A Tragic Farewell

There are times when one must say goodbye --to an era, a lifestyle, a beloved object.

Early this morning it became apparent that today was going to be such a day for me:
After racing around, forcing children to eat their hot cereal, reminding others to take their vitamins, and combing heads of hair at the breakfast table, Abbie gagged on her pills. I thought to myself as I looked at the mess all over the table and woven rug beneath it, "Is her oatmeal Okay?"

I grabbed the 409 and some rags. "Abbie, come and eat," I said as I moved her bowl to the counter. She gave me a wilted look, "Mom, I really don't feel like I can eat that." We didn't have any time to argue further, our ride was honking out front. I sat down with Max and helped him finish his cottage cheese-yogurt mixture. I turned on Baby Einsteins for him while I tried to fix the vacuum Zach had taken apart for me. I succeeded. I removed the baby (happily using his new, "Mama, dowwnn" phrase) from his highchair, washed him up some, and stripped him bare. I went into the mudroom feeling very pleased. I had 4 children off to school, and I had just reassembled my own vacuum. My bargain pink slippers clicked on the tile floor as I grabbed the diaper from my nicely organized cupboard there.

Max was laughing and pulling himself across the pleather chairs. I grabbed him, kissed his face and tossed him onto the ottoman. Hmmm --my right slipper felt kind of...sticky?. I looked down, and lifted my foot up. Surely that could not be what I thought it might be...I looked down at my giggling wriggling child. There was still much of the goop on his behind. I hadn't brought wipes with me from my nice mudroom cupboard. I decided to waste the diaper. Deftly and swiftly while keeping one still slippered foot balanced precariously in the air, I put him in the diaper. Off came my beloved slipper. Then I moved the ottoman over the incident site, and retrieved the wipes and the phone (somebody was going to have to share this me). "Starling," I said. "Ah-oh. I don't like it when you begin conversations with my full name." As I relayed my clamity while speaking in my plugged-nose-voice, and scrubbing furiously through half a package of wipes, he just laughed. (Why do I think it will make me feel more supported if I share these things?) I felt very much like quoting Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, "out damned spot!"

I have now soaked both of my nice woven rugs with Oreck's "No Return" spot remover. It is guaranteed to "remove spots caused from urine, feces, and vomit." Should prove to be a good investment around here. Max is happily resting with his Zebra. My new Scentsy candle (all children and youth like to visit the Bishop for fundraising support) is putting out lovely vanilla aromas, and all should be right with the world.

But it isn't. I have placed my pink floral slippers in a plastic bag, and bid "adieu." Such an unexpected and tragic end.