Oh no! Not again. Countinuing tales from the diaper pail.

 Yes ladies and gentlemen it's time for another stomach churning installment of 'Tales from the Diaper Pail'. While picking up my youngest to make room for the 8 year old to get out the door and catch the school bus I became aware of a none to nice odoriferousness wafting from his tiny self. So I take him to the changing table and clean him up, not a pleasant thing mind you but run of the mill, nothing like what was to come. Instead of sliding his pj's back on I thought I'd be a good thoughtful husband and go ahead and get the little one dressed. So the two of us go upstairs, he's walking around  in his diaper playing while I pick out an outfit for him. A minute passes, a minute, he walks around the side of the bed looking as though he is a native of some deep Congo tribe, his body painted with war paint. I say, "What have you got all over you?" He doesn't say anything but looks at me with this funny look on his face as if he were saying, "Well, I've never tried this before. It seems a little strange. What do you think?"
To which I answer, "Is that... (oh god, please don't let it be) poop?". Oh holy mother of God, it is poop!
I grab him by the arm and lead him around the side of the bed and to my utmost horror there lies a puddle, yes puddle, of poop. My gag reflex kicks in and I almost loose my breakfast, but I'm an old hand at this by now, so I bite back down the rising bile and spring into action. It's a triage. First remove the fecal body paint from the little monster, second get him diapered (and dressed this time), third clean. And then clean some more, and still a little more. Not the way I wanted to start my day, but thus is the joy of parent-hood, I just hope my pain and nausea can entertain and amuse my readers.

Karma Cat

    July 2007 a dedicated dental doctor named Donnie Deadmon died of a deadly disease. For three years he remained in limbo pleading his case to the powers that be before being assigned a lower reincarnation. Yes, a lower incarnation for while he had indeed been a dedicated dental doctor he had sacrificed his family and friends in pursuit of professional gratification. So three years to the day of his horrible death he reappeared upon this earth as a tiny little kitten. One of three in a litter born to an orphaned cat. His early lot in this new life did not proceed to nicely, his mother while out foraging for food to feed her children was struck down in her prime by a UPS truck, many animals I am told believe the UPS stands not for United Parcel Service but for Under these Wheels pets will Scream. Then in another blow of fate to his newly young life one of his sisters, already handicapped by the cruel machinations of destiny, perished. So this kitten and his surviving sibling wondered alone in the world until the day they were taken in and fed and cared for by a kindly grandfather. This grandfather of six new that his grandchildren would love and care for these lonely kittens and they did, immediately and exuberantly. Now several of the grandchildren all lived under one roof and they persuaded their already overtaxed parents to take in these two wayward kittens and like the Darlings accepting the Lost Boys they welcomed them to their home. Fate had finished dealing harshly with the former Mr. Deadmon and he found himself renamed Domino and living the luxurious life of a house cat. While his past life had all but faded from his mind and he was now occupied with chasing his tail and following the youngest child around waiting for him to drop some food he did maintain a curious fascination with teeth.
   While this tale may be a bit mendacious it will at least explain why this cat is always trying to jump on my chest and get in my grille.

www wendesday

I'm not even going to try and catch up on ones I've missed but today I thought I'd start afresh.
What did I last read? Flush by Carl Hiassen. I was under the impression, the impression given to me from the book jacket, that this was a comedy. I had hoped for a sort of Christopher Moore kind of romp, but it wasn't. About a 1/3 of the way into it I was disappointed to find it wasn't a comedy but an action/mystery and was on the very tame side of the road, which when I complained of this my daughter pointed out that Hiassen was a juvenile fiction writer, I hadn't know this. I was already invested in the who/what/when and where so I continued reading and once I had adjusted my expectations it was actually a pretty good story.

What am I reading now? Well I've been reading Clive Barker's Books of Blood volumes one to three but I believe I'm done with it. I read all the first volume and about half the second one and while some of them are good macabre stories there all a little much on the blood and guts side of horror for my taste. I'm not a fan of horror movies but being the month for Halloween I thought I'd read some scary stories, which I do occasionally like. While I liked some of these and couldn't stop reading others, it was kind of like driving past and accident and feeling bad for staring but not being able to help it. I began to feel a little uncomfortable with the stories, a little unclean, if you will. So I've decided to give up on the Books of Blood.

What am I reading next? Neil Gaimans Anansi Boys. It was the only other Gaiman book the library had other than American Gods which I just read a few weeks back, so I thought I'd give it a spin (spin, you know, like a spiders web?).

man there's a lot of red trucks in the world

The other day waiting in an exam room for a doctor to come in I'm holding the one year old up to look out the tiny little exam room windows. Trying to occupy and entertain him while the doctor apparently travels from some other time zone to get to us and I start pointing out the color and types of vehicles traversing the street in front of us. "Look Sam there's a black car and there's a red truck, and there's a blue mini-van, and there's a red truck, and there's a white Cleveland County van, and there's a red truck, and there's a blue car, etc..." So then on the way home we start counting red trucks (not blue cars like in that song where the kid says he's going to meet God. And then he calls God a she which I'm sure some people believe but I think most that say it are just trying to rebel against the status quot. I think if we believe in God and believe that God is all that and a bag of chips then we have to agree that God is not a sexually reproductive entity and would therefore not actually be male or female. Which is something the Judeo/Christian God has over the old Greek/Roman Gods, I mean you never knew when one of them my fly down and rape you. Of course the J/C God might allow your whole family to be killed off, rob you of all your possessions and cover you with boils just to prove how faithful you are but he's never raped anyone. Hmmm, I guess believers can't be choosers.) So, back on point. We counted, okay I counted Rainey turned it into a punch bug game and wore my arm out, about 30 red trucks between the doctors office to Wal-Mart and then to home. So like I said, there are a lot of red trucks in town. I'm still trying to get Rainey to stop punching me every time we see a red truck. And a beetle, and a convertible, and a p.t. cruiser, and a Jeep and God help if it's a red, beetle convertible.