One morning this week, I was awoken to an oh-so-familiar smell, the kind that doesn't exactly conjuire up happy thoughts upon waking. But, first let me set the scene...
Monday we had two fun things occuring in our house: interior painting AND the delivery of a new washer/dryer. The kids were giddy with delight when the delivery men let them have the "big" boxes. Boxes=forts in a boy's world, so they began to drag every pillow, blanket and toy they could find into their newly created universe of cardboard. The fun lasted all of ten minutes, then their attentions were diverted to something else, leaving me kidless and with a choice:
1. Be bothered by mess and clean it up myself*
2. Let the mess lie (I love WHEN HARRY MET SALLY!!!**)
I chose #2, so there sat the fine packaging from the W/D set of my dreams, all day, into the night, with nary a change to its initial creation.
But not to forget the painters: since this was the second time we had used this crew***, we were so comfortable with their work that neither Mike nor I thought to ask if we should remove anything from middle brother's room (where the boys were all sleeping due to flooring being installed). Did I mention that these guys do a REALLY good job of covering every conceivable inch of area in a room that won't get painted? I'm talking HERMETICALLY sealed here, people. As in, "you can't go in and nothing can get out." Sadly, by the time we realized this, all THREE mattresses were draped in plastic and enough painter's tape to wrap around the globe at least two dozen times.
So, where should the boys sleep? HMMM. How about Camp W/D? In Mommy and Daddy's room! Wow, aren't we brilliant. With three college degrees between us, you'd think we'd have more of these "ah-ha" moments. Perfect solution: the kids were thrilled, beds were made in boxes, and all went to sleepyland with nary a problem.
Fast forward to a much-too-early alarm and that smell (can't you smell that smell?) Then a small voice: "Mommy, I stepped in poopoo."
OK, folks, I can handle being woken up after three hours of sleep, but there is something downright unsavory about being told you have to pop out of bed to deal with poo.
Turns out, the fort dwellers woke early, uncaged both dogs, and one (who will go unnamed, DOUG), decided to relieve himself on the carpet in oldest's room, nary a six inch distance from SOLID FLOORING. Baby boy had managed to squash Doug's excrement into the carpet and in between his sweet (temporarily stinky) toes.
This is when I truly understood the value of having an extra box of wipeys on hand, even after potty-training is long over. Thankfully, this led to an easy clean-up and another few minutes back in bed before the snooze went off.
Doug, on the other hand, was sent, in shame, to the backyard. I think I heard him chanting "Dead dog, walking". Fortunately, he is just so darn cute......
*Usual dumb choice, which will lead to daughters-in-law who despise me because my sons will never learn to clean up after themselves....
**Have I mentioned yet that I deal with bunny trails in my brain?
***Long story, maybe another post. If you must know, email me.....
No comments:
Post a Comment