"I think your hot dog has fleas."
One of my daughter's most infuriating habits is scratching in her sleep. She doesn't have any skin diseases or whatnot. No eczema or psoriasis or anything like that.No - it's all self-imposed itchiness. Basically if it's cold at night she insists on wearing bugger all, kicks all the covers off and then gets that thick layer of goosebumps that make you itch. Or if it's humid and hot, she'll insist on wearing flannel pajamas and sweating to the point where her pillow is sodden, then removing everything she's wearing, kicking off all the now-sweaty covers and then scratching herself in her sleep because yesterday's scratches sting from the sweat.
But now it's the end of June (and therefore nearly Fall....) the biting bugs are out in full force. I slathered myself in a thick sheen of cancer-juice (40% deet) to get some work done yesterday. But I left the kids to fend for themselves. Which means they have an ice healthy patchwork of mosquito, no-see-um and lots of other irritating bug bites all over them. My daughter though managed to get a bug bite on her belly-button. Which she then rubbed-raw in her sleep. Normally I'm the one who gets molested in my sleep by flies and whatnot - but last night my wife put the girl to bed still spattered in dried ketchup and mustard - effectively making my daughter a sacrificial anode. Yesterday was Hot Dog Monday after all - a day slowly replacing the nastiness of Fruitloop Friday with other food that I'm still unprepared to eat. So now my daughter's bellybutton looks like Rudolph's nose. Oddly the annoyance of the itch was replaced immediately when I suggested that maybe she got fleas from last night's hot dog. Now she's showing off her glowing navel with pride. Weirdo.
In a related incident I set fire to a chipmunk yesterday. Not on purpose - apparently he was living in the grill. Which was less hospitable after I lit it. At first I was filled with a touch of sorrow as it shrieked and jumped out all aflame. But then the bugger dove under the back steps and didn't appear to come out. So I had to hang around outside just to make sure the sorry bastard didn't set fire to the entire house. I'm fairly certain the insurance adjuster would chance their arm in some manner and not pay for any damage. "Was the grill locked?" they'd likely try. At which point I'd remind them that tomorrow when filing their hospital claim they'd likely be asked if they put their hands up to protect their face when I went to punch them in it.
Today though is another grey, wet, miserable not-very-Summer-like day. It's wonderful. We did have to pop out early as I'd run out of coffee. My daughter was not impressed with the idea of leaving the house at 7am until I came up with some bollocks about buying everything in the store that starts with a hard-C sound. Which in this case was coffee, ketchup (evidently she'd worn the last of it to bed last night) and some crusty bread for tonights french onion soup. Actually my daughter genuinely said we were going out for coffee, ketchup and to kill a kangaroo. I think she's been misled by the clearly Australian girl who was frogstomping at Sunday's Frog Jump.
Truth be told though we went out on an emergency visit. I'm not sure how disorganized or blurry you are in the mornings. I'm as awake the moment I open my eyes as I am at any point of the day. My wife is usually pretty decent - but can have the odd off morning. Which today apparently was because she forgot her shoes. Yes - that's right - I drove all the way to work at 7.15am in the morning to take my wife's shoes to her. My son - now beginning to enjoy the playful magic of words - claimed that she'd forgotten her "a-choo" - and would then do a comedy sneeze. I was sort of hoping that when we met her at her office she'd come out to the car to get her shoes and he'd just sneeze all over her.
Normally leaving the house that early would be somewhat irritating (not for me - for the kids - I'd love to get everything done that early) as it disrupts the delicate balance of the morning breakfast routine. But this morning my daughter had decided not to head straight into the kitchen for breakfast. Instead she deliberately and carefully made an indoor dry slip-and-slide mat in the living room. Which - based upon the violence involved I dubbed the Slip and Crash Death Collider. Actually she just lay out a blue blanket on the living room floor and then sprinted across the room and dove on it repeatedly. At first she had placed a toy wolf at the end that she would aim at. That became pointless though as she'd often miss completely and just pelt right into the couch. Somehow she'd managed to convince her brother to do the same thing at the same time - accept every-time he landed he'd hurt himself and come whimpering over to me. Still - being two he doesn't have the brains to understand cause and effect - so he'd get me to rub his injured toes/face/tailbone and then wobble off yelling "SLIDE!!!!" to have another go. He did give up after the third or forth attempt after smacking his foot in the same place again. But my daughter was determined to keep doing it no matter how much it made her cry in pain (which it very much did). I can only presume that she was hallucinating and that she saw a kangaroo at the end of the Slip and Crash Death Collision Matt that she was trying to kick the head off of. So it was a great relief that her mother called in the middle of all this and I had a solid reason to stop the mayhem.
Right - time for a nice cup of ketchup.