Monday, September 12, 2005

 

In Which the Wild Rumpus Starts...

It's funny. Just last week, Her Lovely Self was ready to brain me with a spade because I was too sick to go to work, but there I was...going to work. And now, this weekend, even though I was not exactly up to snuff (still gasping for air and inhaling steroids by the lung-full), she felt it was perfectly okay to leave me in the care of her children and go off for an overnight getaway with six other of the Yummy Mummies.

Granted, she was going to be staying at a cabin on a lake. Sipping wine in a big hot-tub surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous women in assorted states of undress. Hell, I know I'D go, so I can't exactly begrudge her.

But I made it pretty clear from the outset that this wasn't going to be like the last weekend I was in charge of the kiddos. Then, we were all in varying states of being sick or getting over being sick, and we had to keep the noise down because Her Lovely Self was upstairs, languishing in bed with strep throat and needed her rest. Also, I was cranky and impatient and forever trying to get the kids to do things my way.

Clearly, surrendering myself to vagaries of childish whim was the better way to go. This time, things were going to be more like a page from the book Where the Wild Things Are. Let the wild rumpus start, baby!

To begin with, as soon as the Yummy Mummies rounded the corner and left the neighborhood early Saturday morning, I suspended the "no running in the house" rule. I mean, was there ever a more thoughtless edict imposed by a parent? When you have a downstairs that's designed around a circular flow connecting the dining room to the entry to the family room to the kitchen and back to the dining room, how can you not want to run laps? With towels tied around your neck and stuffed animals in your hands and Milk Bones in your pockets so the dog will chase you?



runrun4run2run3



We did this for a while, and then two things happened. First, Thomas ran full-tilt into Blaze, who was pausing to catch his breath.

Imagine, if you can, being luckless enough to stand in the path of a 6-year-old boy coming up fast behind you, hell-bent on breaking the land-speed record for the Downstairs Mile.

Imagine, too, the exquisite surprise that would surely overcome you when that boy attempted to stop himself by digging his heels into the rug, with arms outstretched, skidding into your rear end like a cartoon character.

Now imagine one of the fingers on his outstretched right hand accidentally poking you directly in your doggy bunghole.

Well, you don't have to imagine. Your reporter was on the scene at the moment of impact.




goosey




Let's take a closer look.






gooseup


If I were that dog, it's hard to pick any single word that would adequately sum up my emotional state thereafter. Gun-shy might be one. Skittish might be another. Blaze went off into the kitchen to be by himself for a while, as a horrified Thomas washed his hand repeatedly in the sink. And that's when the second thing happened.

As Thomas was finishing his ablutions, he walked by the dog on his way to the family room. Still feeling bad about what happened, he bent down and gently patted Blaze on his hindquarter.

With a startled "Ork!" Blaze scrabbled to his feet and launched himself away from what I'm sure he thought was going to be a second, er, moving violation. He was in a blind panic, so he didn't see me. Despite the fact that I was standing directly in front of him.

His hard skull collided with the front of my left hip at speed. The CLONK that echoed through the kitchen was so loud, the Brownie heard us in the other room. It's the second time in two weeks my dog has creamed me, and I went down hard. So did he, rubbing his paws on his snout and rolling his head around on the rug. After a few seconds of sitting stunned on the floor--while the laughter of children echoed in our ears (this is what I get for letting them watch Tom & Jerry)--the dog slunk off to his kennel. I felt like joining him.

Instead, we decided to watch cartoons til lunch.

When I got up to make lunch (corn dogs, with melted chocolate bars poured into milk), a hideous knot of pain kept me from moving my left leg in anything other than a freakish Frankenstein-like gait. I examined the afflicted area and was stunned to discover an angry purple bruise approximately the size of my head. Or the dog's head, anyway.

I iced it and took some Tylenol while the kids drank their milk with spoons. The first activity of the weekend, and I was already on the DL. I was seriously panicking.

Luckily for me--and I'm using the term loosely--the doorbell rang just then...



NEXT>>

Comments:
Pansy.
 
You should have had a coffee spill counter before you used the word bunghole ... :(

My brand new spanking keyboard is again with coffee stains ..

I hope blaze did not hurt his snout.

:)

and that blue black could not have been more than a tiny bruise compared to what the poor dog went through.

sheeh... now I can only wished my love of life don't kill me if I buy a new keyboard again ... :P
 
Hmmm...perhaps the edict was not so thoughtless. Maybe it was a rule invented more to protect the parent, No? Or at least innocent and unsuspecting doggy bungholes.

Here's hoping you do better in round two.
 
Oh my... this is like a Three Stooges Film that takes place in a Turkish Prison.

That is, if Turkish Prisons served corn dogs covereed with melted chocolate.

Wait.

Oh god.


:runs from computer screaming, waving arms in the air:
 
Exactly what I needed on this Monday morning! Now I really am starting to think your life is going to be turned into a sitcom any day now. My review would be "A rip-roaring-belly-laugh-a-minute look into the impossibly hilarious life of a modern-day family..."
 
funny, when I heard that HLS was going away for a yummy mummy retreat I immediately went into "calamitous yet funny post pending" mode --- MM, you did not disappoint =)
 
Well, MM, it sounds like whatever else you can say about your life, it is RARELY boring. Sounds like you had a fun weekend!
 
Ouch! And Blaze doesn't look like a light dog either. ;) And poor Thomas. I'd wash my hands more than once as well. XD

That's cool that you suspended the "No Running" rule. :) I've never gotten to do that when I was home with dad. Sounds like you all had fun. ^^
 
Ha, this is exactly what I needed. Ok, so not really, but the laugh helped. :D

What a way to babysit!

I was on the phone with JML when my son headbutted me full force, well, right about where a two-year-old's head comes up to on his mom, if you know what I mean. Suffice it to say I'm grateful I'm his mom and not his dad, but it was bad enough. She started laughing and said the same thing had happned to you. I feel your pain.

(restraining joke about boo boos and make-it-better kisses)
 
Oh, the poor dog! And you! That is one nasty bruise. But dear me, MM, corn dogs and chocolate bar milk? Just because it has protein doesn't mean it's healthy. Ew.
 
...corn dogs, with melted chocolate bars poured into milk...

Oh my goodness. That's the kind of parent most children dream about. But for yours, this is reality...

...wow. (Since I'm a teenager, this still impresses rather than shocks me.)

That is one nasty looking bruise, but I gotta tell ya, I'd rather have that bruise than the fates of Blaze or Thomas (particularly his finger).
 
Hah! My friend's little girl met a neighbor's Shar Pei. She was enthralled. Sad droopy face, skin that didn't fit, cute curly tail exposing a tempting wrinkled hole... Yep, she said, "Mommy, what's this?" and poked her finger in right up to the first knuckle!
 
Oh Lordy! Thank you for the friggin' belly-laugh tonight! I just got home from a 12 hour day at the office (an accountant - I NEEDED a laugh) and this just hit and wiggled my funny bone! I was wheezing I was laughing so hard and the cracks kept on coming!
 
Hilarious! Love your blog. Not surprised about your injury. When I leave my kids alone with my husband for more than three seconds, someone always gets hurt, something always winds up shattered into bits on the floor, and some unidentifiable perishable item from the Frigidaire is always found in a pungent state in a peculiar place. Why can't you men keep the peace???
 
MM, this is UNGODLY in its hilarity. As if the one picture of Blaze wasn't awesome enough, the close up caused me to snarf water all over the place and earn me a few strange looks from the coworkers.

Spiffy.
 
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