Seizure DogLooking over my posts from the last few days, I realize I forgot to write about the toy that my mother gave Charlie for Valentine's Day.
When she came over to visit this past Sunday, she had a large, red bag. Marlene sat on the couch, drew Charlie close to her and pulled out a plush dog. The dog is just not one of your run-of-the-mill plush dogs, but if you press its stomach, it bellows the song "Puppy Love". Not only does it sing, but it "dances". Now, I use the term "dance" loosely here, as its "dance" is really the dog swinging its head around spastically and shaking.
When my mother first pressed the button and the dog started screaming and shaking, Charlie had a melt down.
After I calmed him down, she pressed the button again. Charlie again freaked out.
What is most humorous about the dog is that it is top-heavy. During its screaming and shaking fit, it tends to fall over. Then it looks like it is humping the air. My mother found this particularly funny. She laughed so hard, I thought she was going to wet herself (and the couch).
The interesting thing is that the part of the song "Puppy Love" that it sings includes the lyrics "Help me Help me Help me". When it gets to that part of the song, it's just pathetic.
It has been five days since my mother has gifted seizure dog to my son. Charlie has slowly gotten over his fear of the toy; he now watches it with the same expression one would watch a car crash.
What kind of grandmother would give this sick, sad toy to her grandson?
Strange But TrueI ended up airing out Marlene today. We didn't go far--just to Wegmans. On the way home, Marlene said, "You know, Charlie's a good kid."
"Yeah, I know." I replied. "He's good at the store."
"You should have another one. I mean, if it doesn't have eczema or colic or stuff," said my mom.
"I don't know."
Marlene was quiet for a few moments. "You know," she said, looking out the car window, "That's why your great-grandmother started having sex."
I was confused. "Because Charlie has eczema? Nana's been dead for five years..."
"No," my mother replied. She was silent.
"Did Nana have eczema then?" I asked. "And why would she not have sex then?"
"No," Marlene said. She paused for a moment. "Your grandmother, Rita, had eczema so bad that there are no baby pictures of her. Then Uncle Bud started to get it. Papa [my great-grandfather] had a lot of money and he tried everything, but swore by homeopathic remedy. They claimed that if you put cow poop on the eczema, it would clear up. So they put cow poop on Rita and Bud, and, I don't know if it was just time for the eczema to clear up or what, but it did."
It took me a minute to digest this. "I really don't want to cover my child with cow crap," I said. "Anyway, what does this have to do with Nana not having sex?"
"Well," Marlene continued, "It was so heart-breaking for her to have a child with eczema that she didn't want anymore, so she stopped having sex with Papa and then they moved into separate bedrooms and stopped."
"So that's why Papa had a mistress!" I said.
"Yeah, but Nana just
thought she was a woman he was helping out. And then she left the house to him when she died. And Rita was mortified that her father was leading a parallel universe."
I thought for a moment. "But there was birth control back then."
My mother nodded her head sagely, "But Nana was a good Catholic woman. She wouldn't have used it."
According to my mother, she was sleeping around 6 a.m. on a Friday morning about two weeks ago. She was woken up by the psyhco dog, who went beserk and started barking. My mother came downstairs. The dog was sniffing under the kitchen door (that leads to the back door) and barking furiously. She opened the kitchen door a crack and saw the back door was open. My mother went back upstairs to wake up my brother, Peter. She wanted him to go into the basement to check out what was happening.
As Peter prepared himself to go into the basement to confront a burglar, my mother pleaded with him to take a weapon. She suggested a kitchen knife or the baseball bat that was in the front hallway. Were any of those weapons vicious enough for Peter?
No.
He took her Swiffer. Not even the Swiffer Wet Mop that might have a bit of heft if you pounded the hell out of someone, but the Swiffer dust mop, which is a hollow aluminum stick with an electrostatic rag attached at one end.
This burglar would be shakin' in his boots, all right.
Peter descended the stairs with CoCo in tow. Coco stopped on the third stair and bounded back up to the kitchen. So, Peter bravely went on his way alone, only to find...
nothing.
My mother insisted he check the fruit cellar after making a full sweep (no pun intended) of the basement. He pointed out that no one could or would hide in their because of all the crap stored in it.
I talked to Marlene earlier this week. She talked to her neighbor, Mary, who said that someone was probably casing my mom's house. My mother thinks that the burglar got as far as the back door, heard the dog and took off.
After all, what hardened criminal would be able to match wits and physical prowess with a man holding a Swiffer?
