Vacation

We just finished a three night family vacation at a cabin just an hour and a half away and luckily no one got the stomach flu or some other icky virus like at  my nieces wedding, our nineteen hour drive to Branson, or even my short trip to my mother's house. I'll fill you in on these later or perhaps I'll spare you.
This little get away was just my husband, our five kids, and, of course, me. It was the type of vacation I want to somehow bottle up and pour over my pancakes when I'm old when the house is too quiet, and nothing feels right because someones always missing.
Of course, I would let the whining, complaining, and little bickering settle to the bottom of the syrup jar and just pour over the sweetness like the questions my nine year old likes to ask like, "If I could grow a beard would I?" I'd pour over the silly math game my six year old makes up which no one can understand except her and somehow she always wins, or how my three and a half year old spontaneously busts out, "I like you Mom," especially when there is ice cream around or she's done something naughty, or how my twenty month old puckers his lips into a flower whenever anyone says kiss, or how my eleven year old tells me her biggest secret is that she still likes to play dolls.
There is no way to carry these moments in a bottle and somehow I have to soak them in as they disappear for I see them slipping away as my eleven year old now looks around to see if anyone notice she is playing with little kid toys, and no longer steals my shoes because they are too small for her feet. Time moves on at the same pace no matter how we would like to speed things up or slow the clock down.
When we drove back after spending a day canoeing and playing in a beautiful forest surrounded lake, I realized I didn't take any pictures and my heart swelled at the thought that I might forget how our four girls climbed into the canoe with their dad and rowed all around the lake singing made up silly songs and splashing each other. I could see them float around as I sat with our baby in the shade. The happy picture I wished I could keep forever. For now, I'll just have to spill these words out sticky and sweet and cover a page.

Disgusting

Being a mom is a really dirty job. I could go into all the details of every accident or sick child, but I'll spare you. Some things are better left to the observer, except a few that I will be relating today. I'm not sure why I am sharing this with you after all it is a very gross story. Perhaps I feel the world needs more sharing on every subject even gross ones. Occasionally I think of Ghandi's wife who was outraged at having to clean the outhouses, and of course, she did it anyway, but would she have been more apt to cleaning if she knew women around the world were having disgusting experiences all the time?
 Here's just one of mine.
Amelia rushed into the house on a warm afternoon. She's my third daughter by the way. I have four daughters and one son.
"Mom, there's something hanging out of the dog's bum."
Me, "Ohh, something?" I like to ask things in a question when I am sure I'd rather avoid this subject. This tactic works great when you're trying avoid something even if it is only for a few seconds.
"Yes, something long and stringy, and red."
This was only getting worse.
"Oh,"
"Do you want to come see it?"
Do I want to, I thought to myself. Do I really want to answer that question? Trying to sound as positive as possible I said, "I guess so," with a cringed smile.
She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the door. Apparently, she felt like we needed to rush for this. I pushed my feet as slow as possible, but she kept pulling until we were outside, and there was our white lab husky smiling at us with yes a long red and a bit translucent string hanging below her wagging tail about a foot long.
I couldn't tell what it was. Pieces of intestines or fallopian tubes spun through my mind.
I could take her to the vet although she seems happy, I could call someone else  a neighbor or friend to get a better understanding, but being home with kids I surmised there was really only one thing to do. Pull it.
I grabbed a paper towel. You didn't think I was going to touch that slimy thing with my hands did you?
I tried to place the paper towel around the pink thing, but it flopped around with the dogs movement.
"Hold her head, would you?" I asked Amelia who had called her little sister down to view the excitement,
The stringy thing felt squishy as I squeezed it between the paper towel and ever so gently I pulled on it.
The dog didn't seem to feel anything so I pulled on it again. The string kept coming out. It was about a foot and half long. I looked at Sadie, that's our dog's name and she smiled so I pulled some more in front of my kids who were in some kind translike state. I pulled and I pulled some more till it was about two and feet long. "What is this thing?" I thought. It didn't stop until I got about four feet from the dog's end. I felt a small tug and then a plop and out popped. . . a sticky hand?
 The kind the kids get at birthday parties or quarter machines.
"Gross." Millie cried as it sprung out and on to the cement. Isabel who wasn't the least bothered tried to grab the toy which then I quickly grabbed it with the towel and stuffed the specimen into the garbage. Ah just another day home with the kids.