Adult meltdowns happen, and I had a memorable one the other morning.
Fortunately, besides the dogs, nobody was around to hear it.
It was 6 in the morning, and I needed to get some work done before the kids awoke for the day. Usually, that start rumbling around between 6:30 and 7 a.m.
When I came downstairs, I was greeted by the overwhelming and unmistakable odor of feces.
Apparently, one of the dogs, or both perhaps judging by the size of the mess, had some sort of stomach issue that resulted in the kitchen floor being covered by a bowel movement that was on the runny side and consequently difficult to clean up.
I can’t be certain, but I’m fairly sure the details of the cleanup operation left me talking to myself. For sure, thoughts such as “if it’s not that, it’s this and if it’s not this, it’s that” were running through my head, but I’m not sure if I actually verbalized it or not.
Only the dogs, cowering in the corner out of eyesight, will ever know, and they will never tell.
After the floor was cleaned and mopped, I was washing my hands when I heard the familiar sounds of little feet coming down the stairs.
Sure enough it was Beckett, who appeared to be in a particularly sweet morning mood, which was incredibly nice after this rough start to this day.
Unfortunately, the early conversation eventually led to the obvious odor dominating the air. Amidst several questions, I explained how sometimes dogs, like him, have accidents. He was intrigued by it all, but was quick to make it clear he would not be eating anything for breakfast until “the poop smell” went away.
Needless to say, that work I mentioned earlier had to wait.
Watching my sons bounce on their backyard trampoline cracks me up.
The same cannot be said for Pam, who is preoccupied by visions of the boys getting hurt while having so much fun.
I completely understand how my wife struggles with it and her fears they are going to knock each other out after collision are understandable, but I’m a sucker for the laughs and smiles that come with this kind of outside play.
Plus, and perhaps most importantly during the winter months, it’s a great way to burn off some energy.
That’s not to say Pam doesn’t have a point when she half jokes about how they should be wearing helmets if they are going to be in there together.
At some point, that will probably make sense, but currently Beckett is the one doing all the jumping and Carson seems to merely enjoy sitting in the trampoline and letting Beckett try with all his might to propel him into the air.
There’s nothing quite like Carson squealing in delight when Beckett successfully manages to launch his bottom a couple inches off the mat. Unfortunately, there have been some rough landings along the way, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much.
What’s even funnier for the kids is when I get in the trampoline with them. I’m sure it’s quite the sight.
Last weekend, after being repeatedly asked to join them on the trampoline, I gave in.
Whenever I am on the trampoline with them, they both immediately sit down in the middle and demand I “get us some air”, as Beckett puts it.
Thanks to some extra pounds left over from the holidays (I have a thing for cookies), I have no problem launching them (but not too high, of course).
As far as Pam goes, she has absolutely no interest in seeing me in the trampoline with the kids.
That’s probably a good thing. Her heart couldn’t take it, but the squeals of delight sure are great.
Consistent with most 2-year-olds I know, Carson is quite the menace (lovable, of course) these days.
At times, it’s hilarious and fun, but it’s almost always destructive.
Like his older brother, who he idolizes, he’s a rough boy with a penchant for the unexpected.
His favorite thing currently is throwing things.
Sure, if you put a ball in his hand, he does what you would expect — he tosses it. It could go forward. It could go sideways. It could go backwards. You just never know.
But the throwing does not stop there. Actually there are no limitations to what he will and will not throw.
His current fascination is throwing the remote controls across the room. With them, he picks them up and spikes them on the floor and laughs in a disturbing fashion. He particularly enjoys when the batteries come flying out of them.
He also fancies throwing his plate across the room after he’s finished eating. Aware of this proclivity, most of the time a parent is nearby to keep him straight, but Beckett’s constant encouragement works against us.
This newfound hurling tendency has resulted in the little guy never handling anything of value, such as a cell phone, because it invariably will end up being flung.
I don’t know if it’s the whole cause-and-effect thing that gets him so excited or the mere sound of items crashing to the floor, but there’s no mistake he enjoys it.
Pam is good at consistently making him clean up after himself when he throws this or that. Fortunately, he will eventually put back what he has thrown. It just might be after he has tossed it a few more times.