1) They had been up before us long enough to get into a squabble (which even for them takes a few minutes) and
2) There was likely something wrong out in the rest of the house.
Oh baby. Little did I know. I popped out the retainer that keeps my bottom teeth from overlapping, pulled on some pants and lumbered out of the bedroom. For the next full minute, all I could say was “Oh my God”. Over and over again. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
A LOT of dogfood in the floor.
And Sam was skating in it. This last picture was taken after some cleanup had occurred. The fight was because Caroline was afraid of being implicated, while Sam was sure he could cajole the dog into eating it all. (Sorry, even Fudge isn’t that much of a pig.)
When he heard me in the hall, he said, “Quick, hide! It’s Dad!”. Sorry, kiddo. You get Mom. Dad’s a lot nicer.
Since Sam hid, the first person I saw was Caroline, on her hands and knees, desperately trying to pick up each and every crumb. “Not your fault.” Those were my first three words once I’d stopped with the OMGs. “Caroline, sweetie, this is not your fault.”
Sam had some bullshit story cooked up, and after my initial jaw-drop reaction, I managed to keep my voice neutral with him. However, my response did include the words, ‘stop lying and start cleaning’. I no longer think the dishwasher incident was accidental. And I’m really not sure if his sister was involved in that at all, or if she was just an incidental participant afraid of being accused of tattling (a behavior we’re trying to teach her to stop). Sam’s initial lie for the dog food was slick, it was short, and if the evidence hadn’t been staring me in the face, I might have believed it. Once I called ‘bullshit’, the elaborate, obvious untruths started. But at the outset, he could have been talking weather for all the emotion he showed.
Yesterday, he cut up his shirt (not uncommon before meds, but JESUS he’s taking something now) and hurt his friends in the morning. Today, he made this mess so clearly because he thought he would have to stay home and clean up. And cleaning a mess is a reward for him. This kid loves housework. And he hates going to school.
Sorry, Sam. Nice try. We made him clean about a third of it. Caroline volunteered to clean up another portion (started to cry when she thought I wouldn’t let her, even). And Scott and I got most of the rest. But there is still dogfood underfoot and will be all day. All week. He was not entitled to miss school for his mess, and he was certainly not entitled to make Sis any later than the whole thing already did.
So I felt pretty damned entitled myself when we went through the Starbucks drive through. But damn it, the Starbucks guy only wanted to sell me drinks. And none of those came in shot glasses. When I asked him if I could buy back my sanity, he swore it wasn’t lurking anywhere in the store. Damned barista. What does he know anyway? If it isn’t there, after all, where WOULD it be hanging out?
Certainly not at home.
Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.