The weekend before Christmas, I asked everyone to help me scrub a layer of dust and dog hair off of everything in the house. Let me be more specific. My exact words were, “I need everyone to help clean the house this weekend. We have company coming over and there is dog hair and dust everywhere.”
Apparently, what they heard was, ‘Mom wants something done around here.’ Their application of this interpretation was to spend the December weekend putting out grass seed and aerating our very large lot.
The aerating machine completely covered the yard in giant dirt plugs. The short bus dog believed those dirt plugs were snacks from the cat and spent an entire day trying to eat all the dirt plugs. I don’t know if the dog forgot that it tasted like dirt after each and every bite or if she was eternally optimistic that the next one would taste like something other than dirt. I only know that I am a sympathetic puker and the mere thought of the dog barfing up mud puddles made my stomach hurt.
A few days later, it was the evening before Doug’s parents arrived and I repeated my request for help with the cleaning. Let be more specific. I said, “Please help me scrub the floors.” I have no idea what anyone actually heard. Their response was to completely empty the bathroom contents all over the living room floor and start working on the floor trim that has been ignored since last January. They weren’t making the bathroom sink functional. They were putting a row of tile on the walls.
It’s impossible to get upset with well-intentioned efforts, but if eye-rolling created muscles, I would be able to see the craters on the moon without a telescope.
Once upon a time, Doug declared that he could build Amy a playhouse in a single weekend. Since Doug is a perfectionist/artisan, that project continues more than a year later. Sunday afternoon, while Doug fretted over making the perfect cuts in a tiny scrap of red cedar, I said “be careful” and wandered off to work on the never-ending laundry pile. I almost made it in the front door when I heard the scream.
I sent boy teen in the house to get a hand towel. Boy teen, who regularly experiences Chevy Chase movie quality nosebleeds, retrieved a white washcloth. Hugging the increasingly red washcloth and a bag of ice, fake calm Doug hopped in the van shrieking at me to drive while a 6-y-o wept crocodile tears because, “Daddy has blood on his face. He’s got red on him!” An expressionless 9-y-o sat in the front window like a statue.
I drove to the ER while calling Aspie Caveman on the phone to alert him that he needed to leave the basement and help his youngest siblings. “Why? Did something happen?” The second I hung up the phone, the patient began a monologue critiquing and directing my driving. “Get in the other lane. Don’t take that road. Turn here. Why are you such a slow driver?” Clearly, I was enjoying our first moments alone in days so much that I didn’t care about the blood his shirt was absorbing to create the worst tye-dye design ever.
Once in the ER, Doug’s brain switched to entertainer mode He concocted about three jokes out of the current situation and repeated them to every kind soul who inquired about his splattered and splashed bloody clothing ensemble. After running out of social media distractions and waiting room audience, he returned to the check-in desk to ask the exact same questions he asked them when we arrived. A nurse behind the desk glanced at the bag of melted ice and the finger that was no longer obscured. “Do you really think there’s a fingertip to sew back on that finger?” Doug missed the comment completely, but it was my cue to distract him from peeking at his mangled finger.
A friend called to check on Doug. “I stopped by the house to check on the children. Tommy said it couldn’t have been that bad since Doug unplugged the table saw before leaving for the hospital.” I called the house to check on the children. Boy teen was making the pancakes and sausage that he cooks on every Boy Scout camping trip. The 9-y-o spent the entire three hours we were gone drawing pictures of herself crying with the occasional Dad picture thrown in just for portfolio diversity. The 6-y-o forgot everything about the incident the minute his older brothers turned on Megamind.
Once we made it beyond the waiting room, the evening became a flurry of activity focused on adding insult to Doug’s injury. It started with the first nurse’s, “There’s nothing left to sew.” This was followed by a shot in the arm, a shot in the hip and three shots in the injured finger. There was some aggressive blotting to clean up the messed up finger during which I seriously contemplated vomiting. An x-ray resulted in, “Well, it’s broken, but the broken piece of bone must have been scooped right out of there by the table saw.” A phone call to the hand surgeon resulted in poking and peeking in the puncture wound to study the damaged finger bone. Somewhere in this violent assault on Doug’s body, Doug stopped joking and started to look like he might take an unwanted nap. He could have been trying not to vomit. Either would have been a perfectly acceptable response to the situation.
Doug perked up when the nurse bandaged his finger in some kind of sock condom, but only because the nurse applied the tape unevenly. We barely escaped the room without a major Monk incident. As soon as we made it to the car, Doug started sounding like himself again. “Why didn’t I have the video camera on the driveway? This would have made great footage.”
It wasn’t until the next day that I realized the 9-y-o was making videos with my phone at the time of the injury. I watched her video while every muscle in my body tensed up in fear of what might be on the video. What I didn’t prepare myself for, was the 9-y-o’s voice reacting to it.
How Doug shops for anything at the hardware-ish store:
1. Visually survey all possible options.
2. Pick up and touch each option.
3. Use app to read reviews of each option.
4. Interview two store employees about each option.
5. Use another app to price check each option.
6. Think of an alternative technique involving completely different materials.
7. Repeat steps 1 – 6 with alternative technique’s materials.
8. Decide original method is preferrable.
9. Return to studying original options.
10. Choose item.
11. Question your choice the entire ride home.
12. Use item and rejoice.
How Doug shops for clothing:
1. Walk to nearest store employee.
2. Point to a mannequin.
3. Say, “I’ll take that outfit.”
4. Pay for clothing.
“How do they ship ladybugs?”
“Frozen, I think.”
“Cryogenic aphid management system?”
“No. High tech pest control.”
“I dont think you can get more low tech than ladybugs. Especially if they are frozen and dead.”
Doug: “What do you want for Mother’s Day?”
Me: “A new splash screen.”
Doug: “What do you want me to BUY you for Mother’s Day?”
Me: “You can give me a new splash screen for my birthday.”
I spent the weekend painting doors. Taking doors off hinges, carrying them outside, sanding, priming, painting and rehanging until the sunlight was no longer available to guide my brush. When the children were tucked in bed and the morning outfits were neatly organized, I collapsed in bed. Doug sat with his laptop while I tapped on the iPad. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Doug sniffing his armpit. I turned to watch him just as he sniffed his other armpit.
Me: “Is there a problem?”
Doug: “I thought I smelled funky, but I don’t.”
Doug: “Look at all these updates for your ___! When’s the last time you updated?”
Me: “I did a backup and update yesterday. Those patches appeared overnight.”
Doug: “Oh. Never mind.”
The only thing that we didn’t pack for our trip to DC was Amy’s sneakers. Because of that, our first outing began with a trip to Target. I listened to one half of a conversation.
Doug: “Hello.”
“We’re at Target.”
“We forgot Amy’s shoes. I’m making a video.”
“The escalator! It’s awesome!”
I missed the rest of the conversation because I wandered off to avoid being a part of the video. Later that night, I heard about the caller’s side of the conversation.
Danny: “Where are you? What have you seen so far?”
“WHY are you at Target?” thinking - Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“A video of what?” thinkingHe’s going to say it. Here it comes.
“Oooookay.” thinkingI hate that stupid cart escalator. Why does everyone who visits want to talk about the cart escalator?
