A Shitty Story
This is a shitty story. Honestly, from my son who woke up sick, to my daughter who left her shit everywhere, to the dog who shit in my car. Either way it stinks to high heaven!
I'm effing tired of reminding my sixteen-year-old daughter to pick up her shit. We simply don't have the square footage divided by six people and two dogs to allow for any one person to occupy the entire house with their belongings. I hurdle her shit on the stairs to the basement, on my way to the kitchen, and out the front door. You'd think I'd be in tiptop athletic shape! Unfortunately I stubbed my toe on a chair tripping over her Vans, Nikes and Blundstone shoes to lock the front door before bed last night.
Hobbling my way to the kitchen to shut off the lights and grab my cup of freshly microwaved Sleepytime tea, I couldn't help but notice my computer still sitting unplugged on the dining room table. "Yeah, mom," I distinctly remember my daughter saying as she ‘Vlogged’ her friend on the couch last night after I reminded her to plug in my computer and pick up her stuff for the god zillionth time.
My fuse was lit at 10pm! This was the final straw, completely depleting my battery. Grabbing six shoes I shuffled my sorry toe to the back door carefully placing them out of sight on our deck but under the eaves of the house in case of Portland rain. God forbid they be stolen off the front porch or rained on and I have to pay for my mistake. I secretly hoped Charlotte, our resident spider, would leave a webbed message inside her boot...SLOB, or perhaps a motherly reminder of RESPONSIBILITY.
Moving to the dining room table I shoved all the remaining shit in her backpack. Blue jeans, striped t-shirt, brown belt, one sock (?), along with her Driver's Ed final and at least 5 inches of papers and spiral notebooks, not to mention the textbooks and gym clothes already inside, the backpack was too full to zip! I proceeded to jam it into a cupboard full of pots and pans knowing full well she'd never look in there. Plugging in my laptop and surveying the de-cluttered landscape, I grabbed my warm cup of tea and smiled, reminding myself the Tooth Fairy was next on the agenda.
Waking this morning with a brand new outlook and healed toe, I quickly formalized a game plan to catch my 6 1/2 year old Schnoodle Mayzie's first morning urine before our vet visit today and before my daughter awoke to her missing belongings.
My dog smells like urine. My new couch smells like urine. My clothes smell like urine if Mayzie sits on me. Having ruled out a urinary tract infection in January, another urine sample and blood work would eliminate other issues. Leave it to my husband to suggest incontinence. Mayzie's a middle-aged woman in dog years so I can sympathize. As much as I shouldn't be jumping on a trampoline after four children, she shouldn't be jumping on my couch! Furthermore, I'm tired of bathing her hindquarters in lavender, shaving them clean to the point she looks as if she's wearing furry ass chaps. Who has time for that?
Finding myself at zero dark thirty this morning, kitchen ladle in my left hand, my overweight middle-aged Schnoodle under my right arm, I was careful not to trip over my daughter's shoe closet on the deck, while my 10-month-old ankle biting Schnoodle Ozzie tried to foil my game plan. It seemed like a piss poor idea chasing the sniffing, smelly ass dog around the yard. Sure enough, she stopped, squatted and I sprang with cat like reflexes, shoving that ladle right under her ass chaps praying for the best. One steamy yellowish-orange sample later and we were in business! Or so I thought. Carefully pouring the hot pee into a somewhat sterile Rubbermaid cube lunch container, I placed it on the counter for added humor before the children made their lunches.
It was no surprise I got the hands-on-the-hips teenage treatment at breakfast.
"You may have everything for $5. It's a dollar each pair of shoes, a dollar for the backpack and a dollar for the computer," I said in a calm voice pouring a cup of coffee. "I had an energy drain and I'm only preparing you to be a good college roommate."
"You're gonna make me late for school and now I'm pissed off," my 16-year-old daughter shouted. Really?
"Oh bummer, that's another dollar!" I said, "We don't say that word in this house," acknowledging my 8-year-old giggling and taking notes in the corner. At least the smelly ass dog didn’t piss on you, I think to myself counting my blessings as I take a long sip of caffeinated pleasure.
Four dollar bills, seven quarters, four nickels and a dime later, she plopped herself down at the breakfast table mumbling under her breath. I kept the extra nickel as interest in the bank.
Just then my 12-year-old waltzed in for breakfast. "Is this honey?" he asked, staring at the Rubbermaid container on the counter.
"No, it's lemonade," I said smiling, "from Mayzie." Paying him the two dollars I owed him, I pocketed the rest of my hard earned cash for later. Grabbing the dog I headed to the car, lunch box urine sample in hand, as we had a thirty-minute drive in traffic.
No less than five minutes and one Portland Bridge into our commute, I smelled gas. Dog farts are the worst! On the phone with my child's school to excuse him home with diarrhea, I gagged. On the console next to me was a tiny turd and I spied six other fresh steamy piles on the second row floor of my minivan. Holy Shit!!
Thankful for automatic windows, Mayzie and I were both hanging our heads out for oxygen as I squealed on two wheels into the nearest parking lot, trying to appear calm as I quickly hung up with the school secretary. Guess the ladle chase interrupted her concentration this morning.
I'm convinced a mother never hurls. It only took five napkins, thanks to its 18-pound Schnoodle size; otherwise I would've been screwed without sanitizing wipes from baby yesteryears. I'll admit, ten-minutes late to the vet and without a garbage can in sight, I clandestinely tossed the stink bomb napkins in the apartment building recycling can like a dirty diaper when the coast was clear. Calling the vet to excuse my late self and shitty dog, I pulled away from the crime scene. Windows down on the freeway, sunshine on our faces, Mayzie and I were back in business!
I arrived home to my daughter's piles neatly stacked.
I think I've earned take-out lunch today with my extra cash. Surviving another Adventure In Motherhood, it's a sunny 75 degrees, my car’s relatively clean, my sick son recovered by noon and I can breathe a sigh of relief… at least until the two baseball games and Driver's Ed final this evening! What I wouldn't give for a business trip alone to Singapore like my husband.
I'm effing tired of reminding my sixteen-year-old daughter to pick up her shit. We simply don't have the square footage divided by six people and two dogs to allow for any one person to occupy the entire house with their belongings. I hurdle her shit on the stairs to the basement, on my way to the kitchen, and out the front door. You'd think I'd be in tiptop athletic shape! Unfortunately I stubbed my toe on a chair tripping over her Vans, Nikes and Blundstone shoes to lock the front door before bed last night.
Hobbling my way to the kitchen to shut off the lights and grab my cup of freshly microwaved Sleepytime tea, I couldn't help but notice my computer still sitting unplugged on the dining room table. "Yeah, mom," I distinctly remember my daughter saying as she ‘Vlogged’ her friend on the couch last night after I reminded her to plug in my computer and pick up her stuff for the god zillionth time.
My fuse was lit at 10pm! This was the final straw, completely depleting my battery. Grabbing six shoes I shuffled my sorry toe to the back door carefully placing them out of sight on our deck but under the eaves of the house in case of Portland rain. God forbid they be stolen off the front porch or rained on and I have to pay for my mistake. I secretly hoped Charlotte, our resident spider, would leave a webbed message inside her boot...SLOB, or perhaps a motherly reminder of RESPONSIBILITY.
Moving to the dining room table I shoved all the remaining shit in her backpack. Blue jeans, striped t-shirt, brown belt, one sock (?), along with her Driver's Ed final and at least 5 inches of papers and spiral notebooks, not to mention the textbooks and gym clothes already inside, the backpack was too full to zip! I proceeded to jam it into a cupboard full of pots and pans knowing full well she'd never look in there. Plugging in my laptop and surveying the de-cluttered landscape, I grabbed my warm cup of tea and smiled, reminding myself the Tooth Fairy was next on the agenda.
Waking this morning with a brand new outlook and healed toe, I quickly formalized a game plan to catch my 6 1/2 year old Schnoodle Mayzie's first morning urine before our vet visit today and before my daughter awoke to her missing belongings.
Finding myself at zero dark thirty this morning, kitchen ladle in my left hand, my overweight middle-aged Schnoodle under my right arm, I was careful not to trip over my daughter's shoe closet on the deck, while my 10-month-old ankle biting Schnoodle Ozzie tried to foil my game plan. It seemed like a piss poor idea chasing the sniffing, smelly ass dog around the yard. Sure enough, she stopped, squatted and I sprang with cat like reflexes, shoving that ladle right under her ass chaps praying for the best. One steamy yellowish-orange sample later and we were in business! Or so I thought. Carefully pouring the hot pee into a somewhat sterile Rubbermaid cube lunch container, I placed it on the counter for added humor before the children made their lunches.
It was no surprise I got the hands-on-the-hips teenage treatment at breakfast.
"You may have everything for $5. It's a dollar each pair of shoes, a dollar for the backpack and a dollar for the computer," I said in a calm voice pouring a cup of coffee. "I had an energy drain and I'm only preparing you to be a good college roommate."
"You're gonna make me late for school and now I'm pissed off," my 16-year-old daughter shouted. Really?
"Oh bummer, that's another dollar!" I said, "We don't say that word in this house," acknowledging my 8-year-old giggling and taking notes in the corner. At least the smelly ass dog didn’t piss on you, I think to myself counting my blessings as I take a long sip of caffeinated pleasure.
Four dollar bills, seven quarters, four nickels and a dime later, she plopped herself down at the breakfast table mumbling under her breath. I kept the extra nickel as interest in the bank.
Just then my 12-year-old waltzed in for breakfast. "Is this honey?" he asked, staring at the Rubbermaid container on the counter.
"No, it's lemonade," I said smiling, "from Mayzie." Paying him the two dollars I owed him, I pocketed the rest of my hard earned cash for later. Grabbing the dog I headed to the car, lunch box urine sample in hand, as we had a thirty-minute drive in traffic.
No less than five minutes and one Portland Bridge into our commute, I smelled gas. Dog farts are the worst! On the phone with my child's school to excuse him home with diarrhea, I gagged. On the console next to me was a tiny turd and I spied six other fresh steamy piles on the second row floor of my minivan. Holy Shit!!
Thankful for automatic windows, Mayzie and I were both hanging our heads out for oxygen as I squealed on two wheels into the nearest parking lot, trying to appear calm as I quickly hung up with the school secretary. Guess the ladle chase interrupted her concentration this morning.
I'm convinced a mother never hurls. It only took five napkins, thanks to its 18-pound Schnoodle size; otherwise I would've been screwed without sanitizing wipes from baby yesteryears. I'll admit, ten-minutes late to the vet and without a garbage can in sight, I clandestinely tossed the stink bomb napkins in the apartment building recycling can like a dirty diaper when the coast was clear. Calling the vet to excuse my late self and shitty dog, I pulled away from the crime scene. Windows down on the freeway, sunshine on our faces, Mayzie and I were back in business!
I arrived home to my daughter's piles neatly stacked.
I think I've earned take-out lunch today with my extra cash. Surviving another Adventure In Motherhood, it's a sunny 75 degrees, my car’s relatively clean, my sick son recovered by noon and I can breathe a sigh of relief… at least until the two baseball games and Driver's Ed final this evening! What I wouldn't give for a business trip alone to Singapore like my husband.
That is absolutely hilarious, Kristen! I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks.
ReplyDeleteThank you!!! Your feedback is inspiring. I'm on Facebook as well at Adventures In Motherhood.
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