November 24, 2013
While at my parents place, I couldn't help but notice that they still have that room. Did you grow up in a home with a room where fancy furniture goes to die? Okay, it doesn't actually die per se, but it is left remarkably alone. Dusted? You bet! Used? Lol.
Do you remember these kinds of conversations growing up? "You want to have your friends over? Sure, but just don't even think about going in the living room!" or "The chair in the living room looks like it was moved two inches to the left, were you in there?!?!" Hey, I know, let's buy up all the fanciest furniture we can find, display it ever so elegantly, and then don't let anyone in there. It didn't take long before I started to see the irony in the title of the so-called "living" room. One of my friends even had a mom who kept her fancy furniture covered in plastic. Because nothing is more inviting than keeping a nice thick layer of plastic crinkling loudly beneath your every move while you are conversing with your friends.
I wonder, with today's generation living in smaller, open concept spaces, will the fancy room eventually become a plastic covered memory?
So, we're housesitting at my parents, and this morning, my little one wants to go in THE ROOM to play the piano. I've navigated more covert operations, so I kneel down, look her square in the eyes, and say, "Stick with me kid. We've got this!"
But as I stepped upon the plush carpeting, I couldn't help but scream. Blood curdling you ask? Affirmative.
Three- not one, not two- but three piles of electric yellow vomit on THE ROOM's white carpet, courtesy of my dog. How long it had been there, I do not know, because I seldom had tiptoed into THE ROOM during our stay. I ran around the house like a CRAZY person. I'm pretty sure I looked like a cartoon character whose legs move a million miles an hour in the air before they gain any semblance of forward motion. My daughter found it all to be quite hilarious as I sprinted around shouting at the top of my lungs, "If there is a GOD, you will point me in the direction of the cleaner and spare my soul!!""
I kid you not, I was firing two bottles of spot shot, one in each hand, like they were pistols with endless rounds of ammunition. My inner dialogue went something like this: Why did I leave the door open to this room, was I born yesterday?!? Why the $*%& did my dog have to pick THIS ROOM to toss up electric yellow cookies? Who the $*&*# has white carpeting?!?
I'm going to check on THE ROOM tomorrow morning, before I pick them up from the airport.
If it isn't clear, well, it's been very nice knowing you all. xoxo
sidenote: My husband informed me that he recalls seeing the dog run off with our daughter's yellow crayon.