This morning I sat down on the floor at long last to play some "kitchen" with my daughter on her new kitchen set. The breakfast dishes had been cleared, a load of laundry begun, the high chairs cleaned and reassembled in anticipation of the arrival of Grandma, cousin Robert, and Aunt Caci. An hour stretched out before naptime and it was just me and my girl. Time to get cookin'!
Or so I thought.
As I sat down the overwhelming smell of dog pee whacked me in the face. I soon realized that I was sitting in a dried puddle of pee, and a little investigation proved that it was also dried into the carpet, and a wet puddle still lingered under the edge of the kitchen set and under the window. My dog cannot be trusted alone in the living room, quite obviously.
[cue fit of rage and frustration]
As I dragged the carpet cleaner in from the garage, pulled the Swiffer out of the pantry, Googled methods for getting urine smell out of hardwood floor … my anger grew exponentially. Here we go again. Why can't I ever just do what I want to do when I want to do it?
I suppose in the moment I had choices. I could ignore the pee, play with my daughter, wait until later when she was down for her nap to clean it all up. I guess. But that's really not me (especially knowing that guests were on their way)(especially since it's the grossest thing ever to have your house smell like dog pee). And so when my husband walked in the door a few moments into my gruesome discovery, the scene was not pretty.
This was on the heels of the Monster of All Crap Days yesterday. All day it seemed as if I blinked something was upended. Syd dumped an entire Diet Coke on the floor at home. Juicy stole the last yogurt out of my baby's hands. The moms at the park were extra snooty and cold. We popped in Bed Bath & Beyond "real quick" and Sticky Fingers Syd grabbed a stack of glass bowls off the shelf behind me and they shattered all over the floor. The stupid (expensive) (specialty) ceiling fan bulb burnt out again. I dropped the sugar bin on the floor and spilled everywhere. I went to make dinner and my onions and potatoes had all spoiled. I burned my last stick of butter in the pan. The dogs were unhappy to be anywhere but directly under my feet where they are the most annoying. I worked hard to write a meaningful blog post only to have someone immediately point out that my top ten list? Had only nine points on it. And then? To top it all off? I burned my finger badly on the stove and ended my day in tears of frustration. Thankfully my husband makes a cute nurse. If not for him, John Adams dvds, peanut M&Ms and the last can of ginger ale last night I might have run off to join the circus.
And so this morning as I hosed down the carpet as it hung on my front porch railing I decided that it probably never ends. That I'll always have to keep fighting. That I'll have to decide to stop being surprised and to just take it as it comes. It quite honestly could be much worse. But if you'd said that to me an hour ago? You quite likely would have received a punch to the neck.