Happy FREAKING Thankgiving!

2007.11.23

I am so stuffed. I didn't think I had over-eaten. I thought I ate small portions. My belly hurts. I nearly missed Thanksgiving dinner altogether.

My wife had to work on Thanksgiving morning. She drew the short straw. She was dressed and out of the house by shortly after 7 AM. I got to stay home and hangout with my 15-month-old twin daughters, four dogs, and a cat. My son spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house.

By 7:30 AM, both of my daughters were awake. We were rolling around on the floor playing and having a good time. After some playtime, it was time to change their diapers and get dressed for the day. I got the joy of changing two poopy diapers.

Anyway, I fed the girls breakfast. Then, it was clearly time for another diaper change. Once again, both girls were poopy. By 9:00 AM, I had already changed 4 poop-filled diapers. (Riveting huh?)

The girls were dressed. Their bellies were full. It was time to play. We went to their bedroom and played. After about 10-minutes, I heard a shredding sound coming from the living room. I headed to the living room to investigate.

I arrive in the living room and discover a shredded and half-eaten poopy diaper. I cringe in horror at the mess covering my floor. I blame myself - possibly, in my haste to get the girls dressed, I neglected to throw away one of the dirty diapers. I begrudgingly clean up the mess.

As a side note to this, our vacuum cleaner is broken. My wife broke the vacuum close to a month ago. So, I have to clean up this mess by hand. (Yeah... I was pretty disgusted by that too.)

So, I clean up the mess. I make sure there are no other diapers sitting loose. The area is as clean as I can get it. I scrub my hands under scolding hot water for several minutes.

I return to the girl's bedroom and resume playtime. After roughly 15 or 2-minutes of play, I hear an odd noise from the living room. I wasted no time, I ran to the living room to see what was happening.

The dogs managed to get another poop-filled diaper. For the second time in the past hour, the dogs had shredded a poop-filled diaper all over my living room floor.

My blood pressure began to rise. I was completely unamused by the prospects of cleaning up a second hurricane o' poop. Nonetheless, I went about cleaning up the disaster area that was my living room. Did I mention the vacuum is broken? Ok, just checking.

I finish cleaning up the living room. I scan the room. There are no diapers anywhere in sight. I wash my hands to the point that the skin is now cracking. I give each of the four dogs a dirty look and cuss under my breath.

I keep saying to myself, "Relax. Take a load off fella. It is okay. Don't worry a-boot it. You have the day off. Enjoy your family."

I return to the girl's bedroom and once again resume playtime. My nerves are pretty well fried. I am just trying to settle down and have my Hallmark moment with the kids. The kids have been great thus far.

Well, after about 25-minutes, I get suspicious. I leave the girl's room and venture to the living room. In the living room, I discover a 3rd half-eaten poop-filled diaper.

I am livid. I am really... really... ... ... really angry.

I go to the closet and pull out the vacuum. Yes, I am totally aware that the vacuum is broken. I don't care. I hope against hope that it will pick some of the million of flecks of feces strewn across my living room floor. After about 15-minutes of muttering and frustration, I gave up on the vacuum cleaner. I picked up the... crap. The room is in a complete state of disarray.

If children's services had stopped by, they would have taken the children. Right now, I would be in jail. You would be reading in your local newspaper about the horrible living conditions and how the children were rescued.

At this point, I realize what has been happening. The dogs are smart. Too smart. One of the dogs has figured out how to operate the trashcan sitting beside the changing table. The dog has figured out that if he steps on the pedal, the lid of the trash can raises and he can have snack whenever he is in the mood.

I hate this dog more than words can describe. He is my arch-nemesis. Sadly, he has spent the whole morning out-witting me. I cleaned up the mess by hand... again. Afterward, I scrub my hands to the point that my knuckles are bleeding. The dog calmly watches. I think he was smiling.

I once again tell myself, "Relax. Take a load off fella. It is okay. Don't worry a-boot it. You have the day off. Enjoy your family."

By this time the girls are screaming. They are tired. It has been a full morning of playing; pooping and watching Daddy's face get bright red. I calm the girls down and put them to bed for a nap.

I am exhausted. I need a nap. I decide to lay down on the couch in the living room. I figure that if I am physically in the room, the dog will not be bold enough to make further attempts on the now weighted down trash can lid.

I lay down on the couch. I close my eyes. I drift off to sleep. Maybe 10-minutes pass before my nap is ruined. I open my eyes just in time to watch the dog projectile vomit across the living room floor.

I hop to my feet. I push all 4 of the dogs out the door. I begin the process of cleaning up dog puke. I am swearing out loud. I am cursing my wife for bringing these monsters into our home.

I clean up the mess. I scrub my hands until there is no longer skin on my palms. I pack the girls in the car and head to Cincinnati.

My plan was simple. I would drop off the girls at Grandma and GrandpaÕs house. I would drive home. I would kill all of the dogs beef jerky and a garden hose and then spend my afternoon digging shallow graves in the backyard. I had it all worked out.

Sadly, my wife arrived in Cincinnati at the same time I did. She took the keys away from me. She would not let me leave. She told me I was not allowed to murder and bury the family pets on Thanksgiving, it would have to wait.

So, I stayed in Cincinnati and ate Thanksgiving dinner.