Monday, December 9, 2013

All Before 8 AM on Sunday Morning

I can't make this stuff up.

Right before he left for the airport, he gave me a cup of fresh coffee and kissed me goodbye.  I took a few sips and prepared myself for Day 1 of this particular installment of the China Business Trip Saga.  The weather report was calling for about 5 inches of snow and the snow-blower had refused to start the night before, so I knew I had that to look forward to later on.  I dragged myself out of the cozy warmth of my covers and got to work.

The dog gave me his "I need to go" growl.

About 2 hours later, I called Evan and begged him to switch places with me.

Thomas woke up soaked in pee, so he was less than thrilled about life in general for quite some time.  I quickly stripped the crib sheets and threw them in the washing machine, along with his PJs and other random laundry I found in the boys' rooms.  For good measure, I stole his beloved Blankee quick like a ninja and slipped it into the laundry pile because it was getting naaaaaasty.  

The dog growled at me.

In the meantime, Isaiah was already getting dressed for church while his brother rolled around in bed, moaning like a bear with a toothache.  When I was finally successful in getting him to climb out of bed, all he wanted to do was talk about the Star Wars Lego set he wants for Christmas (the one with the ogre, the Rancor monster and Luke Skywalker and can we go to Target after church and buy it?) and put his hands in his pants.

The dog growled at me.

Starting to fall behind schedule, I declared it a cereal morning for breakfast and started pouring out two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios and one bowl of regular Cheerios.  Chaos and bedlam soon followed when the second bowl of sugar coated Cheerios was likened to day old gruel and there was stomping of feet and gnashing of teeth.  In the name of preserving my temper, I caved and made toast with peanut butter and apples.

The dog growled at me.

I quickly downed a few more swallows of my coffee and popped into the bathroom to brush my teeth while the kids ate their breakfast only to realize I hadn't actually started that load of pee laundry.  In the midst of pouring in the fabric softener, the chorus of "Mommy!! All done!!" and "Mommyy???? I spilled!!!" and "Mess! Mess! Mess!" reached my ears.

The dog growled at me.

Tossing a dish towel over the growing puddle of milk, I opened the door for the dog (FINALLY!!!) and began the oh-so-beloved process of acquiring shoes, hats, coats, and mittens for three boys.  One got distracted momentarily by a stale piece of macaroni and cheese he found under the couch that turned out to be a crunchy disappointment, but we worked through it and managed to get everyone correctly shod and bundled up in a reasonable amount of time.

Where the heck is the dog?

I looked in the backyard to see what was taking the dog such an ever-loving long time to do his business in the arctic chill and I could feel the pall spread across my face when I saw him struggling to "finish the job," so to speak.  Upon my whistle, he gave up the effort and trotted toward the house, stopping for a moment to rub his hindquarters across my back patio, leaving a delightful streak I'm going to call a "skid mark."  Sometimes you just gotta call a spade a spade, am I right?

We should have left the house 4 minutes ago.  But there is no way on God's earth I am walking out that door and leaving my dog unsupervised when there is that much of a....situation stuck underneath his tail.  Busting out our dog grooming kit that has admittedly been underused as of late, I grabbed the scissors and coaxed the dog into the bathroom with me.  As my two year old looked on and repeated, "Doing? Doing?" I gently put my knee atop my pup's side to hold him down and try to snip away the offensive matter.  I quickly realized this was likely going to make me vomit, but we had a schedule to keep. When he turned and snapped his jaws down on my hand when I got a little too aggressive for his liking, I conceded my defeat.  I'd probably try to bite someone too if they were poking around like I had been.

I threw some grubby old towels on the couch, closed the bedroom door, said a little prayer and begged the dog to just nap on the hardwood the whole time we were gone, and shooed the kids into the van.  Everyone was safely buckled and we were going to only be a few minutes late.

The fuel light was on.

As the gas pumped into my dented minivan, I called my husband and related the tale of our morning.  My beloved responded to my laments with this statement:

"I'd take a poopy dog butt over a fourteen hour flight any day."

I realized I had never actually gotten to brush my teeth.   


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