The sun may be hiding, but its warmth is out in force. So on Saturday, I convinced one of the muppets to head outdoors with me. He wanted to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates. I thought thereâ€™d been enough TV time for the day. So â€“ Yoho No.
Destroy: Mommy, I wanna watch Pirates!
Me: I have a better ideaâ€¦
Destroy: <interrupting me> Is your idea to watch Pirates?
It wasnâ€™t. (But well played little one.)
I popped the child lock on the French doors leading to the backyard and we headed out to enjoy the gorgeous 70-degree March evening.
The wisteria canopy of our arbor has begun to bloom. I stepped out into the early evening seeped in the perfume of the blossoming flowers. This is why I planted the short-lived purple plant upon purchase of our abode â€“ it is the single signifier of spring to me, the scent that has never failed to send my body into quite the state of spring fever.
Deeply inhaling the fragrance, I wholly embraced the fresh air. Destroy leapt right into his Little Tyles self-propelled car. Taking a deep breath to remember, I headed toward the side yard. The wind had picked up and, as the evening sun settled into the west, the wind picked up. Light was fading fast as fallen leaves and blooms rustled around me; the humid hum of an impending rainstorm hung heavily from the thickening clouds above.
It was a night that drew you into it â€“ one that required all five senses to experience and made revelers drunk and impervious to any imperfections. (That may have also been the second glass of Zinfandel, but I digressâ€¦)
In preparation for Easter Sunday, and the Easter egg hunt required for toddler memory making, it was time to pick up dog poop.
While the little ones would be searching for candy-filled pastel plastic goodies in the morning, I was to spend Easter eve canvassing the lawn and surrounding shrubbery for doggie nuggets. Better than a muppet finding one the next morningâ€¦
Suddenly the wistful evening aroma was none to pleasant.
Destroy was absolutely delighted in pointing out each stinky deposit while I shuffled around with a broken shovel and pooper-scooper. â€œMOMMY! MORE POOP OVER THERE!â€
I was a one-man community service chain gang supervised by a toddler in a Little Tykes police car.
But finally, the yard was pristine. With one last task of washing the grass which could be done overnight, there would be no unfortunate encounters for the Easter Bunny.
(Yes, we wash the grass. Itâ€™s fake. Because real grass dies and then we have Doggie Woodstock when it rains. So instead we sanitize after picking up poop.)
Easter morning arrived without the thunderstorms the weatherman seemed so certain of. But the Bunny had sped up his stats by dropping eggs across our front lawn. THIS WAS NOT THE LAWN I SANITIZED!
Despite all his assistance the previous evening, Destroy didnâ€™t seemed phased by the change in location. (Sneaky Bunny) Eggs were collected. Candy was consumed.
Me: Destroy, how many chocolates do you have in your mouth?
(Seven. He had seven. We are once again reviewing the concepts of chew and swallow.)
Search was in tears. He had clutched his precious chocolate eggs so tightly that they had melted in his hands and he was now dripping candy-coated chocolate all over the living room. (Note to self â€“ buy M&Ms next year. They melt in your mouth, not in your hands.) Destroy was now drooling chocolate.
And the wisteria was perfuming poop-free yard on a 70-degree day.
These are the moments I fantasized about that Easter years ago, when I was â€œnormalâ€ and completely unaware of the chaos that would befall our family two weeks later. Warts and all. (Because perfection makes for boring blog posts.)