Let me just say, yesterday afternoon was a doozy. It started out in a somewhat unfortunately predictable way -- I walked in my son's room to get him after his nap and smelled the all too familiar scent of poo-in-the-pants. Ugh. Seriously, if my son is fully potty-trained by the time he turns eighteen, it will be a miracle. Anyway, this episode of poo-in-the-pants turned all too ugly when I was peeling his clothes off of him and the poo not only got on my newly cleaned tile bathroom floor but also on my hands. (Insert high-pitched girl squeals here.) I normally am very skilled at taking care of the poo clothing without having to ever have it touch me, but I guess my skills left me high and dry yesterday afternoon. So. incredibly. gross. Not to mention the fact that yesterday was house-cleaning day and, up until that point, my house had that fantastic just-been-cleaned smell, one that never seems to last long enough for my liking, and that was definitely cut way too short yesterday. My house was all at once left reeking of little boy poo.
Regardless, I did my best, took care of the situation, gave my boy a bath, and continued with my afternoon of getting things done. We had a fun event to go to last night, so I needed to make an appetizer to take. I got that done, got my boy all dressed (again), myself fixed up, and started to get nervous. You see, I had dropped our golden retriever off at a dog groomer's at 1:30 to get her annual cut for the summer. Since I am not a regular customer, I asked them how long it might take, and they told me it would probably be 5 or 5:30 at the latest that they would be done. Perfect, I thought, since I had to be back at my house by 6pm to leave for the event.
5:00 came and went. 5:30 came and went. Around 5:35pm, I decided I'd better call to see how things were going. And let me just say, I did so in a very non-pushy, ultra-nice way. The lady on the other end of the phone call? Not so nice. Apparently they had just gotten my baby in for a bath and had not even STARTED on the cut, and the lady told me that she would probably not be done for another HOUR. I politely told the lady that I had needed to be leaving my house at 6pm for something, and I didn't know that it would be so late that she would be ready. The lady then promptly, and in a not-so-nice tone of voice, told me that I should have told them if I needed an "early pick-up". I even offered at that point to come and get her and take her home, but that was not an option considering the dog was dripping wet and not even cut.
So I had to call and cancel getting to attend the fun event. At 6:20 I got the call that my dog was finished. When I got there to pick her up, I noticed on the door that the shop's hours were posted -- closing at 5:30 every day. So I wasn't crazy after all. They were there with my dog an hour past closing time. To top it all off, the bill was for $70. Good grief. I mean, she is a golden retriever, so I had expected to pay around $50 which is what we have paid in the past, but $70? She is not a large dog by any means -- she was the runt of the litter and much much smaller than most golden retrievers. You live and you learn.
Top the evening off with my son refusing to eat much of what I made for dinner, something that rarely happens as he is always a healthy eater, followed by my son's behavior turning horribly wrong, causing me to put him to bed early lest I go absolutely insane from his 3-year-old antics, and then a lovely evening of severe storms in our area until almost 3 in the morning, and you have my afternoon.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon.
As the mother in the book says though,
"some days are like that. Even in Australia."
(Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Vorst was one of my absolute favorite books growing up and is now a favorite of my son's as well.)