I wake up, and Smooch is still sleeping. I stretch and try to remember the three things I was chanting in my head before I fell asleep…. Malaria. Where did that come from? Oh, right. M, L, R. Mortgage payment, Library, Recycling.
I get dressed and pull my hair into a ponytail. I take all the recycling to the curb. Check! It is finally feeling like fall outside, and my shivers make me happy. On my way back inside, I hear Smooch calling out for me.
After I get his diaper changed (Shooo-ey, Mama, he tells me. He has adopted his father’s expression for describing dirty diapers.) and his little fleece pants and long-sleeved shirt on, we snuggle on the big bed and watch the Today show for a few minutes. Then I make both of us a bowl of oatmeal and jot a grocery list.
We head out the door and off to Kroger, where the soda is 4 for $12. Gruff is always telling me we need “choices” of drinks, so this is his lucky day. I choose Diet Coke, Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet A&W Root Beer, and Diet Vernor’s Ginger Ale. Smooch has brought his stuffed Grinch with him, which is getting funny looks from the male shoppers and bemused, indulgent smiles from the female shoppers. We check out after a small tussle over touching the buttons on the card scanner. Luckily, he doesn’t manage to reprogram it or deduct thousands of dollars (ha! like there’s that much in there!) from my checking account, and we exit the store.
I unload the groceries and feed Smooch a snack, make a half-pot of coffee and treat myself to an apple danish. Then we rush back down the stairs and into the car and across town for Toddler Time story hour at the library. Check! Smooch does better this week, though he still ends up in my lap with me whispering in his ear to keep him from going all bonkers all over the room. Two weeks ago he was a model citizen at story time – he sat on a little mat, listened to three stories, clapped after each one, and got up and put away his mat with the other dozen two year olds. I wonder what happened to that kid? A friend of mine is there with her three kids and I get to chat with her for a few minutes before chasing down my little racer. Nice to have an adult connection in the middle of the morning.
At the checkout desk, I have four books on hold. Jackpot! I reserved a few books about blogging (not that I’m promising any big improvements around here, though) and they are all in. Now I can’t wait for naptime.
When we get home, I pull into the garage and open the door. A wave of odor hits me, and I nearly gag. My house smells like cat poo. My gray cat is sleeping on my glider rocker, and I glare at him angrily as I survey the playroom… no poo. I walk carefully up the stairs and the smell gets stronger. I’m still holding Smooch, afraid that if I put him down he will run right into the poo and then I will have so much more to clean. Ewwww. This smell is disgusting. Where the hell is it coming from? The living room, dining room, and kitchen check out. So does the bathroom. I walk into my room and gingerly move the comforter. Since it’s shades of browns and tans, I’m afraid I won’t immediately see the poo and I don’t want to accidentally think there’s none, but then sit on it. (Oh, gross. Doesn’t that thought just make you throw up a little?) The bed, the laundry basket, and the closet are all fine.
I step into Smooch’s room. Holy mother of God, the stench is overpowering. And, there it is. A little pile of liquid cat poo on the floor of the closet. I shut Smooch out of the room and gather my cleaning supplies. Gag, scoop, toss. Gag, scrub, toss. Repeat. The carpet is clean, but the smell lingers. I open the window, I spray a little Yankee Candle Room Freshener. I emerge from the Room of Stink and throw away the garbage and scrub my hands like a surgeon on his way to operate.
Smooch chooses yogurt for lunch. He eats it sitting on the kitchen floor with me. We have chairs; he just doesn’t always like them. I change his diaper and take him to his room. The smell has dissipated, but I keep the window open a crack to keep the fresh air circulating. I put him in his crib; he sees his stuffed animals and starts embracing each one in turn, so I turn to leave.
I begin my naptime ritual: find myself something to eat, settle in with the laptop. Log in to my bank account and make sure the mortgage check has gone through. Check! Only 2:00, and I’ve finished my whole to-do list for the day.