I'm Ready for My Straitjacket, Mr. DeMille (Day 6)

It all started with a horrific thumping noise at 6:30 this morning. Was some axe-murderer banging (or hacking) at the door? Why weren't the dogs barking?

Like the too-stupid-to-live actress in the slasher B-flick who knows there's a serial killer on the loose (and he's even warned her that she's next on his list), but still investigates a strange noise in a dark basement while clad in a sexy negligee, I burst out of the bedroom in a not-so-sexy nightie, only to realize the thumping came from Baby Bear's room.

He was kicking his race car bed as the electronic keyboard auto-played an obnoxious tune over and over, full blast. The blinds had been yanked all the way up, baring the bedroom window.

He was ready to get up and conquer the world--until I tried to get him dressed for school. He barricaded himself in his room and hid under his blanket in the apparent belief that I'd never think of looking for him there.

After he left on the school bus, I put clean sheets on his bed, vacuumed the carpet and plugged the four new escape routes in the back yard, then foolishly thought I might get some serious work done on the computer.

When I came out of my office an hour later, the recently vacuumed floor was covered with stuffing from a plush toy frog the dogs had purloined from Bear's toy box. The frog himself was a tattered, inert rag--as if he'd shed his skin, and I don't know if real frogs do that.

Also, one of Bear's stuffed Teletubbies was missing an ear. I assume one of the dogs sent it to his girlfriend--likely that Jack Russell terrier on the other side of the fence that they're always digging to get to.

When Bear came home, he was barefoot (he always takes off his socks and shoes on the bus), and he greeted me by throwing the shoes at me. As I picked them up, he took advantage of the diversion to take off down the street. Though he's only ten years old, he's 5'6" and 140 lbs--and getting stronger every day. He's not chubby by any means, just . . . BIG.

I somehow got him into the house. I'd crated the dogs in anticipation of his arrival, but Buddy broke the zipper on his crate and was loose. He barked and jumped all over Bear, which Bear does not like at all, leading to more screaming and head banging. I put the dogs out back until everyone calmed down and--no no, that's an exaggeration around here--until everyone . . . well, I don't know--till there wasn't so much barking and screaming and banging.

By now it was after 5 pm, and I was trying to watch the news. At the commercial break, I noticed Jasper had slipped out of his harness again. This time he wasn't such a good sport about letting me put it back on him. I was still struggling with it when the local TV station just had to choose that moment to run a commercial for Domino's Pizza.

"DING DONG! Get the door--it's Domino's!" At the sound of the doorbell on the commercial, both dogs took off barking to our front door, with Jasper dragging me behind him.

Then after dinner--remember those clean sheets I'd put on my son's bed? He dumped water all over the bed and his floor.

Race car beds look really cool, but it's an imperial pain in the rear trying to put fresh linens on them. I have to stand on my head and do backflips just to get the bottom sheet on. And while I was occupied with that, what do you think he was doing out in the kitchen? Why, he was pouring my glass of iced tea onto the floor.

The upside to all of this was that by now he was in a much better mood than when he came home, all giggly and silly.

I have to admit, that's better than the head banging and screaming, and I'm willing to put down a few towels for it.

In less than 48 hours, Mr. Lucky will be home . . . and I'll be in a mental ward.

Number of times I had to get up while writing this post: 5