The Shadow-gloom and Weight of the Sacred

Last night I went to bed around 10.30 intending to read a little before turing off the lights. As I as pulling back the blankets, the Queen Bee started crying. I waited for her to stop. She didn't stop. I went into her bedroom and laid down next to her for a few minutes, but still she was crying. I carried her into my bedroom and tried to ascertain what the matter was. I'd ask her, "What hurts?" and she'd say through her sobs, "I need..." followed by something drowned underneath he wail. She kept grabbing her right ear, so I asked her if her ear hurt. She said, "Yes." That seemed too easy of a resolution, so I asked her, "Do your shoulders hurt?" again, she said, "Yes." I went through a few different body parts before deciding that her ears were not the issue.

Gretchen came into the room and thought the Queen Bee might have been having a nightmare. We just couldn't get her to calm down. Finally, we decided that she had a stomach ache because she had eaten a lot of food at dinner. We gave her some medicine, turned on some Seinfeld and about an hour or so after it all started, she was finally asleep and not crying. Before long, I was asleep too. Everything seemed fine today. I went to work out. The Queen Bee visited her Oma; we were all happy.

We got home and were watching Shaun the Sheep--I was about to fall asleep--when I heard this horrendous gurgleing sound that I knew could only be some serious movement of the bowels (not mine, the Queen Bee's). I opened my eyes and asked, "Do you want to sit on the potty?" I picked her up and when I did, copius amounts of poop oozed onto the couch, my clothes and her clothes. It was one of the most disgusting situations in which I've ever found myself.

With the Queen Bee rid of her clothes and sitting on the potty, I cleaned myself off as best I could and then changed my own clothes. I went back to the living room to begin the cleanig process to find that Sharkdog had beat me to the punch. I know he's a dog, but I was bloody mad at this animal for eating poop. How can he think that a good thing to eat? I put the dog in the crate, then drew a bath for the Queen Bee and then brought the couch cusion into the bathroom so I could scrub it and keep an eye on the daughter at the same time. It. Was. Filthy. After I finished, I went back and scrubbed the trail of poop left between the living room and bathroom. It. Was. Filthy. At least, the portions that dog didn't eat.

Finally, everything is back in place and I'm relaxing with a diet coke wondering why she couldn't have done all that at Oma's house while I was working out. Just another hour and a half until Gretchen gets home and I can shower.

I feel so gross.