Yep, that's right, I don't live in Urinetown, but I do inhabit the house of pee.
It has been a trying couple of days here on Summit Street--Ian spiked a fever on Tuesday night and so has been home from school for the past two days. Day 1 wasn't so bad--lots of juice, naps and any video he wanted (Wallace and Gromit 5 times in a row--yes, we know there is a Wallace and Gromit movie coming out soon) kept him pretty content and meant I had a little time to give Fiona the attention she demands these days.
Day 2 was a different story. Ian was still a little sick so I couldn't send him to school, but he was well enough to raise hell and demand a lot of attention. And Fiona was feeling about as stir crazy as I was and frustrated that her needs kept being put aside. So what did she do? Pee of course!
This kid has been completely potty trained for at least a month now, with hardly an accident. But yesterday she decided to pee on the floor and each time very near the urine receptacle. Intentional? You betcha! In the morning she stood and peed right next to her potty downstairs with a look of defiance firmly plastered on her face, and in the afternoon she went in the bathroom and purposely peed right next to the toilet. I know, I should have picked up that she wanted some more attention after the first incident so in a way it is my own damn fault that I live in La maison de l'urine.
But wait! That isn't all the pee! Our aging dog Sylvie (the dog with 9 lives since every month or so we think she will have to be put down and then she makes a miraculous recovery) decided that yesterday would be the day to try incontinence. Moments after cleaning up Fiona's second gusher, I went in our bedroom and there was Sylvie lying down quite unperturbed in a big puddle of her own urine. I think the most disturbing thing for me was how she didn't seem to mind it--she has been a dog with almost human emotions and in the past you could see her embarrassment and shame at any accident. This time it hardly seemed to register. I got her downstairs (which meant her sodden fur dripped pee all the way down the stairs, through the hall and dining room to the back door) and outside. Then I spent the next hour or so with lots of paper towels and Murphy's Oil Soap.
To say I was in a lousy mood by this time would be an understatement. I plopped the kids on the couch with a large supply of kiddy-cocaine (a.k.a. Goldfish crackers) and juice, turned on a Thomas video and retreated to my now urine-free bedroom.
And then I realized how good it would feel to rip out some knitting. (You were wondering how this would get back to one of my 4 obsessions, yes?) Remember how yesterday I said "no way in hell" would I rip out the long rows of the Ribby cardigan even though I was pretty sure I had messed up the decreases? Well, there I was in hell (which, by the way, has the acrid smell of pee) and rip away I did.
It took the length of one Thomas video to rip out what I had done and get it all back on the needles. The Denise interchangeable needles proved to be a boon in this exercise because I could detach portions of the needle and rip out sections separately without having the whole damn thing unraveling at once. I'm not entirely sure that I got everything back on the correct row (I may have ripped a row or two lower on one side than the other) but by then I really didn't give a damn. I went downstairs and put in another Thomas video (and appreciated the glazed, dull look my children get when they watch way too much TV in a day. Glazed and dull was just the state I striving for.) and then went back up and tried re-knitting the decreases. When the second-shift child-care worker (a.k.a. Brian) came home, I wasn't far enough along to tell whether the new decreases looked any better than the old ones or if I had messed up the sweater in a new and different way. But at least I had had a little ripping therapy.
It may be raining outside today, but here is to hoping that it is dry inside my house.