If you are considering eating brownies or anything brown; you want to leave this post. Do not read this.
If you don't have, what I like to call a "Mother's Stomach" you might want to skeedaddle on over to some cute, DIY blog post on chevron stripes.
Right now, it's about to go down.
We have a loveable Maltipoo, named Boo.
She's 13 lbs of hypoallergenic fun.
Except for the accident.
You know, I wasn't giving much credit to all those crazy doomsdayer's beliefs, until last night when things got messy.
The Husband and I don't think cohesively during late night hours. If something disturbs our sleep, we get up and act as if we are on Ambien or something. If a mess happens, we usually put everything in the tub to find it the next day after we had forgotten about whatever grossity had taken place.
Example: Leelah comes in the room one night at say, 1:00amish. She's asking about wanting water. We are tired (read: Bad Parents). J incoherently says: "Go drink out of the faucet." I know, I'm so ashamed. I say: "Cup your hands." What!? I'm the worst. Atrocious.
Last night, June 19th: 12:45am.
Boo, beloved family pet, begins to whine.
I hear it first and murmur to John to get up and go see what is happening. My first thought from growing up in Houston is: We are being robbed. Doesn't matter if it's the Grand Trumpet of the Rapture, my go-to thought is: robbery is taking place.
He goes- always in anger- and lets the dog(s) out. Returns to bed- still angry.
Family Pet-Whining has not ceased.
We say random things to each other like, "Maybe she's hungry." "Are we being robbed?" "Go check on Leelah." and "You didn't leave her out long enough." - Oh wait, I just said all that. John was just angry. Don't mess with Texas, or John's sleeping.
Dog still whining.
John in a huff goes to let her out again. I'm quasi-sleeping and have hit "snooze" on thinking we are being robbed. John is probably still angry.
Dog won't shutup. So annoyed. Please don't get all PETA on us.
Am I in purgatory? Oh wait, I don't believe in that. Phew. Why is John not fixing this? He has to fix everything in an unangry matter.
For the love of Benji, Boo is still wimpering!!!!
John retries the take-out. Maybe it's raining? Can't comprehend thought.
Quietness. Good! Way to go John.
3:31am- Destiny happens.
John calmly and loudly says: "Gillian, come here."
I unconsciously think, "Yes, Lord. Is it time?"
Oh it was time.
I realize husband is missing. Now what!?!?!!!
I realize his voice is coming from the diningroom/kitchen/notsogreatroom.
Now listen/read, I am all kinds of sight impaired when I awake. So I have to feel my way out of my room or else, there will be blood. Stupid, beautiful sleigh bed.
I clumsily walk into the notsogreatroom. I don't see John's tallness and realize he's sublevel on the dining room floor.
There is is his face. Scrunched up all crazy like. He's holding Boo in a strange headlock so as to not move her from her spot. And Boo. Her face is so shameful. Those big soultaking eyes all sad and embarrassed staring at me. And the smell.
IT WAS THE WORST SMELL I'VE EVER SMELLED AND IT KEPT GROWING EXPONENTIALLY.
John proceeds to reenact what happened like some Native American Storytelling hour around a campfire:
I was going to let her out again, but she started to act weird. And then she came back to the rug. And then I heard this sick-nasty squishy noise like this:
our dog lost her bowels all over our Garden Ridge dining room rug. That's why I don't have PB stuff.
It looked like some kind of sauce from h-e-l-l. Sorry, I don't like to swear. The smell grew worse by the second.
I, being trained in Poop Tactics, flew into action and grabbed my arsenal: Oxyclean powder, a wet towel, lysol spray, and a whole roll of paper towels. John maintained the dog-headlock and strangely wiped her tuna-fish-smell butt with wet ones. Those poor, poor wet ones.
I'm pretty sure we accidentally made meth with the chemical combination. I'm being facetious. I'm just saying, we were NOT organic in cleaning it up. And I almost yacked. Which surprised me. I can talk about kid-excrement while eating a burrito all day long, but at 3:45am I was weak.
We went back to bed laughing. I'm glad God put us together. We are a team, John and I.
Earlier in the week we had just gone to see Prometheus--- goozy alert--- and came home to a kid that had sucked juice out of her ice pack she got from a couch fall. Normal for the Nichols. I'm pretty sure if we had our own show, I'd watch it.