Poop!
We have 2 dogs: Redward the Black-mouthed Cur (yes, it's a breed,) and Judy the Boxer. Judes was inherited from my Daddy, so she's very dear to me indeed. Some weeks ago, she got a little sick. Okay, she got a lot sick. The medicine she was on gave her a ludicrously weak bladder, and now that she's recovering, she's entered the "Old Lady" age of dogs...you dog owners know what I'm talking about: when she needs access to her lavatory/newspaper known as 'outside', forget barking--she shouldn't have to stoop to that any longer. Instead, she'll give a subtle nod or wink, or perhaps walk a little stiffly. If we don't catch on, well, that's our own fault -- silly humans.
I now have a way to ensure that she goes outside on time: stay partially awake through the entire night, and escort her out quickly at the slightest huff. I'm clearly still the one in charge here.
What carpet there is has been very thoroughly steam cleaned, walls washed down, furniture dusted, vaccuumed and washed, you know--the normal daily stuff--and all seemed well with the world. After all, poop of all varieties had been going into the proper receptacles for at least 48 hours.
All this simply to lead up to . . . my children.
Caoimhe ("KEE-va") was happily destroying a priceless book while Aria was quietly employed in watching her friends the Little Einsteins badly sing their way to the end of another mission. At last, a quiet hour to express a little milk. Given that Caoimhe weaned herself some time ago and that I've had trouble finding quiet of any kind, let alone relaxation (SLEEP? I DON'T NEED SLEEP! THAT'S FOR WEENIES!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M WOUND TOO TIGHT???)--this was a blessing indeed.
As I finished, I looked over and saw Caoimhe just finishing off my favourite original copy of Whitman, (I've always thought "Leaves of Grass" a rather tasty morsel myself, but I hadn't expected to see that thought expressed literally,) and marveled at the continued good behaviour of my 3 year old -- she's getting to be such a big girl, just look at how quiet she's bee-uh oh. My head did a rapid pop off of my neck, several spins in the air, and landed intact as I did the instinctive "WHEREareyouandwhatonearthareyoudoingorintoforheavenssake" mom maneuver. (I swear, it's in the manual. Look it up yourself.)
She was sitting serenely on a pile of pillows, still watching her DVD.
Naked from the bottom down. Uh oh.
Uh oh, indeed. Closer inspection revealed that, not content with merely painting her appendages with excrement, she'd decided our fine home furnishings needed some decoration as well --the carefully discarded pull-up left, according to her exacting aesthetic sense, in the middle of the living room floor.
Having since cleaned my beautific child, thrown the entire sofa into the washing machine (it's a pretty big machine,) once again steam cleaned the carpet (hmmm...wonder if I can steam clean the child...) I dressed her, scolded her and made it clear that this was not acceptable. Riiiiiiggghhht, she seemed to be saying, staring at me saucer-eyed.
Turning my attention back to my now entirely-too-silent 10 month old, I found that she'd eaten the personal inscription to ol' Walt's mother and I detected an odd aroma wafting from her---oh no, not you too? Oooohhhh yeeeaaahhh, she seemed to say, nodding her head like a Beach Boy. I picked her up and, with a sigh, carried her to the changing table, where I promptly discarded a dirty diaper, several wipes, her clothing, and tried to include (inadvertently, I swear,) one of the dogs.
The washing machine churning madly, the newly mobile baby headed off on an inspection tour of the hallway, I turn back to my happily bouncing 3 year old to ask if she has to go potty. (Barn door, anyone?) Surprisingly, she strips, follows me to the bathroom, sits on the toilet and, wonder of wonders, proceeds to urinate. I almost fall over from the shock of it. Then, mid-stream, she decides to investigate what's making this funny tinkling noise and stands up, thus baptizing the bathroom floor and the clean pajamas she'd just taken off.
But of course.
Anyone want to rent a family? Rates are quite reasonable.
I now have a way to ensure that she goes outside on time: stay partially awake through the entire night, and escort her out quickly at the slightest huff. I'm clearly still the one in charge here.
What carpet there is has been very thoroughly steam cleaned, walls washed down, furniture dusted, vaccuumed and washed, you know--the normal daily stuff--and all seemed well with the world. After all, poop of all varieties had been going into the proper receptacles for at least 48 hours.
All this simply to lead up to . . . my children.
Caoimhe ("KEE-va") was happily destroying a priceless book while Aria was quietly employed in watching her friends the Little Einsteins badly sing their way to the end of another mission. At last, a quiet hour to express a little milk. Given that Caoimhe weaned herself some time ago and that I've had trouble finding quiet of any kind, let alone relaxation (SLEEP? I DON'T NEED SLEEP! THAT'S FOR WEENIES!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M WOUND TOO TIGHT???)--this was a blessing indeed.
As I finished, I looked over and saw Caoimhe just finishing off my favourite original copy of Whitman, (I've always thought "Leaves of Grass" a rather tasty morsel myself, but I hadn't expected to see that thought expressed literally,) and marveled at the continued good behaviour of my 3 year old -- she's getting to be such a big girl, just look at how quiet she's bee-uh oh. My head did a rapid pop off of my neck, several spins in the air, and landed intact as I did the instinctive "WHEREareyouandwhatonearthareyoudoingorintoforheavenssake" mom maneuver. (I swear, it's in the manual. Look it up yourself.)
She was sitting serenely on a pile of pillows, still watching her DVD.
Naked from the bottom down. Uh oh.
Uh oh, indeed. Closer inspection revealed that, not content with merely painting her appendages with excrement, she'd decided our fine home furnishings needed some decoration as well --the carefully discarded pull-up left, according to her exacting aesthetic sense, in the middle of the living room floor.
Having since cleaned my beautific child, thrown the entire sofa into the washing machine (it's a pretty big machine,) once again steam cleaned the carpet (hmmm...wonder if I can steam clean the child...) I dressed her, scolded her and made it clear that this was not acceptable. Riiiiiiggghhht, she seemed to be saying, staring at me saucer-eyed.
Turning my attention back to my now entirely-too-silent 10 month old, I found that she'd eaten the personal inscription to ol' Walt's mother and I detected an odd aroma wafting from her---oh no, not you too? Oooohhhh yeeeaaahhh, she seemed to say, nodding her head like a Beach Boy. I picked her up and, with a sigh, carried her to the changing table, where I promptly discarded a dirty diaper, several wipes, her clothing, and tried to include (inadvertently, I swear,) one of the dogs.
The washing machine churning madly, the newly mobile baby headed off on an inspection tour of the hallway, I turn back to my happily bouncing 3 year old to ask if she has to go potty. (Barn door, anyone?) Surprisingly, she strips, follows me to the bathroom, sits on the toilet and, wonder of wonders, proceeds to urinate. I almost fall over from the shock of it. Then, mid-stream, she decides to investigate what's making this funny tinkling noise and stands up, thus baptizing the bathroom floor and the clean pajamas she'd just taken off.
But of course.
Anyone want to rent a family? Rates are quite reasonable.
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