Friday, 3 August 2012
>I am the hero in this story
>Do you ever feel like the world is conspiring against you? Or if not the world, at least your family’s bodily functions?
Let me paint a picture.
This evening, I had bold intentions. I was going to go to bed early, set my alarm, and get up at 4:45 a.m. to get to a 5 a.m. yoga class. The first hit comes from Spouse, who says, “you’re insane.” Thanks. Perhaps he doesn’t understand that no yoga for two weeks while we adjust to the new schedule makes me feel like I’m going insane.
I sigh and get ready for bed. I hear Daughter coughing in her bed, so I go in and have her drink a little water to help her throat calm down. I cover her up again, then lean over to cover Son, too. That’s when I get the first whiff: there is urine in this bed.
Spouse is already asleep by now. The wheels start turning. Okay, I can do this. I always figure that if possible, one of us should be sleeping. I grab new jammies and underwear and head to the bathroom to start the bath. Wait, I’ll need to put those sheets in the wash and the washer and dryer are both full at the moment. I drop the jammies and head downstairs to turn over the laundry.
That’s when I see it: Dog has left me a pile of poop at the foot of the stairs. Oh, Dog. How did you know that Son would be wetting the bed tonight? Son hasn’t wet the bed in months, and you haven’t pooped in the house for months. Did you discuss it before bedtime tonight? Did you come into his room, smell his pee and figure the house was fair game for your bodily waste too? In fact, did this not happen last time Son wet the bed? It seems like whenever everything else is falling apart around here, so do Dog’s bowels. It must be that sixth sense they have.
Okay. I can still do this. Back upstairs for the paper towels, carpet cleaner and plastic bag. Dog mess contained, I wash my hands and head into the laundry room. I unload the dryer, unload the washer, load the dryer, try to catch all the hang-to-dry stuff and hang it, start the dryer, then bring the full basket, carpet cleaner, paper towels and bag of poo upstairs. Cleaning stuff gets put away, poo gets set aside, basket goes in my room where I vow to remember tomorrow that the white basket has CLEAN clothes in it. Back to Son.
I start the tub, go back into his room and start undressing him while he is still sleeping. he’s naked, and I start stripping the bed with him in it. He’s laying in the middle of the ball of sheets now. I extract him and put him in the bath, definitely pretty much asleep. He starts crying of course, which I expected, but then starts saying “ow, ow ow!” Oops. that water is a little too warm. But there’s no time to cool it down now — so I quick soap him down and take him out. While I dry him off and re-jammy him, he keeps saying “ma-MA!” Ma-Maaaaa!” like a teenager with an attitude, as if I’d betrayed him for the last time. The insult upon injury! Oh, Son.
I lay Son next to Spouse, where he will remain until morning, because I’ve decided not to get in my cardio at bedtime, which is what happens when I make his bed — a bunk bed with a railing. It is like wrestling with an angel, let me tell you.
So, Son is in bed next to snoring Spouse. I gather the soiled sheets from his bed (thank you, Target, for waterproof mattress pads which are probably made completely of BPA and other chemicals toxic to my children, but at least my mattress does not smell like urine), bring them down to the wash, soap, start. Wash hands, back upstairs, bag of poo in garage garbage can.
Finally, sit down and document. Document to remember what this night feels like. And also so that someone knows what I did. I averted disasters. I took care. I returned this home to its state of comfort, warmth and non-bodily-function-smells. It is love that propels me, and love that keeps me afloat on nights like these. That, and laughter. I mean seriously. You couldn’t make this stuff up.