Friday, December 11, 2009

APB out on rogue bird

Okay, some bird flew into my garage today and managed to get itself trapped by not flying out before I closed the door. I realize it's cold outside, but YOU ARE A BIRD. My garage is not the local La Quinta for avian passersby. I thought I'd just shoo the thing out, until it panicked and started flying at my head.

Naturally, I squealed like a girl and grabbed Piglet and ran inside. Only then did I problem solve for a moment and I opened the garage door. Duh. Unfortunately, in the interim, the bird had attempted escape through the window by hopping its little bird self through the slats in the plantation shutters. He then freaked out because he was trapped in that tiny space and took it out on my window grid (broken, collapsed) and my Christmas candle (knocked cockeyed and sidewinding) before going back out the way he came in and flying away to share his adventure with his bird friends.

Well. This leaves me with a window grid to fix. I bellied up to the shutters and pulled them open about half an inch before they stalled, bashing into something. I looked up to find that the builder had apparently installed the shutters first and the garage door second, as the garage door's track prevents the shutters from opening. Genius. Now I have this ghetto-looking window and no way to fix it. Sigh. I'm sure that will be an HOA violation within the month.

Not twenty minutes after the bird incident came the next one. Piglet had to pee. I sent him off to the bathroom and tailed Pigpen to the Christmas tree, his favorite thing on earth. He likes to point at it, talk to it, and pull each ornament off and throw it to the floor to see what sound it will make. He has also learned to climb on the chair in that room and deems it his goal to climb on and off of the chair in each of his waking moments. On, off, on, off. I monitored responsibly.


It seems as though the bathroom may have exploded while I was carefully monitoring Pigpen. "Mommy!! Don't worry! You have another one!" I heard as I dashed to the door. Opening it, I saw:
1. A waist-down naked Piglet.
2. Piglet's pants and underwear in the sink full of water.
3. My reed diffuser on the floor, reeds akimbo, oil abound.
4. Upon closer inspection, the sink filled not only with water, but also with toilet paper, which was clogging the drain.

I sent Piglet to the washing machine with the wet clothes. He shrieks from the laundry room that the washer is closed and he can't put them in. Heaven forbid he have the sense to just put them on top. I go to open the washer and return with a rag to clean up my almond scented oil. I should really know better than to have anything decent in the house by now.

Enter bathroom to find Pigpen splashing gleefully in Piglet's pee still in the toilet. That kid could be kept happy for hours given a toilet and a hammer. Fished him out, sanitized him amid much thrashing and rebellion, send him back to my babysitter, the Christmas tree. Find Piglet pressed to front window trying to see the mailman. He is still buck naked from the waist down.

"Put on your underwear!" I yell, scrubbing away at the oil, which I now realize is on the floor, trashcan, walls, and sink pedestal. Oil on walls makes the paint change color. Did anybody know that? Yeah. Silence. Then a crash.

I look out of the bathroom. Piglet is now [still naked] teaching Pigpen to jump on and off of the hearth. This is a fantastic idea. "Put your underwear ON!" I yell again. Is this really something you should have to tell a person? Scrub, scrub.


This is actually one of those stories that goes on and on and on. You pretty much get the idea. It's just a different mess, different place. Lather, rinse, repeat.

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