Reading Tony Burton's blog the other day reminded me of an incident that happened just a few weeks ago at my house. Now, I don't want to one-up the new guy, and if my daughter ever discovers I shared this incident on a public blog, she will have my hide. But at my age, I dare to be brave and a bizarre story is well, meant to be shared, so here goes ...
We had the family over one Sunday and my twin granddaugthers were packing all their animals in order to play vet. They were excited and anxious to hike everything upstairs to their play room. They're seven with big brown eyes that melt my heart and an imagination to rival my own. They played for hours, running around roaring and having an over-all great afternoon. Sounds pretty normal for first graders.
The next morning I was racing down the stairs and sniffed something sour and wondered what that could be. But I didn't have time to investigate and went on my way. That night the same sourness wafted about when I went to change my clothes for a meeting. I wondered if the Sears guy had left a sandwich behind when he installed my new washer and dryer, but I didn't have time to go looking already being late for my appointment.
The second morning my husband hollers up the stairs, "Honey, what's that funny smell?" The phone rang and we never got to discuss it. I left for work, not very happy that my house had smelled green, and not in a good way.
That night I walked in the door and gasped! What is that stench??!! I was supposed to be in Lisle by 6:30, which meant I was already late. But hey, enough is enough and my nose led me upstairs. In the cartoons the air has a green haze and I think there might have been one in my house that night.
I went into the upstairs bathroom, smiled at my new washer and dryer. My husband came in about then and hollered from the back door, "What in hell is that stench?"
That's when I looked into the waste basket and gagged. I found the culprit. I just didn't know what it was. I pulled layer after layer of fluffy tissue away, frowning at the cover-up. Hey, I'm a mom, I recognize a cover-up when it knocks me upside the head. Beneath lay a mass of green blob with red stains all around other tissue. I thought I'd seen everything, but I'll have to say I've never laid eyes on rotten hamburger in the bottom of a waste basket in my bathroom. Hamburger! Patties to be exact, most of it still tucked in between the small square freezer sheets.
Needless to say the halos on my granddaughters slipped a notch. Confrontation was inevitable. Playing vet had become a little too real for them. And yes, Gram and Gramps received a sincere apology and the promise to never play with meat again. But what still flabbergasts me, is their honesty when they said, "We poured the beer out!"
I will never under-estimate the imagination of a seven year old again. I have re-instated the eyes in the back of my head. And I'm back to counting the beers in my frig. And if you see my daughter, please don't tell her I told you this story! I don't want to hear, "Mom! I can't believe you told everyone!"
Til next time ~