As I walked to the train this morning, I noticed an overflowing dumpster. Rotten food and dog poop bags and slimy bags were strewn everywhere. Oh, and there was a skunk rooting around in it.
And yet, it was still cleaner than our house the other night.
There is something magical that happens with Diana gets sick. Every other member of our family takes that opportunity to act like an animal. Even Grover the dog. He chooses to be a squid.
On Monday night, I attempted to push open our front door, but it was blocked by backpacks and coats. I knew that was a bad sign. When I entered the living room, I marveled at just how much damage two young boys could so when their mother has the flu.
Two bowls of oatmeal entered their 12th hour of existence. The oatmeal itself had become stronger than steel. And at one point during the day, someone created a game that involved smashing grapes into our couch.
I walked past two raccoons fighting over Elijah’s unfinished homework and found the remains of Italian takeout on the dining room table. I believe this food was chosen for its complimentary colors to our wallpaper. Grover, who realized if he craned his neck in the right way could reach the top of the table, was licking a Styrofoam box.
Our kitchen looked like a Sr. Seuss structure. Plates and bowls teetered on pans and pots. Did I like it? No, I did not.
And then in a little delightful bit of irony, I found Eli and Luca in the tub. They were freshly scrubbed and shouted, “Daddy! Mom’s sick!”
I poked my head into our room and Diana was hidden under 14 blankets. She merely said, “Kill me.”
I put the boys to bed and set to work, more than a little proud of what two unaccompanied boys can do in a single afternoon.