Lovely day, not that I've been outside except to talk, briefly, to the man from Anytime Pumping.
Baby Charleigh kept me up until 1:30 AM or so. I got up at 7:00 to hug Cade and pack his lunch, but then I went back to bed until 10:19, at which time Clementine started singing good-morning songs from her bedroom next door.
One of my very favorite things about Clementine is that, lately, she almost always wakes up singing.
Another of my very favorite things about Clementine is that she sings to the music she hears in the hum of engines and motors. This means extra reward in my getting the dishwasher going; Clementine stands next to it and sings, quietly, her (yet jumbled) ABC's and "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." On really good days, she throws some "Jesus Loves Me" and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" up in there.
Speaking of which, Clementine still thinks Dorothy sings "Rainbow Pie," rather than "Rainbow, way up high." This morning I offered Clementine an oatmeal pie (not the healthiest breakfast, I know), and she pulled it apart, licked it, and gushed, "Rainbow pie scrumptious, Mommy!" So there you go. Dorothy Gale loves oatmeal pies so much that she sings about them with great passion: who knew?! But I get it, because I still remember the Oak Ridge Boys singing "Elvira" through the car radio and my singing, "EL FIRE UP!" along, at the very top of my lungs.
Anyway. The man from Anytime Pumping was supposed to arrive at noon but didn't show up until some time later. So you might say I spent part of my day sitting around waiting for someone to deal with my family's crap.
Which makes me laugh.
Would that it were always so easy (and relatively cheap) to get rid of crap. Would that the Anytime Pumping guy--with his bright, yellow shirt and kind eyes--could rid my family of crap on more figurative levels.
Not that we've been drowning in figurative crap. Or literal crap, for that matter.
In fact, the Anytime Pumping people could hardly believe we were experiencing no issues: that we had called them in an effort to be proactive. Jim said that's because they don't live in this house: a house in which pretty much everything else has broken.
There does reach a point at which homeowners look at one another and say: "You know, we'd better call someone to pump our septic tank because we seem to have terrible luck, and we really don't want to wake up one morning to find a bunch of poop in our yard." Truly, that point can be reached.
Maybe we were afraid that Clementine's poop would take it over the top. In a literal sense.
Here's to the very good possibility that, soon and very soon, there will be four people pooping in our potty. Clementine's not quite there, but--as these pictures prove--she loves her new underbritches. (Yes, she is sitting and standing on my dining room table. These things happen, sometimes, while I'm talking on the phone.) Even now, she is taking a nap wearing a pair of underbritches. Over her pull-up and leggings.