Smells Like Teen Spirit. Or Dog Shit. Whatever.

I got a text from the Hubster last week saying, "I think the dog shit in the laundry room."

I texted back, "Uh, that's usually something that you don't have to think about-- you either see the shit or you slide through it because you missed it."

I smell nothing at all. I've also been paralyzed waiting for you to get 

home and "happen" to walk by the overflowing litterbox, gag audibly,

and clean it yourself.  

I found the exchange unsettling, though, because while my husband is a marvel of nearly anything in the universe, the one thing he is pitiful at is smelling odors.  There was a time, back when we had two cats and two dogs, that I was certain that it was a ploy, a way to get out of litterbox duty.

So if my wonderful, amazing and olfactory-deprived husband smelled dog shit, chances are our house is located on an elephant toilet area in the middle of Turd Island.  I was more than worried about arriving home that night.

Of course, I had no recollection of our conversation by the time I pulled into the driveway 8 hours later, so there was no prep work or last-minute prayers said before breaching the threshold.  I just bust open the door took a deep breath and said, "Hello....ooo. Oh! Dear GOD ALMIGHTY! What died in HERE!?!"

I turned around and slammed the door shut. I looked at my progeny with panic in my eyes. "Children, something has happened. You need to get back in the car. Just get back in the car! Get IN THE CAR!"  Kiddo #1, wide-eyed, picked her brother up with what can only be described as Hulk-like strength, propelled him into the car and got herself inside. It was done so quickly that time seemed to slow down like in Charlie Angels movies.

Or was there just one movie? I forget.

I would have been more impressed with Kiddo #1's hands-free cartwheel back into the car, if I wasn't searching wildly for police line tape and my cell phone. MY CELLIE!  I set it down on the washer just before taking my deep, terrifying breath! GAAAAH!

I looked back at the kids, then at the door. Back to the kids. To the door. I mouthed the words "I got this." and Kiddo #1 screamed "Nooooo!" and put her hand on the window while sobbing. "Noooo Mommy! It's not worth it!"

I took another deep breath, counted to three and re-entered the house. Blinded by the fumes, I fumbled around for my cell.  I felt it, but it bumped around and slid out of my grasp. I exhaled sharply and whined. I had no breath left, still didn't have my phone, and the stink of dog shit had my eyes watering so bad that I couldn't see it even if I tried.  Mercy, MERCY I cried.

I took a sharp breath through my teeth, cried and grabbed the phone.  Perfect.

I already had the iPad in the car, and we are close enough to use our Wifi in the garage.  I set the kids up with Netflix (Thomas The Tank movie) and Tangled (already on the phone) and left them secure in the garage.  I kissed them both, told them I love them, and returned to the scene of the shitty, shitty crime.

I went back in the house to our very confused doggie.

Me: Rizzo, why did you shit in the house?
Rizzo: ???
Me: You never shit in the house. Why did you shit in the house?
Rizzo: ???
Me: You need to (gag) go outside and (gag) go pee.
Rizzo: ??? (jumping and twirling toward the back door)
Me: Don't shit in the house! (shutting the back door)

I put the dog out and began searching for the pile of rotting feces.  I picked up the million shoes that are in the entrance way (also, when did we buy that many shoes? Dear LORD! And when did we ever need hip-waders?!?). Nothing. I picked up the Hello Kitty roller bag, nothing. I moved the dog dishes, slid the bin of ice skates to one side... nothing. So where was the stink of death coming from?

And then, just as quickly as it was there, it was gone again. Suddenly there was no stench at all.  Figuring I would wait until Husband returned home again, I brought the kids back inside. They cheered at my victory over the stench and we all had fruity-ice-pop things and high-fives. Yeah me!

When Husband got home, he also smelled nothing, and assumed our stinky problem had returned from whence it came, I took all the glory for having triumphed over the smell.

Then, the next morning, as I was getting my winter boots on, I got a whiff of the foul odour again.  It was even worse than before. This time it smelled like old deli meat and sweat.  I don't recommend ever doing something so you might smell that stink for yourself, but if you have been there, you've got a body shiver just reliving the idea of it.  For that, I'm sorry.

I winced and pretended I couldn't smell it and left for work silently. Shitty? Yes. Darwinian? Absolutely.

When I got home that night, with the children again, I had totally forgotten about the stink AGAIN.  I walked in, shouted "Hellooooooo Fuuuuuuug!" and turned the kids around again.  They rolled their eyes and looked at each other, pushed past me and went in the house. It was like they thought I was being completely melodramatic!

I went back inside, determined to find Rizzo's indiscretion.  I hunted. I poked, I moved, I sniffed high, low, behind, beside and... in...

With a crash, I dropped the washer lid.  The stink that had been attacking our house was a load of wet, bedding? A load of laundry neither one of us remembered starting; that unholy stench was coming from (once) clean linens? Gagging, I inched the lid open, threw in some leftover cloth diaper soap (non-harsh but super effective on things that not only smelled like shit (like my bedding) but actually had some on it (uh, the diapers, I mean. Not the bedding)) and set the washer to 30-minute soak.  Twice.

And then once more without any soap in it at all. I looked at Rizzo.

Me: Hey, sorry you got the blame for this.
Rizzo: ???
Me: You're a good girlies, you know?
Rizzo: It's about damn time you figured it out. I thought I was gonna have to get the turtle to spin a web that said, "Some Stink" with a frickin' arrow pointing to the washer.
Me: Easy, Rizzo.
Rizzo: Seriously.
Me: Easy.

Breaking Out of A Minimum Security Prison and Other Tails

Saturday began as any other day.  We got up, got dressed and met GG (Husband's grandmother) for breakfast at the local pancake house.  Life is always good on GG Breakfast Saturdays.

After we got home, Kiddo #2 seemed like he wasn't feeling great, so Husband snuggled the heck outta him while Kiddo #1 and I cleaned her turtle tank and her bedroom.

Kiddo #1 caught the 5 feeder goldfish and put them in the jar with the gross water and the plants and the snails, and scooped up Jelly, our turtle.  While she played with him in her room, I began removing the rest of the water from the 10 gallon tank. I really don't change the water more than once a season-- the fish and snails really keep the tank pretty clean. It's a sweet eco-system that makes me sing Lion King songs all the time.

Of course, there also comes a point, usually after Jelly has consumed his weight in ESCARGOT, that the tank begins getting super gross. And around that point I start yelling at the fish tank about how we'd paid 19 cents for the feeder goldfish, and they're much bigger and tastier and the snails are $3.50 a piece and since when did Jelly decide he was a freakin' gourmand?!?  Gah!

I looked at the fish and plants and snails in the 1 quart jar swimming around and just had to watch them for a bit. I really didn't think about all the hours I would spend watching Jelly and his friends/food interacting in the fish tank Kiddo #1 so desperately wanted.  I really thought Kiddo #1 and #2 would be the ones fascinated, not me. Ain't nobody got time for THAT! But I will wander to the children's bathroom (where we keep the tank) at least once a day. 

I find it incredibly relaxing to watch the goldfish circle around. Snails are amazing to me: I can watch their little sucker-mouths all day. And Jelly is so strong! Turtles always look like they're old and feeble, plus they have a bad rap for being slow. I think Aesop's fable was actually one to trick us into thinking turtles are slow-- Jelly is one quick mamma-jamma!

I love let the Jelly run from palm to palm.  I'll flip him onto his back and rub his belly to make him sleep-- ok, I saw that last part on a documentary on alligators and tried it once on the turtle because they're not that different (or was it a documentary on dinosaurs? I forget.).  I don't know if he likes it or if he's playing dead to get me to leave him alone. Either way, I feel like I'm being a good turtle mommy and either way, he gets to go back in the tank shortly after indulging me, so life is good. 

When Kiddo #1, red faced, entered the bathroom and said, "Mom, did you move Jelly?" and I said, "No. I've been busy cleaning his tank."  I had a bad feeling.  I said, "Kiddo #1, where did you leave him? Aren't you holding onto him?" 

Kiddo #1: No.

Me: Why not?

Kiddo #1: I put him down because you asked me to tidy my room.

Me: You can't just put the turtle down! Where is he?

Kiddo #1: I don't know! And if I couldn't put him down, then you shouldn't've asked me to clean my room!

Me: Ok. Uh. Where did you leave him? 

Kiddo #1: Here. (pointing to a Rubbermaid bin lid)

Perhaps not unbelievably, Jelly our beloved turtle, broke free of his minimum security holdings. Perhaps unbelievably, Jelly was no where to be found. I mean, No. Where. To. Be. Found. Husband and I picked up everything off Kiddo #1's floor, moved stuff out of her bathroom, out of Kiddo #2's room. Nothing. We disassembled her bed, took her mattresses out of her room ... nothing. We searched high and low.  No, we searched low and lower, to no avail.  Oh sure, we knew we'd find him in the next week, but we didn't really want to find Jelly with our noses, if you know what I mean.

Damn it, Chloe! Patch me through to Jelly, NOW! 

After his first 24 hours out of the tank, I had a red clock like the one from 24 running in my head.
Boop-Beep-Boop-Beep.

After Day 2, I considered posting an ad in Craigslist looking for a roommate that loves escargot and high-humidity situations and having the lucky winner pay me $350 a month plus cable to live in the fish tank. It seemed completely legit, until I realized that if we were to have a tenant said tenant would probably demand my side of the garage, which is a major deal-breaker in February!

On Day 3, our ancient Jack Russell Terrier, Rizzo, was whining and sniffing around the far corner of the living room-- pawing at it, even.  I panicked and nearly lost the amazing game of Bejeweled that I was playing instead of making supper for the family!  After I finally died in Bejeweled  I decided to get a bag to cover my hand and go get the dead turtle from where our dog was obsessively staring.

I shoo'd the dog away and moved the dump truck that was protecting the carcass from our dog's snapping chops.  Sure enough, Jelly had skedaddled his way from the far corner of Kiddo #1's room to the far corner of our living room   I was actually amazed in a "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" sort of way.  But now I was grossed out at the though of having to deal with my daughter's dead turtle.  I put my hand in the plastic bag I brought with me, and I gingerly poked the shell.  And the damned turtle was ALIVE!

I screamed like I was watching "Polar Express" (or some other very scary movie like that one)!  I picked up Jelly and walked him quickly to the tank. I plunked him into the water and watched him sink to the bottom. I watched some air bubbled leave his mouth.  And then I saw him start swimming around-- I've never been so happy-- it was like the end of that movie, "Polar Express" where the kid that looks like Dewey from "Malcom in the Middle" gets his damn present.

"Dear Lord, if you let me make it back to the tank,
I promise I won't eat the escargot again. Ever.
Like, seriously, ever. Unless they spontaneously die,
and then I might as well eat them anyway, right?"

I'd wager that Jelly did some serious praying to get back home alive, because seconds after I put him back in the tank, 6 of our 7 snails died. Or maybe they just sacrificed themselves to Jelly as a welcome-back present. Either way, I gulped back my "WTF Snails! Jelly eats the 19 cent FEEDER FISH! GAH!" and said instead, "Welcome home, Jelly."