Swine Baby

Everything in our house has been scrubbed, from top to bottom, with Clorox. If it wasn’t made of paper and in danger of being ruined by a good hosing down with liquid bleach, then it was disinfected, with some hopes of eradicating the swine flu germs.

Seriously. I cleaned bathroom faucets, toilet handles, light switches, outlets, TV remotes, phones, countertops and doorknobs.

Oh, I jest. We don’t have any doorknobs around here! After spending two years building this house, Hubs has stopped, and the doorknobs have never been put onto our interior doors.

Ultimately this means that we can spy on people through the holes in the doors where the knobs should go. It often comes in handy when I need to know if the boy is actually cleaning his room, like he’s been told to do. I simply don my spy gear (you know, the secret decoder ring and the headpiece with the night vision goggles), close one eye, and peer through the little round opening.

My hands are a bit raw from all the bleaching, but land sakes, you should smell the CLEAN around here! The bad thing, as I was telling Hubs, is that my house literally sparkles with the CLEANNESS, and since we have a Swine Baby here, no one will be brave enough to step foot in my house to see the CLEAN. I was saddened to know that this episode of house cleaning would be fully wasted, as we won’t be having guests for a bit.

But Swine Baby has turned a corner, and I think it’s a good corner to have come around. He woke up this morning, still sporting his headache and a full case of crabbiness, and grumbled his way into the bathroom, where he poured yet another bubble bath to soak in. Swine Baby has had so many baths in the past five days, we could have supported a third world country with all the clean water that has disappeared down our drain. I feel saddened by this thought, but it is what it is, and Swine Baby, with his fever-induced chills, has spent a considerable amount of time floating in a tub of warm water lately.

At some point just before lunchtime, I suggested that the boy might want to dig into the enormous pile of homework that was sent home for him, and I was given the look that says, “I live here simply because child labor laws forbid anyone from hiring me, so that I can pay rent on a swanky apartment somewhere and live my life the way I want to…without homework and without rules on cleaning and picking things up.” Eventually, though, he did dig into the daunting stack of paperwork and books, and it only helped to reinforce all the reasons that I chose NOT to homeschool my child.

By 2:00 this afternoon, we rounded that proverbial corner, and the boy perked up. And when I say the words “perked up,” I mean that he decided to run full force through the house, swinging his new light saber and chasing the cat, who had it coming. (Don’t ever feel sorry for the cat-chasing in our house and call Pet Protection Services; whatever the boy dishes out to the beastly alpha cat, she has coming, as she probably started the war with an ambush on him to begin with.)

By late afternoon, Swine Baby’s Grammy showed up with a Dairy Queen Blizzard, because goodness knows we needed the hype that only sugary ice cream can bring. The boy was elated, and ate every last bite. There was absolutely no mention to the fact that I had made him a turkey sandwich earlier when he complained of hunger pains, and he’d turned up his nose at it and said, “My stomach hurts too much to eat that.” Clearly, grandmothers know exactly what to feed Swine Babies.

Yes, I think that Swine Baby is on the mend here, and for that I am truly grateful, but I am wondering if I can survive one more day of the quarantine.

The cat feels the same way.

1 thought on “Swine Baby

  1. I witnessed the glory that was your clean house; it looked fabulous. I then had to go home and look at the pit that is my house, and was deeply disappointed. For crying out loud, if Swine Boy's momma can clean that well while taking care of him, what's my excuse?! I'm glad to see he's on the mend, though!! The Girl has been missing him in class.

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