James went to bed. I decided to continue a bit of studying since the house was finally so quiet my ears hurt (yes, I know that's unusual), and I couldn't sleep. My back was a bit too upset with me to sleep in bed, so I retrieved my pillow and settled in on the couch.
My brain, however, had other ideas.
So did my dog.
Even after studying a giant textbook which should have had me out like a light, there had been so much noise and activity earlier that I still couldn't sleep. At 1:00 am, Romeo (the dog) whined to be let outside. It wasn't typical of him to want to go out that late, especially since he had been out about an hour earlier. I indulged him, and did a bit of web surfing on my phone, trying to calm my brain down. Then I let him back in, took some melatonin and ibuprofen--which I should have taken earlier--then settled on the couch and fell asleep about 2:00.
Every now and then I was roused from the weirdest dreams (thanks, melatonin!) by Romeo whining at me because he wanted to go outside.
Uh, no. No way in Halifax was I going to let that whiny dog bully me into getting up to let him out in the middle of the night just because I happened to be sleeping on the couch. When he gets extra needy, I usually
I must have mumbled something about Romeo, because my sweet husband said, "Yes, I heard that. Maybe you should go to our bed so you can get some rest." James left, and I turned over and felt the envelope. Bah. My earlybird, Lion, got up and went to the kitchen. I hauled myself off the couch and stumbled past him, then stopped as Lion stood transfixed. In a horrified tone, he exclaimed, "What is that?"
"What?" I asked, not having my glasses on.
He pointed to a misshapen dark spot on the floor. "That!"
Since without my glasses I only see vague color blobs swirling around everywhere, I went back to the couch to get them, the feeling of doom increasing every step I took. I went back to the kitchen.
A pile of diarrhea. And someone with a large shoe had unknowingly stepped in part of it in the dark of morning, tracking the mess through the house. AAAAHHHHH!
At that moment, Bean began wailing because he'd wet his pants overnight. He is three now, and very proud that he is mostly dry. So, I went to the bathroom where Bean lay on the floor, stripped from the waist down, screaming about being wet, which changed to howls of, "I want DADDY!" No sooner had he begun pining for his father, he got up and went yelling out of the bathroom, where he threw himself down on the floor in front of the hall closet--and planted his hands right where James had gone past with poo shoes on his way out the door.
I really, really, wanted to say lots of bad words.
Instead, I had reached that point. The point where it was time for the excuse that I am the only one who didn't really want a dog, but for the good of the family, I gave in, and I am not responsible for his actions. The point where I know I'm going to be an awful mother, but I really don't care. The point where I push down the memories of my own mother in such situations, all patient, calm, and loving, and I have to resign myself to the fact that she is an angel, and I will never be. A quick thought came to me that well, I could try, and then I shoved those thoughts away. Not gonna happen when I'm trying to hold onto my last shred of sanity at the same time I'm hauling a screaming three-year-old off the floor.
So, I did something terrible. "Lion," I said, my voice calmly sounding a death knell while Bean wriggled and hollered, "I am not cleaning this up. You do it." I wish I knew how to use that tone all the time, because Lion made no complaints or protestations. I gave him a pair of disposable gloves and disinfectant, told him what to do, then I washed Bean's hands, stuck clothes on him, and took him into bed with me to snuggle.
Lion cleaned the entire mess up, then took the disgusting trash out to the can, later telling me in full detail how awful it smelled. I fell asleep with Bean, which hasn't happened in far too long. Our morning was wasted in one respect, but on the other hand, Lion--who eight years ago could hardly speak, couldn't understand me, wouldn't eat most foods, and couldn't touch grass or finger paints--was the man of the house while his elder brother slept the sleep of the
Lion is getting an extra special birthday cake for his eleventh birthday on Thursday.
I call that a successful morning.