nice woman that I knew slightly from church and recently met again at a friend's party. She spotted me and smiled. I smiled back, and this was the part where I would normally chat her up and leave feeling like I had won at least one more person over to Team Jodi. Instead my welcoming smile was followed by the frantic admonition that she keep her distance, as my dog was covered in a very nearly sentient form of offal. She looked at me funny and her smile slipped a bit. I was sure it was because she simply wasn't close enough to THE SMELL to feel threatened. The green cloud just hung there, mockingly, as if any moment it might begin to clean its nails with a switchblade. The punk.
Opting to leave bad enough alone, I gave one last apologetic smile to the nice lady, and began to stare fixedly at the door to the kennels, willing the tech to hurry up and make this nightmare end. Finally he arrived, and I was struck by the unkempt hair, the air of general dishevelment, and the grimace he gave me by way of greeting. To my great surprise, THE SMELL perked up. Actually preened a little in the presence of a like mind. They made a rather nice pair. Two surly rebels thumbing their nose at the world, confident that no conformist deodorant could fence them in. Once they remove Gus from the equation, I think the tech and THE SMELL will be very happy together. And our house is full enough as it is.
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