There are times when having a blog is the only thing that keeps me sane. Even in the most mundane situations, sometimes comedy gold occurs. What do people do when they don’t have an audience with which to share the hilarity? Today presented one such occasion.
Since NRB shut down, we have a Google group of survivors where we chat about our general sadness about the loss of NRB and random stuff that interests us. One of our discussions turned to parenting and as usual, the guy without kids suggested us parents should be more patient! Hear, hear! Would that it were that easy! I don’t blame him for being obtuse. Every person without children has their own opinions on how everyone else should raise their children. Unfortunately, all that wisdom goes out the window when you have your first child and suddenly you’re dumber and more helpless than stone and all that patience you said you were going to have never shows up.
My five-year-old has taken to peeing in her pants again for unknown reasons. I highly suspect it is because summer is here and she’s having too much fun to come inside for a break and so my flower beds will do. However, there is a slight chance she’s battling an infection and so, c’est la vie! I had just enough time this morning after finding another wad of smelly pee pants soaking into my carpet to squeeze her into the baby’s Pull-Ups and send her off to school.
I don’t know why I bothered drying her off, however, because The Great Flood had descended on our town. The rain was coming down in sheets and by the time we got to the car we were all dripping anyway.
After morning chores there was no time to put the baby down for a nap because our new puppy, Moose, was due for his 12 week shots. So I put the pup in the front seat with plenty of towels (because he gets carsick,) strapped the baby in and picked up the five year old. By the time I was in the parking lot of the school, which is on the same block as my house, Moose was already yakking in the plastic bag I stuck over his head. Congratulating myself for being so prepared I smugly lifted the bag to tie it up and watched in horror as the puke slid out of a hole in the bottom of the defective bag and slimed my gear shift. More towels, wiping and swearing.
Then, all in the car we set off for the 20 minute trip to the vet. The dog wretched several more times as expected. But then the unexpected hit. Something began to stink like only fecal emissions can stink. Oh yes…he was now shitting in my car. As each turd dropped out of him I was grabbing them with a baby wipe and flinging them out of the window at unsuspecting vehicles. At least eight huge turds came flying out of my Saturn hybrid. (This puppy is no small dog as his name implies. He’s a 38 lb. going on 110 lb. German Shepherd and poops like a full-grown dog.)
As I was in the middle of poop flinging, the five-year-old was wincing and holding her nose and dramatically declaring she “just couldn’t take it anymore!” Until, that is, she realized it was more fun keeping track of which cars ran over Moose’s excrement. I would just like to take this minute to apologize to the drivers on LaGrange Road this afternoon.
Now you’re probably wondering why I didn’t pull over at this point but all the experts say you’re not supposed to make a big deal over bad behavior in the car if they have anxiety issues or they will know how to get you to stop the car. And so we soldiered on and I taught my youngest child some new choice words she’s sure to surprise me with in front of her grandparents this weekend. I was determined this puppy was going to learn that neither hell nor wind nor poop nor puke will keep us from our destination! (And people think texting and driving is a distraction??)
We finally made it to the vet and I dragged the dog out of the car, vowing to give him to the next person who stopped to tell me how cute he is, and I realized there is a turd stuck in the seat mechanism that moves the seat forward and back to recline. It is so smashed in there it will take a team of professionals to extract it and a hazmat team to sterilize it.
Oh f–k it.
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