Pee, Poop and Pizza Boxes

Warning: Major Rant...

First of all, I was going to name this chapter "Piss, Shit, and Pizza Boxes", but I then thought that might offend someone's sensibilities. Then I thought "Offending sensibilities...there's a concept to explore!" But that is really not where I am right now, and besides, my current choice is way more alliterative.

I woke today to the sound of my daughter's dog barking it's head off. We are babysitting him this weekend because her boyfriend is in Las Vegas and she is mostly staying here. Of course, last night being Saturday, she went out with her pals and will not show up here until later today. I tried to introduce the concept of the boarding kennel yesterday when we began discussing her impending trip to New Orleans with said boyfriend. She is really looking forward to this because she thinks he may propose. Propose? All they talk about it getting married, when, if and how, and they have been basically living together for almost two years. I don't get the significance of the formal "Proposal", especially since nowadays every body does what ever they want whenever they want, contracts, promises, vows, etc. not withstanding.

Anyway, the boarding kennel idea was drowned in the sea of facts regarding whether she would actually be gone for an entire week versus a mere extended weekend. And my misgivings about wanting to spend an extended period of time with her three year old, her dog, my three other grandkids, my dog, various pets and other disfunctional members of this family that will remain unnamed, went by the boards.

So, then when I woke up today:

After I put last night's pizza boxes into the recycling bin, I found three pees and two poos in the dining room. Of course, that corner of the dining room is covered every night with half a package of puppy training potty pads cuz our cocker spaniel still has occasional accidents,( or spite pees, but that is another story) so this morning's distribution of canine bodily waste was almost all, maybe about ninety three percent, on the potty pads. So, while I was picking them up, I mentioned to my husband, who was nearby, and God bless his heart, had already given grandson #2 his breakfast, "Did you see all these pees and poos?" He replied that he had seen them and, I of course had to start in about how much longer it would have to sit in the dining room before it got picked up (By ME being implicit). So of course he reminded me that that was why the potty pads were there. And I began ranting, under my breath, but not COMPLETELY inaudibly, on how the potty pads would just be layered ad infinitum did I not come out to dispose of them, and how, when the urine leaked over the edge of the potty pad, it eventually found its way under the three layers of polyurethane on the beautiful hardwood floors that took two solid years to install, and caused said wood to swell and turn black in a very unattractive manner.

So, as that rant increased in volume and emotional content, Louie fled to the yard to mow like a son of a bitch. I hope he realizes that the anger I generate in him increases his energy level, causing him to complete these chores amazingly quickly. But then, quickness is not his goal as the lawn and the swimming pool are only there so he can keep busy enough to not have to wallpaper or install toilets or clean the garage. My theory anyway.

So then I went out to the deck, or, as I so quaintly refer to it, in my charming grandmotherly way, the back porch. There I proceded to pick up some more defecations that had accumulated since I had performed that task yesterday. I put aside my worries about the fact that apparently one of the dogs seemed to be having a little stomach distress, and scraped and bleached and disposed. This involved only one trip to the basement to get more paper towels, during which time, I efficiently filled the washer and folded a few items of clothing.

By this time it was 8:45 a.m. and I had to hurry to put a "cuter" outfit on grandson#2 cuz his paternal grandmother was going to pick him up at 9:00 a.m. to celebrate Mother's Day at a "Brunch" with her mom and her kids. They did this last year and I cried almost all day and went to Denny's with my younger daughter. So, Grandma Sue just called to say she was too busy to pick Ben up, so he will be here today. So I will have his adorableness to enjoy and it is sunny and warm and I have lots of beautiful new flowers to put in. Now I am going to try to stop crying long enough to call my mom and wish her Happy Mother's Day. In my book, the ultimate oxymoron.