She left me. She left me alone with three boys, frozen pizza, chicken nuggets, and a liquor cabinet with half filled bottles of varying colors— the bottom half is liquid, the empty top is regret. Except for that one round bottle that now lies empty on the counter next to a jar of…Nutella? I stand in the kitchen trying to remember what I ate, where it all went wrong, and where were my three boys?
As I scrape the remaining nuggets off the burnt pan on the stove and manage to pop them in an even dryer mouth, I start to remember something she said as she backed the mini-van out of the garage last night. It was either;
“See ya later, fat-butt, you’re lazy, stupid, and you dress like an 8 year old.”
Or;
“Bye honey, love you and I’ll see you Sunday. Have a great time with the boys!”
My SDD (Self Doubt and Deprecation) tells me it was the former. But I quickly realize it was the latter because she has a big heart, we’re madly in love, and she wrote a note on the stove that said;
“Bye honey, love you and I’ll see you Sunday. Have a great time with the boys!”
Ok, so at least now I think she’s coming home. Man, these nuggets tasted better last night—Ahhhh, the Nutella! I’ll try that in a bit, but right now, I need to find those boys.
I need to recount a bit:
1) I came down the stairs to find the Nutella and nuggets. The kids weren’t on the stairs or in the kitchen.
2) I just went pee and didn’t see them in there. And I really need to work on my aim—that’s probably why she complains about this room smelling like pee all the time. I thought the bathroom smelled good when it smelled like pee because it didn’t smell like poop. But I bet if all those drops made it in the bowl, this room would smell better. Noted.
3) I didn’t check their rooms before I came downstairs. It’s a good chance they went there at some point. Actually, I now remember one of them asking for a fire extinguisher while I was playing a video game but then he quickly dashed off when his brother yelled from the other room, “Never mind!!! I think it stopped burning.”
But their rooms are way upstairs and I’m already down here. I’m also pretty sure those nuggets and Nutella are taxiing down the runway and I’m gonna need that bathroom over there again in about 6 minutes. I’ll check the dining room, rec-room, and living room… THE LIVING ROOM! Of course, they always sleep on the couch on weekends. I’ll start there…
I thought I had a drinking problem but we have more serious issues at home. That’s a mostly eaten bag of Bugles lying next to aerosol cheese! These poor boys have induced a cheese-cone slumber which means neither of them will need that bathroom in the next 5 minutes—or several days. I was careful when I lifted the bag up as not to wake them from the sound of crumpling paper. Crumbs were everywhere. The cheese can was empty with tiny bite marks all over the nozzle. They were apparently taking it straight from the nozzle – no cone delivery system needed. This was hard core addict stuff.
All the signs were there in past evenings, when all of us were together;
“Can I have some more whip cream?” One would ask from behind an open refrigerator door.
It was so easy to answer back with a “Yes”, not knowing what we were creating. Hurried feet from two other boys would shuffle over and the three of them would graze from the can of spray whip like pigs at a teat. Gwen and I would smile, thinking it was cute. Oh, had we known.
I was standing over them admiring their sleeping faces, both of them tired. Both of them looked…Both?... Um, where’s the third one?
He wasn’t behind the couch or anywhere within my aging line of eyesight. He must be upstairs. I prepared myself for the climb by dropping extra weight on the island top—cheese can, empty bag of Bugles, and some nuggets from my pocket—I’m really not sure why I did that, but later I would find a couple of nuggets on the bathroom counter just off my bedroom. I think eating in the bathroom is gross, so I’m a little upset with myself over that as I make my way upstairs.
I made it to the top without blinking and thus not tripping but I didn’t find him in any of the rooms. I might have panicked a little bit—I said “might have” because I was immediately more concerned with my stomach turning upside down to purge its contents. But it wasn’t going in the direction I wanted it to in about 4 minutes—it was coming out from where it went in…NOW!
I cleaned the banister, and wiped down the walls and the dog and scrambled downstairs to wake the boys. But first, I grabbed the phone on my way by and checked recent calls:
1. Unknown Number
2. 800 Service (what the hell is that?)
3. <Kids friend Dad’s name elided>
4. 866-386-2247 (866-fun-bags – don’t judge until you try)
5. Pizza Time
6. Pizza Hut
7. Pizza Haven
8. Popeye’s
Alright! Number 3 was his friend and I remember now that he had a sleep over. Phew! I was feeling pretty proud at that moment— tragedy averted or at least delayed, because I still have to find out what was on fire last night that no longer needed a fire extinguisher. Anyway, for now, I’m going to assume the third one is going to find his way home because I’m in no shape to drive. I still have puke on me, the dog REALLY stinks, and I don’t think I’ve blinked at all yet today and that’s just weird. I’m afraid if I do blink, they won’t open again.
It’s 8:20am and both kids woke up. I don’t want to ask about the fire or the Bugles or even why they’re both completely naked. I must have played a video game all night because the home row of my keyboard is covered with Nutella finger prints and there is arm sweat still on the desk where I was probably motionless for several hours—Ahhh, that probably explains the lack of any eye lid movement. And I can still smell the Nutella, everywhere I go. I should be clear—I actually hadn’t tried Nutella, EVER, until apparently last night. I still don’t know what it tastes like because I don’t remember eating it. But I can still smell it. It’s probably tasty.
*SIGH* I think I’ll go clean up the kitchen a bit for Gwen’s arrival tomorrow (I think).
P.S. While I was cleaning, one of the liabilities came over for a drink of water. I talked to him a bit trying to get the lowdown on the fire but he wouldn’t budge. I asked if he felt ok and he said his stomach hurt. I explained that it won’t in a little while and that he should avoid the dog for the next hour or so. All the time we were talking he had a peculiar look on his face and I finally couldn’t take it any more and had to ask:
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, sort of crooked.”
“Well, you’re not blinking and you have brown stuff all over your lip.”
Yep, Nutella mustache. Oh and later I found out what the fire was. I was doing some laundry and one of the boys underwear was burned through, right in the area where your butt hole is. Those bastards were eating cheese cones and trying to light their farts on fire. I’m serious about this: I’ve never been more proud of them.
Hurry home, Gwen, If you’re gonna. J
