07/20/2007

It's been a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day!" Can anyone relate?
"I went to bed with gum in my mouth, and now there's gum in my hair!"

OK. I confess, I did not go to sleep with gum in my mouth and there isn't any in my hair, either! But don't let that diminish the horror that has filled this day. Just as our good friend Alexander contemplated a move to Australia, I'm considering booking a flight! And, because I know the question may come up: I'M NOT BRINGING NATHAN!

I won't share every detail of the day as some things, like Nathan throwing a fit in the grocery store, are typical. I'll just fast-forward to the point immediately following Nathan's nap. I'll be the tour guide through an afternoon with Nathan.

3:30PM--Nathan knocks on his bedroom door (from the inside) and calls for...not Mama...not Daddy...but the CAT to come and open his door. Much to his disappointment, I opened the door instead of Valencia.

3:31PM--Nathan begins to panic. Where is the cat? He goes from room to room, yelling, searching neurotically for an animal who is oblivious to this raucous: she is sunning herself on the patio.

3:40PM--I've had all I can take. I go retrieve the cat. Nathan holds her protectively, upside-down, and a bit too tightly. She doesn't seem to mind. I let them play in the living room while I do some filing in the office.

4:00PM--The sweet sounds of happy playing are interrupted by a loud thump and a shrill cry. Tears are running down Nathan's cheeks before I can reach him, and he's only in the next room. In the excitement of a fast-pace pursuit, Nathan has run directly into the corner of a piece of furniture. Skin isn't broken, but the beginnings of a generous goose egg are evident on his forehead. "Down," he demands through his tears, "Down!" He'd rather be crying with the cat than with me.

4:30PM--I prepare dinner for Nathan and me. We are having 'breakfast' for dinner....toast with jam and scrambled eggs dolloped with ketchup. Nathan climbs up onto a chair to wait for his supper to be ready. "Pop?" he asks. I get him a glass of apple-flavored soda to drink while he waits. It wasn't the flavor he had in mind. He throws the entire glass of soda spilling it all over himself, the table and chair, and the floor. Then he cries. He doesn't like being wet.

5:00PM--Pop is cleaned up, Nathan is moved to a different chair, wet clothes have been stripped off, and dinner is ready. Nathan again requests pop. I head to the kitchen to grant his request. Not quick enough! In a fit of fury Nathan turns his plate of scrambled eggs and ketchup onto the floor. Great.

5:10PM--I've completed clean-up of the egg mess and have scrubbed the ketchup out of the carpet. I notice that Nathan has relocated to the living room to eat his toast. I ask politely if Nathan would like to return to the table. In answer, he throws the toast (which inevitable lands jelly-side down) and then...just to perturb me...steps on it! Then he goes running to the patio door asking to be let outside to play with the kitty. I decide his absence might be the only thing to preserve his life and let him out. (Plus, Daddy put up chicken wire along the railing, so Nathan can't fall off!)

5:20PM--I have completed clean-up of the toast and jelly. With a sore back I peek outside to the oddly silent patio. Nathan is using the scoop for the litter box to fling kitty litter all over the porch. The litter box is mostly empty. The cat is hiding in the corner to avoid shrapnel. I bring Nathan inside, clean him off thoroughly, and then tell him not to put one toe outside while I clean up his mess.

5:40PM--The contents of nearly an entire litter box have been relocated to our shop vac. The porch looks relatively unscathed. I, however, am feeling quite harried. Nathan and I have a little chat. While I'm in the middle of requesting he spend the remainder of the night engrossed in a good book, he runs into the couch, falls over and yells, "Uh-oh!" At least this time he isn't hurt. I secretly wish that the bump had knocked him out....not hurt him, of course, just left him unconscious for a while. I say, "Nathan, your bum is going to have a serious uh-oh if you don't cut all of this out!" He walks away.

The night continues in pretty much this manner. Seriously, Australia is calling my name. But, then, I think I remember that the very last line of the book is:

"Some days are like that...even in Australia."