Day 127

How my children pissed on a perfectly good day . . . literally.

Ever have one of those days where you are whipping its ass?  Today I kicked Friday so hard in the nuts that Thursday felt the ache.  Everything was falling into place.  Like Midas, everything I touched turned to gold.  Getting way more done than I should have and accomplishing so many tasks on the list I was certain that the weekend would allow for a little R&R.  Cleaned the house from top to bottom, wrote a couple of blog entries, studied French, and began painting my first masterpiece.  That's right, I am an artist now.  Don't worry, despite my current location, I have no intention of cutting off one of my ears and sending it to my lady love.   Christmas came in June this year.  A care package from home contained more goodies than I can shake a stick at.  Most notably, art supplies and a replacement pair of sunglasses.  All was going well, that was of course until my youngest woke from an impromptu nap.  Apparently not quite awake yet, he mistook the hallway and my cleanly mopped floor for the toilet and let loose just outside of his bedroom. He came and found me, of course, and indicated that he had peed some on his pants when he was going to the bathroom.  He made no mention that he went to the bathroom in the middle of the hallway.

I rounded the corner on my way to his room to obtain a replacement pair of pants in my bare feet, and quickly realized the bounty of his efforts.  Father turned Olympic figure skater, I eased my way into a slippery triple lutz, unfortunately I failed to stick my landing and ended up needing a clean pair of pants for the both of us. Since my own pants seemed to have soaked up a fair amount of his urine, mopping up was a cinch.  I decided it was time to open a bottle of wine and call it a week, which is exactly what I did.  The wife got home, we went for a bike ride, had dinner, I washed my feet and went to bed.  Sometimes just surviving is good enough.