Friday, September 19, 2008
This morning, I stepped in it.
Isn't she adorable? Well, at the moment, I hate her. Profoundly hate her.
Anybody want a Yorkie? Free! I'll pay for shipping and handling.
Yes, I stepped in it.
A pile of crap.
In my bedroom in the dark.
You see, sometimes she sleeps in our bedroom, in her little bed.
But apparently she doesn't always stay in her bed.
And sometimes in the middle of the night, she has to go potty.
Usually, she waits until Steve takes her out in the morning to give in to that feeling.
Last night, she decided she didn't want to wait until morning.
So she pooped in about five different places in our bedroom.
On our carpet. Our off-white carpet.
When I got up this morning, I went to the computer.
At the other end of our second floor.
With off-white carpet in all the upstairs rooms.
(Why did I not go to my own laptop in my own study?
Why did I not go do my regular morning prayer and meditation?
Another good question!
Answer: I needed to learn a lesson about priorities.)
While sitting at the computer, I thought: "It smells like poop. But that's not possible. I must be imagining it."
No, I wasn't imagining it. I got up from the chair, looked down at my feet, and there it was.
On my slipper.
On the rug.
I looked across the room.
Footprints leading from our bedroom to where I stood.
I screamed and cursed.
Something like, "Oh my God! Steve, your f-ing dog pooped in our bedroom."
Something like that. No, it was exactly that: My screams woke Daniel up.
He quoted me verbatim.
"I'm so sorry, buddy, you didn't deserve to hear that."
Here's the thing: it really is my fault. No, I'm not trying to get anyone's pity or pats on the back.
I walked her at 9 pm. She did both sets of business then.
We went to bed around midnight - we LOVE Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.
Neither of us wanted to walk her at that point.
I thought: "If we don't walk her, we should put her in her box. Just in case..."
But I said nothing. I did nothing.
And then this morning, I stepped in it.
Of course, all this stuff makes me think about my life. In what areas of my life, my marriage, my parenting, my friendships, am I ignoring the signs of the ____ hitting the fan? Where am I allowing the crap to build up and back up, but I refuse to do something about it? To exercise it, to take care of it, to put everything where it belongs? What makes me think that waiting will make the bad stuff go away or get better? Why don't I just do what I need to do when I know it needs to be done? Why won't I have the difficult discussion, the confrontation, say what I need, ask for help, and receive help when it is offered? How many times and in how many ways do I need to step in it?
There are corners of my life where I can already smell something.
Something is not right. Constipated. Or is it running loose?
I'm not sure, but it's not right.
The question is, will i turn over and go back to sleep?
Hoping it can wait until morning or next week or next month.
Or will I get up and take care of it before I step in it again?
I hate Maya right now.
But she is a great teacher.
And I would gladly give this great teacher away to the first person who asks for her!
Added on Saturday, Sept. 20th at 10:30 am: In response to Amy's comment and question: Daniel quoted me almost verbatim, leaving out the offending word, saying "f-ing" in its place. And as he said it, he wept. Hearing either of his parents use curse words wounds his tender spirit. Literally causes him to cry.
It was heart-breaking to me to see his tears on account of something I said. I could do nothing but apologize and ask for his forgiveness after he confronted me about my bad language. So I guess Maya wasn't the only one teaching me yesterday morning. I'd give Maya away in a heartbeat, but Daniel, I will definitely keep.