We’ve been pretty busy but for the most part, I’ve been uninspired to keep up with the blog. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Rodger. I’m lazy. So sue me.
Anyway, my younger daughter, her husband and the two boys are here for a visit. Their flight was due in (in Buffalo) Monday night at around 11:00 PM but it was delayed by 2½ hours so we didn’t get home until just about 3:00 AM yesterday morning. Dog-assed tired, I plopped into bed, only to realize I was too tired to fall asleep easily. I finally drifted off but at 8:00 I was wide awake.
The boys got up just shortly after Lisa and I did — maybe around 8:30 or so. Mom and Dad got up a bit later. Our day started too soon, given the short amount of sleep we’d had. Everyone but the boys, that is.
Linda and Brandon had to go to the mall to pick up some stuff and I told them they could leave the boys with me. We took a walk down the street to the area where the railroad tracks are and waited for a train. We only waited a couple of minutes before the lights began to flash and the gate started to descend. I pointed out a crack in the road about 50 feet from the tracks and told the boys that was as close as they could get. They stood firmly rooted and watched with unabashed amazement as the train roared by. Ethan covered his ears.
We mosied back home, Ethan taking the time to step on and disintegrate every dried up dead worm he saw in the gutters (and there were plenty). We got out the sidewalk chalk when we got home and the boys played quietly, drawing whatever fanciful creatures their little minds could conjure up.
They both wanted to go inside after a while, so I got out the big bucket of Legos for them, and they sat quietly together “building.”
As I sat and watched them, an unpleasant smell assailed my nostrils. My first instinct was that one of the cats had shit on the carpet or something. But then I realized that unholy stench was coming from my 2½ year old grandson.
“Ethan, did you poop?”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you want me to change your diaper?”
Little Brandon interjects, “But Ethan you stink really bad.”
I let the little stinker play for a few minutes but found I couldn’t just sit there with that godawful smell coming from that child. Just as I was about to insist that he let me change his diaper, he says “I want my diaper changed.” Great!
I go on the hunt in the kids’ bedroom to get a diaper, but can’t find them anywhere. I look in suitcases, but no diapers.
“Ethan, do you know where mommy put your diapers?”
“Brandon, do YOU know?”
“Ethan, did mommy put your diapers in your backpack?”
Reminding myself that they’re just little kids, I refrain from the snide comment that wants to burst forth from my lips, locate Ethan’s backpack, and find the motherlode of diapers.
I remove Ethan’s jeans, and can see through the diaper that the foulness I had smelled was the result of a mega-shit that had been quite loose and runny, and had gone up the front of his diaper and completely up his back. *gag*
Breathing through my mouth so the stench doesn’t assault my brain or my stomach, I set about the task of cleaning the little tyke. Wipe after wipe after wipe piled up on the dirty diaper until I was satisfied that he was as clean as I could get him without taking the hose to him. I wrap the dozen or so wipes inside the nasty diaper, roll it all up and tape it together.
“Ethan, how about if you stand up so I can get your pants back on you?”
“Okay.” He stands.
I hold his jeans out for him, and he holds onto my shoulder and sticks one foot into the jeans. I work it through until it’s out the bottom of the jeans and then hold it for the second leg to go in. He lifts his leg, inserts it into the jeans, while I prattle on and on about what a big boy he’s getting to be.
I start to pull the waistband of the jeans up so that they come around his waist, but find resistance. Still prattling on, I tug a bit harder. Then harder. The child is giving me an odd look as I tug as hard as I can to get those jeans to come up.
Then I look down and see two feet sticking out of one pants leg. And I begin to crack up, laughing uncontrollably while that 2 year old, with all seriousness, gives me a look that suggests the thought, “You can’t really be this fucking stupid, can you?” which sends me into repeated gales of laughter.
OK, so I’m a bit out of practice.
Can’t wait to see what today will bring.
And now, for your viewing pleasure……….