That Specific Sort of Wednesday

There is a specific sort of Wednesday, and I know you know what I am talking about. It follows a certain sort of terrible and predictable pattern. For instance:

When you have been up with each boy the night before at least once, one boy awake at midnight for a yet to be determined reason, the other at 3am because he lost his fuffii (that darkness at night hides things every time) and when in the morning you go to the entire exercise class that you have previously avoided because you thought it would exhaust you enough to make you cry, (and when it did actually almost make you cry), the last thing that needs to happen when you are finally collapsed on your couch is your dog getting out of your completely fenced in yard by some strange ferret/rat/rabbit power. Is she half chipmunk? I’m really starting to wonder. She was a stray in Okinawa, so she could be anything. Is there some common animal in Japan that get through any hole of any size? She’s part THAT.

But if, even if all of that does happen, the VERY last thing that you need to happen on that day is your dog proudly coming through the front door smelling like DEATH, but with her tail wagging, because she came home again, and isn’t she the Best Dog In The World?

And I mean literal death. Was it a dead fish in the creek? Did she excitedly roll in some giant smashed toads on the road? Was it something else that exists in life that I would have been perfectly fine never ever, ever smelling? (I mean, that last part is definitely true.)
And, then, if all that happens, and you get out the whole jar of vinegar and rub it into the dog (stopping only to gasp and gag) and the vinegar doesn’t even work but instead leaves your dog smelling like someone tried to pickle dead animal?

Then it is just about meltdown time.

But there isn’t any time for a meltdown, because the smell was worse and after the ten minutes in such close quarters with her from the first bath you smell like death as well, and the dog was starting to shake with shivers because she was wet and it’s winter in Hawaii, folks, it’s rough out here!

And the boys wake up from their nap and want to play outside, but if you let them do that then the whole family would smell like rotting, heaving death. So you shove them all in strollers and head down to the neighborhood store to buy the heavy duty dog cleaning stuff (hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, dishwashing soap).

And then you turn around to come home, and the most important questions in your mind are: how are you going to wash off the dog while the small children are awake, and will they all get hydrogen peroxide in their eyes?

And then partly home, it starts POURING, and Eliot starts whining (you know, the toddler pre-cry), so you start almost running, and then halfway home the dog actually meets you because even though you spent 10 minutes re-fortifying that pesky gap under the fence, it apparently just wasn’t good enough. But she’s just so excited to see you! Aren’t you proud of her that she got out of the yard again! She’s like a magician!

So then you get home and pour all the soap together and stir it all up and the boys won’t stay inside because what is more fun than trying to wash off the dog with dangerous chemicals all in the pouring rain? Nothing, that’s what.

So after all that, you throw them in the shower because apparently Wednesday is the day when everyone needs at least one shower, and you take a deep breath and sit on a towel on the bathroom floor because finally, the worst is done, it has to be, the dog smells better even if you don’t yet.

And then, Eliot’s little delighted voice from the tub: “Mama, I poop!!”