The dog days...of a sick eccentric

I do believe Dog was a game hatched in recent weeks at school, but I didn't hear about it until Oliver's first sick day at home, last Friday.

"Mama," called a weak voice "I need to make a collar."
"What, Oliver? A collar? Why?"
"Because I am a dog."

Y'all can be damn sure I took that kid's temperature and was shocked to find he had not a speck of extra heat.

"Mama, do you have any ribbon?" Ol asked, a few hours later. 
"Sure, honey, here you go." Because I have a ribbon box, and on occasion, I am willing to share it generously.

I'm sure y'all know where this is going, but I did not. He soon came upstairs with a ribbon/safety pin/tagged collar on and was smiling beatifically.

"Look, mama, I also made a leash. Will you walk me?"

Seriously, people, I nearly crapped.

"No, Oliver, I will NOT walk you."
"Why, mama? My owner at school does. I also need a bone."

WHAT THE WHAT?!?! 

Channeling zen and forcing my voice to stay steady, I replied, "Ol, people don't own other people. Why don't you tell me more about this game, because so far, I am not comfortable with it."

"Oh, well X owns me, and Y and Z tell me to fetch. You know, I also need a bowl. I love dogs. Sometimes I get thirsty. It is a fun game."

I am normally very zen about weird playground shit and nonsensical games. I'm sure I did all manner of ridiculous idiocy as I came of age, and I do believe strongly in play and pretend and role reversal and all that granola-type jazz. 

But another kid "owning" my kid and "walking him" while others throw bones so he can fetch? 

No, I'm sorry. No.

Since Ol was sick and clearly going to be at home with me for a while, I said my piece and thought that surely, this game would blow with the winds into the graveyard of all weird games before it. I mean, really, when Jack was in 1st grade, the girls played Kitty Cat until the teachers stepped in for some reason that was both reasonable and I can't remember now.

Today, Ol went back to school. I was thrilled and went out to rake leaves. When I came in, I saw a message from the nurse: Oliver is nauseous and looks miserable.

Double shit.

I went back to school, picked him up, later learned that he'd had birthday celebration cupcake which his tender tummy is not yet ready for and which prompted the nausea, took him to the doctor and while standing in line at CVS to get Gatorade heard this: "Mama, today I want to make a dog bowl."

We returned home, him skipping all the while -grr- and while I dealt with the slug-infested Halloween pumpkins, he snuck to the basement and made a bowl. Which I found him faux-drinking out of when I walked back in.

My patience left two days ago, so I really just couldn't feign any interest or support for this weirdness. Not least because he had the collar back on. 

I spoke to the teachers. It's a teachable moment. It's so odd. You just never know, y'all. Especially when it comes to tiny eccentrics. Bless him. But.

The porcelain god

Have you ever noticed just how graceful a toilet's s-curve is? I hadn't, until this morning. What I'm calling the s-curve, because I do not know much about toilet anatomy, is the swan's neck at the bottom rear. This curve was a fabulous invention because it blocks the smell of sewage that might otherwise pervade your loo. 

Toilets take care of so many unsavory problems. What would college campuses be like without flushables? Homes full of potty-training and sick children? Hospitals? We're lucky I tell you. Thank you, Sir John Harington, for your inspired invention.

I became intimate with not one but three toilets this morning. Before 9:30am. Happy Monday to me!

Oliver is sick and though he tends to be a real puke-and-rally champion who makes it to the porcelain god on time and has great aim, such has not been the case during the past twelve hours. That sweet boy bedecked not only his bathroom's john but also those in the basement and main floor with all manner of that which should have stayed in.

For extra fun, Nutmeg joined the game and booted all over the basement floor but at least chose tile versus carpet.

After bringing Jack to school and nestling Ol onto the couch with blankets and Gatorade, Indiana Jones on the screen before him, I donned plastic gloves, got out every disinfecting product I own, grabbed old rags and paper towels and got to work. I'm not a real germaphobe, but my house this morning was a serious Code Red.

As I ran a soapy cloth over the cool, shapely curves, I thought about what a lovely material porcelain is and how easy it is to clean and make shine. Aren't we lucky, in many ways, to live in the age of modernity? Can you imagine bedpans and outhouses? For a great number of people, that remains reality. 

I considered the aesthetics of today's toilets and those who design them. I appreciate functional objects being made visually pleasing. And why not? Going to the bathroom is humbling enough. It can be downright gross, really, but since everyone goes, why not make the experience as nice as possible? 

A smooth seat is nice, a gentle flush that doesn't mist the user's legs is a must. I love the efficient sound of low-flow toilets taking only what's needed. Those slow-close lids? The best. 

My bathrooms now sparkle like the gleaming star off a Ken doll's tooth. They look and smell clean which is a welcome change from two hours back. Scrubbing the loos was meditative; despite a lack of sleep last night, I feel rested. Off to refill our diminished Gatorade supply.

The same smooth path

Today, all day, I felt like a good mom. The boys listened. We laughed. No one lost it. Homework was a breeze. Dinner was easy.

The machine was well-oiled and ran thus.

I believe that I am a good mother, but that conviction is sometimes harder to both feel and experience than it is to know. Take, for instance, the times another person praises your child for his manners, her leadership, his kindness, her creative spirit. In those moments, you see your child as others do rather than through the many possible lenses that day or week has placed in front of your eyes: ungrateful or authoritarian behavior, obstinance, yet another unapproved "science experiment" that's laid waste to your kitchen.

When you're battling over inane crap like toothpaste and pancakes and mediating sibling bicker fests about the number of raspberries per plate or the correct name of the Plus Plus toy; when you scream despite your best efforts or because you simply need to be heard...it can be hard to pat yourself on the back and believe in your maternal goodness. 

But on some days, the stars align and you find yourselves all walking the same smooth path together, hand in hand. 

And it's as lovely and simple and satisfying as you imagine it could be. Should be. Perhaps wish it were more often. Maybe will be tomorrow too.

For now, I'm staying present, stewing in the thick deliciousness of watching their crawls come along at swimming lessons and them dance their way to the parking lot afterwards. Of treating them to a surprise trip to the bookstore and beaming as they picked out one small book each, thoughtfully and gratefully. Of hugging them close when they thanked me so sincerely for the new books and being their mom.

Days like today can seem like sparkling bits of heavenly ephemera, but boy can they fill a mom's bucket.