This, my dear friends, is a re-post of the blog I wrote on Sunday 8/23/09 which was tragically lost in a server crash.  I’ll show them a F*ing server crash.  Note to self, don’t ever underestimate the value of the backup file, which of course I didn’t have prior to my first-ever server crash.  Traumatic.  Anyhow, I apologize to the two of you who subscribe to my blog for overwhelming you with all of the “lost” posts at once, but I kinda have a thing about leaving things undone.  Or half done.  Or done poorly.  I don’t like to.

This morning I got up to the words “my mother is coming today, and bringing my great aunt.”  When the roomie  says that to me, all I hear is “blah, blah, blah, start cleaning.”  Not that my house is ever really THAT dirty, but certainly not presentable to guest standards.  I’m sure that my mother in law couldn’t possibly find a way to like me any less, regardless of the state of my house.  Either way, I would be a nervous wreck if I didn’t straighten up before having anyone over.  There is no division between those who like me and those who don’t in my need to make a semi-decent impression.  So needless to say, there was no leisurely cup of coffee this morning.  It was *sip* pick up the clothes from the kids bedroom floor, and *sip* make the bed, and *gulp* fold the blanket they left on the family room floor, and *gulp* crawl on my knees to extract the tiny things that our resident princess has left in the carpet before *gulp… shit it’s cold already* vacuum the carpet, and *gulp* empty the dishwasher, and *gulp, out already?* dust the shelf, sweep the floor, pour more coffee *gulp, shit it’s hot!*,  *sip* clean the toilet and *gulp* don’t forget the counter, and did I just actually clean the toilet while having my coffee?… no, that didn’t happen, but *gulp* how did they get toothpaste all the way up there?!!  Get on with folding the laundry, and clean the rats’ cage, and water the flowers, mow the lawn, move the hose, sweep the front stoop, straighten the books, take out the garbage…. Run, run, run.  Overall it was a productive morning, if tiring.  And then my husband asked if I knew where the dog was, and all at once we spotted her.  There she was, outside of the dining room window trotting up the sidewalk from the backyard like she owned the place.  Soaking wet and covered in mud, acting all hot-shit tzu like she wasn’t about to get her ass kicked.

Of course I was instantly annoyed.  I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee yet because I was busy, and on a tight schedule, and I didn’t have time to be giving the dog an unscheduled bath.  Trust me, my annoyance turned into all out fury with a touch of unchecked rage when I picked up the wretched creature and got a whiff of her.  Whatever she had rolled in smelled burnt, dead, sour and rotten all at the same time.  I know that I dry heaved at least once, and if I had had the time for breakfast I’m sure I would have vomited.  Somehow, my husband misses all of these tender moments that fuel my hatred for this creature that has taken up residence in with us.  I scrubbed her vigorously in the laundry room tub until I was sure that the smell still existed only in my nostrils.  I think I can still smell it, truly.  I was borderline manhandling the hideous beast.  I swaddled her in two towels like a football, carried her upstairs under my arm, and thrust her into the eager hands of my eight year old at the top of the stairs, because I knew that it would be a lingering punishment that, left unchecked, could theoretically run all day.  My husband thanked me for administering the “emergency bath” and the only reply I could muster was ‘I can still smell it.’  I had to shower immediately, and I wasn’t certain that it would even help.  I still cannot believe that he expects me to like this dog.  He actually calls her the love dog.  All day he tells me to quit giving her dirty looks.

As soon as I dressed after I tried to scald the smell off of me in the shower, my husband got in.  His cell phone rang almost to the second when he got soap or shampoo on his hands and he made me answer it.  It was his mother.  Calling from the driveway.  Thankfully she had arrived safely and right on schedule, a full hour early.  This is a joke, right?

Luckily, the in-laws came bearing gifts because I was about to kill somebody.  (I was whisper yelling through my teeth at my husband that he had better come out unshaven in thirty seconds or there would be hell to pay and I MEAN IT!) Belated birthday gifts, to be exact.  They are nothing if not eager to feed my borderline obsession with fiesta ware, thank you very much.  I received a place setting in the beautiful new color Lemongrass, which is an absolutely fantastic cross between green and yellow that practically glows in its sheer joyfulness.  They also gave me a small oval vegetable serving dish in the same color, and a coffee mug in Chocolate.  Absolutely divine.  I never tire of the colorful cheer that fiesta can bring.  It made me forget all about the manic cleaning frenzy of the morning and simply appreciate the clean house.  So, in the end, all was forgiven.  Except you, stink dog.