Tuesday of this week, I was awoken somewhere around 6:20 AM by the sound of laughter and shortness of breath accompanied by claws in the carpet by taking sharp turns while running. "What is going on?", I thought. As I opened the bedroom door, I see my 3 year old, holding this knife (shown below) and chasing my dog around the living room couches. Right after my eyes tried making a run for it by popping out of my face, I grabbed the knife, wondering how he even got it. Then I sent my son to his room to go back to bed. I'm guessing he'd woken up around 5:45 AM and had been playing for a while. Not the best way to start my morning, but I got over it. Until Thursday.
Thursday morning, I opened my bedroom door and in wafted an overwhelming scent of dog poop. My dog had slept in the living room. Coincidence? No way. I started the search. With eyes squinted and slowly scanning my living room, I watched as my dog tucked her little Twinkie-sized tail under her bottom and lowered her head. Then I found it. A huge pile of dog diarrhea laying at my front door. As if it wasn't bad enough that she pooped in my house, it had to be at the entrance of my humble home, so that every time someone walks in, the welcoming smell is "poop" scent.
Not even 45 minutes after the diarrhea discovery, my daughter yells "ow!" after stepping on a tiny shard of glass on the kitchen floor from a broken baby food jar last week that I obviously missed while sweeping. Blood is spilling all over the place. Strike two.
Attempting to be a fun mom and salvage the morning, I loaded the kids up to take them to Playtopia, a free public park here in Arizona that has TONS of things to play with, all under a gigantic canopy. We were there for 4 minutes and 30 seconds when my son, lovingly referred to from time to time as Evel Knievel (shown above), leaps off of a little toad stool and onto the next. He did this multiple times as I watched him closely. They were low to the ground and I wasn't worried. But wouldn't you know it, the second I look away, he makes an extra special leap that leads him to the biggest gash I have ever seen in the inside of one's mouth. His teeth had mangled up the skin inside. Blood was pouring out of his mouth as he cried and cried. It was split right open, about a 1/4 inch wide and I knew he needed stitches. I loaded the kids up and rushed him to the Urgent Care. Thankfully, the doctor, who I actually thought was out of his mind, said he didn't need stitches. I had to clean out my ears to be sure I heard him correctly. Did you see his mouth??? I've had stitches twice in my life- both from Evel Knievel accidents (I just realized my son got his wild side from his mother) and I knew his mouth needed stitches. But hey, whatever. We loaded up and went home. Nap time approached and what happened next will haunt me forever.
I blew up the pool in the backyard and filled it with water for the kids to play around in. I'm taking mental note of all the random turds I need to gather in the yard. I am usually quite on top of the job, but I could see I had a few to pick up. As the pool was being filled, my daughter starts to cry a horrible cry. In her hand is a golden, fresh, sun-warmed pile of dog crap, and it's all over her lips as well. I took that hose and nearly shoved it in her mouth as I fish-hooked out the remainder of unswallowed poop with my finger while she gagged. I looked in the grass and saw that a whole fist full was taken out of this pile of feces. I thought about how my dog ate the food, digested the food, then pooped out the food. Then my baby ate the poop, will digest the poop, then poop out the poop. It was just too many levels of gross for me.
(This is me, making a sad attempt to gather my sanity)
I went to the guest bathroom, only to find remnants of poop in the plastic toilet, but the doody was nowhere to be found. I sent my dog outside and told myself that this whole exchange of bodily matter between members of my family has to stop before I go crazy. But it's quite possible I already have. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go program Poison Control into my speed dial.
Sincerely,
Me.
