A Scene from Yesterday Morning

Whenever I tell Sean about anything stressful or hectic that happens during the day he tells me that, during the time he stayed home with Aiden this past spring, nothing stressful ever happened. Then I like to remind him that it's because he literally stayed at home each day, whereas I would go crazy staying home and try to get out of the house with Aiden as frequently as possible. However, in order for this to be a success, three major things must happen: a) he must wear clothing, b) he must eat breakfast in an acceptable amount of time (i.e. in less than an hour) and c) he must act with some modicum of civility when in public.

Yesterday morning this trifecta was totally blown. It started with the epic battle of the pants. Fall is finally here and the morning temperature hovers between 50 and 60 degrees, and as Aiden is still getting over a cold, I informed him he must either wear pants or a sweatshirt and shoes (not sandals). This request was met with such outrage that he voluntarily climbed back into bed in nothing but Lightening McQueen underwear and hollered for nearly forty five minutes. All the while his oatmeal was slowly solidifying into a beige mass. Finally, after a negotiation session that was more convoluted than any Middle East peace talk, he was at the breakfast table in shorts, sweatshirt and socks. Of course, then there was the matter of the now congealed oatmeal. I broke and made him turkey bacon and yogurt, in an effort to speed things along. Then, once we were out the door we still had to take bear out to...um...go potty. I also needed to stop by the mailbox to drop off a Netflix DVD.

So here we are, next to the little doggy poo area out back: I'm trying not to land face first in mud while bear, all 55 pounds of her, takes off after a squirrel. I'm shouting over my shoulder for Aiden to follow me, as I'm dragged down a hill to a large oak tree, and he is angrily shaking his head NO. Finally Bear stops to bark up the tree and I'm able to threaten Aiden until he comes over. However, I let out a scream of disgust as Aiden holds up the body of a mangled, long dead lizard and says "Baby lizard!". I yank it out of his hand while informing that this is, in fact, a nasty rotting dead lizard.

He then bursts into tears screaming "DEAD BABY! DEAD BABY! DEAD BABY!" at the top of his lungs. I pick him up to comfort him, and to get to him to stop screaming "DEAD BABY" so loud I'm afraid someone is going to dial the police. During this time Bear has wrapped her leash around my legs about six times before I finally drop it.

Momentarily, I breathe a sigh of relief as I see her finally stop to go poo. There I am: Aiden monkey hugging my front while he screams "DEAD BABY!" at top volume, my key chain (complete with enough keys to outdo any janitor) clutched in my right hand along with that Netflix DVD, Bear's leash trapped under my left foot, my leather purse dangling off my left shoulder and the little green dog poop bag in my left hand. I lean down as far as I can to try and grab Bear's mess when suddenly, like a drunken skier careening down an iced-over double black diamond trail, I feel my purse, my lovely leather designer purse go sliding down my left arm which is still outstretched in front of me until PLOP! It lands squarely in the still steaming pile of dog poop.

At this point I think I threw my head back and shouted to the heavens: "I GIVE UP".