black shoes and brown puddles

I got up this morning to a lovely fall day: beautiful blue skies delicately decorated with a still-healthy smattering of yellow leaves, sun shining through them. While I'm worshiping out my window, my eyes are caught by a discordant color. Brown. Brown puddles.

Brown puddles do not belong in this picture. Brown puddles particularly do not belong on my kitchen floor. My brain refuses to process brown puddles.

OK. Denial is short-lived; it's not my usual coping mechanism and it definitely doesn't remove brown puddles. So let's move to self-pity: really, God? Really?

First, C has a violent intestinal virus (think bodily fluids here and I'll spare you the details.) Then he has an intestinal blockage (ditto) and has to hang in the hospital.

Back at the ranch, I wake up to find yet another large man in gray making retching noises at the bathroom door. Momentarily dislocated from reality, I wonder if my husband walked home from the hospital in the middle of the night.

Nope. This would be J experiencing the aforementioned violent intestinal virus. Bodily fluids were extant. On beige carpet. I needed to clean immediately and be at the hospital to hear a doctor's report at the same time. I cried. It didn't help.

You know how people always say, "If you need help, just call. Anytime! Anything!" No one really ever expects that you actually WILL call them. For the most part, people just say this to be nice, don't they? And certainly no one really ever expects that you actually will call them for help with cleaning up bodily fluids before breakfast.

But your best friends will do this for you. And you will--absolutely--do this for them. I am blessed with a number of these friends. Thanks to T, I got to the hospital on time with an undamaged beige carpet.

A few days pass. Many other things pass, of the type we are not describing in detail. And then I wake up to brown puddles all over the house. No men in gray were involved, only a little furry puppy pie who apparently had a rough night.

I did not call T to help me with this third round of bodily fluids. I'm sure she's pleased.

But, really, God. Did my dog need to excrete brown puddles all over my cute relatively new and expensive black shoes? Really? Does leather recover from extended contact with brown puddles?

All are now healthy. Good fortune is duly noted and experienced as blessings. But I'm still a little bent out of shape over the cute shoes.

Liz