Three hours after my surgery, Charlie left for a several day business trip to California. Before he said goodbye, he cleaned the kitchen, did a grocery run, and made me a small batch of Jell-O. He told me he loved me. He was very upset to be leaving me in this condition. He kissed the top of my head. And then… poof!
He was gone.
The kids hadn't come home from school yet, so it was just me and Ollie, who was frolicking around the sunny backyard, as puppies are known to do. When Ollie wandered back in to the house, the smell was the first thing to hit me. It didn't immediately equate that the smell was tied to the dog, so I just walked around the house, drowsy like, with my still fat-feeling lip, looking high and low to see what it was.
And then I saw our puppy.
He immediately dropped down on the floor and started to roll over, doing whatever he could not to make eye contact with me. I had no idea what was covering his head and body but it was something gross and gooey and my first thought was that he'd rolled in his own poop. It was so obvious that he'd done something (of which I had no idea), but it stunk to high heaven and he clearly realized that it probably wouldn't bode too well with the lady who gives him cookies.
I took a picture of him desperately diverting eye contact, which I sent to Charlie with the question, WHY in this moment - when my husband has just walked out the door for a cross-country business trip, and I am home alone, recovering from my second oral surgery in a week, does the dog decide to roll in something that would require a substantial bath?
In THIS moment?
It struck me as very funny (odd) and funny (ha, ha!) because that's just how it goes. And to be frank it seems to happen a lot with us. I really don't try to overly dramatize things, just capture the facts. And I've found that when dealing with these life events - there's a very fine line between humor and hysteria and as much as possible - I try to fall to the side of humor. Partly because it's better for you and the whole wide world, and at least this week, I can't open my mouth to yell or I'll rip out stitches.
A cyclone of starved kids hits our house between 4:00 and 4:30 every day. Henry was the first one home from school and while I went to clean my mouth, he ate all the Jell-O. The triplets were home next and they unloaded? exploded? their gear and set about making snacks and clearing out the cupboards as teenagers are known to do.
William provided great details about a big fight that had happened in school. This was the second one in as many days. Yesterday's brawl was between two girls who were fighting over a boy; today's brawl was between two boys who were fighting over, who knows what. One of the kids on the bus had filmed it with his iPhone which he was passing around and sharing with his fellow riders. The video showed a larger boy, wailing on a smaller boy, who was curled in a ball with his hands pulling a hood up to cover his head.
William told me he didn't want to see the video and looked away after a few seconds. He said he couldn't stop thinking about how terrible the smaller kid must have felt. Junior high school can be challenging enough as it is, without getting beat up in front of every one while kids are filming it.
"Mom, were you serious about buying land in northern Glacier and homeschooling us?" he asks. Yes, I was serious. When it was July and we were in Montana. Considering I responded to this most recent cold snap (IN TEXAS) like one of those poor frozen iguanas that were falling out of trees in Florida, I let William know I'm not so sure I could handle the Montana climate in the winter.
"OK, so what about a farm in Georgia?" he asked. "Hmm. That would be peachy," I replied.
Carolyn took the initiative to give the puppy a bath and while outside, identified that he'd been rolling around in one of our rotted out October pumpkins that the kids had been trying to germinate. Considering he'd been laying on our breakfast nook rug, I'm so glad it wasn't poop.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth conveyed to me another situation that had happened at school. Her friend keeps using bad language. Really bad language. Elizabeth thinks its because she wants attention, but it's starting to wear on her. She said that on this day - during lunch - she finally told the girl, "Listen, I think you're really great and smart, and when you use that bad language it's really not nice and it bums me out. You're so much better than that. Can you please just STOP with the bad talk?" She said the girl put her head down and said, "I'll try."
"Wow, you really did that?" I asked. She nodded her head, "Yep, I sure did." I gave her a smile and said, "Well, I'm pretty f - f - f [just kidding!] impressed!"
"MOM!" she said, outraged.
"LIZ!" I countered, as outraged as a ventriloquist can be.
This day was a pretty average day of happenings, the only difference was that Charlie was out of town, and I was in recovery mode. So a dear friend brought over dinner, and checked in on us. She is a doctor and insisted I stay on top of the pain, get adequate hydration, and plenty of rest. As she was talking with us, one of my children who knows better but wasn't thinking, opened one of my sterile medicines that comes in a dropper, and stuck a ballpoint pen in the tip of it. Because it was there. And … and…?
Reminded me of the time I was talking on the phone and playing with a letter opener when I sliced my finger open. Since I was in my 30's, I knew better. I just …. wasn't thinking. As humans are sometimes known to do.
We walked my friend outside to say goodbye and look at the moon. It was spectacular. We walked back inside and heard the printer which had already printed out at least 50 sheets of paper - and was printing several more - of what we realized was a homework assignment printing mishap. Paper had spilled out of the feeder and was everywhere. There might have been a bad word and a slight drift in to the world of ventriloquy hysteria.
After dinner, William and Elizabeth were helping Henry with his homework, which wasn't going well. I'd love to say they helped him, but the situation went from bad to worse. When you're 10 and stuck on long division word problems, a pep talk and shoulder rub from your 13-year old siblings isn't particularly helpful. Nay, it can be downright awful.
As I put away a few things in the kitchen, I found this note from Elizabeth that had been folded in Carolyn's lunchbox. The awesomeness is the love between siblings which I know is real. So, too, is the teasing. It's a major point of contention that Carolyn, who is purportedly the youngest of the triplets, is a solid eight inches taller than her siblings. It slays her and her much smaller sister knows.
The day concluded with my supplementary efforts at studying geometry with Carolyn and Elizabeth for a test the next day. The girls were highly complimentary that I could remember so much (from so, so, so, so long ago!) and help them work through their study guide. We spent a solid two hours reviewing concepts and it got to the point, we could no longer remain vertical. When Charlie called to say goodnight, I snapped off this picture of us cuddled up and adjacently working through a problem. I am so acutely loving seventh grade math. Not to sound obtuse, but from this angle, I wish I could say the same for my seventh graders!
Come on, am I right?
Ha! See, varying degrees of humor abound!
