Thursday, January 26, 2012

Texts I send.

This afternoon I sent out the following text message to Jared:

"Poop emergency. Do not open garage door."

When he called me back, he was completely calm and only the tiniest bit curious.  He didn't seem to think that my text was particularly weird. And I guess it isn't, since he knows its coming from me and Oliver. We are prone to strange things. Strange things just happen to us. Especially poop-related strange things.

Oliver had an accident in his underwear. I cleaned up Oliver and left the underwear soaking in the bathroom sink. I went to fix my lunch and I kind of forgot it was there, to be honest.

Oliver, however, did not forget. While I was distracted with my sandwich and my TV show,  he took his disgusting underwear out of the sink and carried it down to the laundry downstairs.

It was a nice thought. He clearly meant to try and clean up after his accident. It would have been a helpful gesture, really, if somebody other than Oliver had done it. But since Oliver did it, it was very unhelpful.

When I heard suspicious laughter, I went downstairs. Oliver had Mya trapped int he laundry room with a plastic tote. I heard her dog tags clanging and thought Oliver was enjoying the game of keeping the poor dog stuck in with the scary-sounding furnace.

"Let Mya out, Oliver. It's not nice to make her be stuck in there. She sounds scared."
"No, Mom. Mya dirty. She stay laundry."
"Mya dirty. Clean her in laundry."

Then I looked and saw for myself. The poor dog was, in fact, trapped back by the scary furnace, but that was the least of her problems. A brown-smeared pair of Thomas the Tank Engine briefs were stuck on her head.  Her fur had more brown spots than usual. She stunk.

"Did you do this, Oliver?"
"Why? It makes Mya sad."
"Is funny, Mom!"

And then I considered it, and it was actually pretty funny. At that point I had to try very hard not to laugh.

"It's not nice to laugh when other people are sad."

But then I laughed anyway.  Because, really, what else do you do when the dog has a pair of (literally) shitty underwear stuck on its head?

My laughter made Oliver laugh harder, which made me laugh harder. I sat on the floor laughing so hard my stomach hurt.  And then, because I am pregnant and weird, I started crying too.

"Well... let's leave Mya here while you go upstairs and take a nap."

I put Oliver down for his nap and then went back downstairs to consider the poopy dog dilemma. Obviously she needed a bath, but I couldn't lift her up to get her into the tub. I also didn't know how much time I could spend around her without barfing. I also just plain didn't want to give her a bath.

I grabbed some dog treats and lured her out into the garage and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind. When I came back inside I heard Oliver calling from his room, trying to stall nap time:

"Mom! I need to tell you something."
"No, Oliver. It's time for you to be sleeping."
"No, Mom! I not poop on Mya's head again. Okay Mom?"
"Okay. Go to sleep."

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