By: Tosha Woronov
My dog has diarrhea. I don’t know what’s wrong with him but I do know I can’t handle it anymore. He’s behind me in the office right now, farting away as I type. He’s throwing up too, and I’m having trouble finding my compassionate side. I know he can’t help it, but coming home after a long morning of helping out at my son’s school (Kindergartners! What kind of prescription medication must his teacher take in order to put up with 20 psychos all day?) –to a house already dirty with dishes and piles of laundry and scattered crayons and whatever the cat’s gotten into –to find piles of vomit and poop on various rugs throughout the house (on the rugs -always the rugs -never the hardwood floors), I could only think what the FUCK have you been eating?! It’s not the cat food anymore. His incessant eating of that caused a bout of diarrhea several weeks ago –an episode that went on for five days and got so bad that by Day Five I sobbed and sobbed while cleaning it. Now I stand like a sentinel as the cat mows down his meal, guarding before Charlie can sneak just one more taste. So it’s not cat food. Look closer. Oh it’s grass! Of course it’s grass, fucking stoner dog. Stop eating the grass! Oh look at this pile –is that…rabbit poop?! Are you seriously eating rabbit poop from the backyard?? So I lost it again yesterday when Leo and I returned home. Not right away, but once I saw that the cat had walked in it, had walked all over the couch –tiny kitten vomit/crap footprints on our couch –I lost it. I didn’t sob. I yelled. Oh my GOD!!!! I cannot DEAL with this! I’m gonna LOSE it! I can’t TAKE this anymore! What is WRONG with this dog?? When is your DAD…GOING…TO…GET…HOME!!?!? And then I noticed Leo. Poor Leo. Beautiful child of a crazy woman. He was crying, silently crying.
I found my compassionate side.
Baby, it’s ok. Mommy is just really really overwhelmed right now. I’m not mad at Charlie and I’m DEFINITELY not mad at you. I shouldn’t let you see me so upset. It’s ok baby. Shh, shh, it’s ok. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…
And I found my compassion for Charlie, too. How dare I judge him for eating shit that makes him sick? I once had the stomach flu all day on a Saturday but came downstairs 10 hours later –my stomach still trembling — saw the pizza that Pete had ordered for himself (while his sick wife lolled around on her deathbed), and ate a slice. Of pepperoni pizza. I’ll never forget the look of disgust on Pete’s face. So I can’t judge Charlie. Maybe rabbit poop is delicious. But still.
I stayed up last night petting his head, checking his nose for signs of coolness (maybe an old wives’ tale, but I always feel better when his nose is cold), wondering if we should go to the vet. I know the only real issue right now is dehydration (we’ve been through this before) so I tried like hell to get him to drink water, or lick an ice cube, which worked when he was a puppy. Please Charlie, just drink something. Nope. But at the crack of dawn today I let him out to pee or throw up or whatever he had to do and he went directly to the moss-covered, half-filled, slime-infested, unplugged water fountain…and drank from that. Good choice Charlie.
I will say this: I am not at all proud of freaking out so badly that I made my son cry. I’m ashamed actually. (You know you’re really ashamed when you decide to confess it in a blog.) But Leo has been incredibly helpful ever since. Jumping out of bed the second I woke him for school today, finding clothes to wear without protest, brushing his teeth with no prompting, and even asking last night before bed…(ok this is the shameful part)…”Mommy is there anything I can do to help your burden?” Burden. He said burden. (Oh god I am the worst.) He’s afraid of upsetting his crazy biatch of a mother so he’s now Mr. Cooperative. But is that so bad…? It’s a positive outcome, right? Just the other day he removed his socks while watching TV, tossed them up, and cared not at all that one landed on the flat screen. But today he’s thoughtful. Today he wants his mother unburdened, and how many 6-year-olds feel that way? The dog loses his shit, I lose mine, and the kid behaves. Nice!
I know; scaring your child to the point of total compliancy is probably not recommended in modern alterna-parenting books, huh?
Ok, I have to be finished with this now. The smell’s unbearable…
[Photo Credit: Flickr Member Leah Lockhart Rogers]
The post Shit Everywhere (or How to Get Your Child to Help Around the House) appeared first on The Next Family.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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