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Casa Cuckoo

June 9th, 2009

Cooper loves to hide.   Yesterday morning, it took me several minutes to find him, hiding behind the curtains in our bedroom.   What I should have guessed is that the game was only half the reason he was hiding.   He had a monster poop in there, smell wafting deftly through the air.   I scooped him up to change him when there was a knock at the door.   It was the guy from our car dealership to pick up our car for service.   (Yes, our local dealership picks our car up for service and leaves a loaner.   It rocks.)   I knew that he was coming, but somehow it escaped my mind that there would actually be a person arriving at my house that I would need to converse with.   Dudley was somewhere loose in the yard, I was still my my sweaty running clothes with my stringy hair in limp tangles, Kenny and Cooper were in pjs and now the smell of poop was undeniable.  

I answered the door to find a slightly shy guy my age in a crisp polo shirt, clipboard in hand.   “Hi!” I said brightly, as if my chipper demeanor could mask the l’air du poop I was holding in my arms.   “Did you meet a large grey dog on your way in?”   “Um.   No?”   “Oh!   Oh dear.   He usually jumps on strangers.   I’d better find him before he sees you.   Can you stand over there for a minute…”   I look around for Dudley.   Nowhere.   Bad sign.   He must be rolling in dead fish.   “DUDLEY!”   He comes barreling in from the water, and I grab his collar just as he makes  a lunge for the car guy.   He smells Cooper’s load and decides that it is more interesting than Mr. Car Man  and starts burying his nose in Cooper’s rear, making him cackle uncontrollably.   Kenny, not to be outdone, starts running in circles around us and roaring like a lion, holding his hands out like claws.  

I offer a fake laugh and ask him if he’d like to come in for a minute.   He looks at me like I offered to hand him a snake and shakes his head, “All I need is your driver’s licence and your keys, Ma’am.”   “Right!   I’ll be right back!” and I leave him on the doorstep with Kenny, still roaring like a lion, and Dudley, smelling like dead fish and sniffing his hinder.   I run upstairs.   Licence.   Oh.   No keys.   I run back down, Cooper still on my hip, still smelly, and still laughing.   I look at the guy.   “I can’t find my keys.   Hm.   Oh, don’t mind the mess – we made an obstacle course out of the couch cushions this morning!” I shout, and I run back upstairs to look again.   By now Kenny has tired of roaring, and has started to just run laps around the living room, singing random words from random books that we’ve recently read to him: “Bossy sprockets!” (from Thomas the Tank Engine) and “It’s as hard as the ham at the cheesemongers!” (from Two Bad Mice) float up the stairs as Mr.  Car  Man  shuffles his feet nervously.   I call Casey.   “Keys!?”   He tells me that he used them yesterday and doesn’t know where he put them.   I start tearing around, opening drawers, looking through pants pockets in the laundry hamper and finally find them behind the IPod in the kitchen.  

“Here you are, then!” I say, still cheerful, as if this nice guy hadn’t just witnessed me losing my mind.   “Oh!   I need to go up there with you and make sure my husband took the carseats out!” and we traipse up the 100 foot walkway to the detached garage, me in the lead with the now toxic Cooper, Dudley prancing close behind, still trying to get a good whiff, Kenny galloping behind Dudley and Mr. Car Man in the rear, obviously pondering a change in occupation.   We get to the garage.   Carseats are still buckled in.   Oops.   “Do you need a hand?” Mr. Car Man asks politely.   “Sure!” and I start to hand him Cooper.   “Uh.   I meant with those seats?”   “Oh, yeah!   Great!   Thanks!” I say, tucking Cooper in my elbow and wrestling with one of the carseats.   We get them out and on the ground.   Mr. Car Man says, “I have kids.” in a tone that implys that he understands that I am not completely Cuckoo, just mildly disorganized.   And he leaves.   Whew.

By the time he came back three hours later to return the car, I made sure that all of us were clean, dressed appropriately, and that the house was reasonably picked up.   Not only that, but I had a cake in the oven.   Take that, Real Housewives of Madison County.   He squinted at me, almost as if he wasn’t sure I was the same person he’d meet this morning.   I gave him a breezy, nearly lofty  smile and thanked him warmly.   He squinted a little more and looked at Kenny, now quietly engaged in his legos.   “Anytime,” he said, and tipped an imaginary hat.   And with that, he left the Cuckoo’s nest.   Whew.

2 Comments »

  1. Kimmie says

    this is one for the parents magazine! a keeper! 😆

    June 10th, 2009 | #

  2. lisa says

    hilarious! now that I have a 4 yr old little boy and a 3 month old little boy I can completely relate to this scenario….I was literally cracking up at your description of all the players involved….have a great day!

    June 12th, 2009 | #

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