The Smell of Poop in the Morning

At six thirty am I standing in the rain under the plum tree waiting for Beazle to pee.  The crows are hopping around in the black walnut tree and two squirrels dash along the top of the fence from tree to bush.   Beazle walks slowly, lifting and placing his paws carefully on the sodden grass.  He is very low down and his belly scrapes so he comes in from peeing all wet and needs a toweling before I tuck him back into bed with Joshua.

A few minutes before seven, Frost staggers through, wrapped in a blanket, and curls on the couch to read a Foxtrot comic he has read 100 times before.  He has limited inputs so when he's reading he cannot hear me and all my injunctions to "get dressed" "Give me your dirty lunchbox" and "check if your Jogathon claims are due today" fall on deaf ears.

[Mushashis for lunch.  Aside: can I just say, Japanese Seaweed Salad is my most favorite thing and I have to learn to make it.  It has the perfect balance of salt, sesame, spice and green crunch.  I could eat cups of it a day.   I wonder where you buy the fresh seaweed to make it. I wonder what species of seaweed it is?]

Wren wakes up a little later and immediately asks if he has to go to school today and then sits at the kitchen table weeping piteously when I say "yes".  

An hour later things are under control.  Wren is dressed.  Frost has eaten Penny Arcade and read his breakfast.  Wren has checked Zombie Farm and killed a Boss and some big carrots.

I wake Beazle to play with the boys and they bounch around the living room a bit while Wren builds a fort of pillows.  All is well.

"Mom.  Beazle is POOPING!"  yells Frost. 
"I don't want to see it!" says Wren.

I grab Beazle and run to get a bag to pick up the poop.  As I gather the poop and clean the carpet  Frost shouts "Beazle has more poop hanging out of his bottom!"

"Argh!" Yells Wren, passing fast.

I swoop on Beazle with a plastic bag hand to try and catch the poo.  Beazle swings away from me, swinging the poop around.  It appears to be attached by some of my long hairs which is has unfortunately ingested.

"Mum, Wren is THROWING UP IN HIS HAND!" shouts Frost, informatively.

I grab the attached poop and Beazle squeaks as I pull it out.   Wren is crying in the bathroom.   I throw the poop in the bin and run in to find him throwing up on the floor.

"When will it stop?" he asks.  "Is there still poo?"

"No, its gone."

"I smell poo!"  he sobs, throwing up again at the thought of it.

Wren is now needing a change of clothes.  There is vomit all over the toilet.  Frost is shouting out something important about Where Beazle is, what happened or the stats of a Magic card.  I have no idea.  I cannot hear.   I haven't washed my hands yet and we are late for preschool. 

I clean Wren.  I clean the bathroom.  I wipe and spritz the kitchen.  I put on my raincoat and go to work.