After that, we went to the pet store to replace a few of Winnie's toys that have suffered squeeker-ectomies or stuffing-ectomies. She got a new tug rope and a squeeky hedgehog, and she also picked out a cow hoof as a chewy toy, which she promptly buried somewhere in my bedroom. Must remember to check my bed before I go to sleep.
And since the pet store is so close to the bookstore, I gave into temptation.......... I've been waiting for Anne Lamott's new book, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, since I found out about it before Christmas. It was finally released on Tuesday, but I thought I should wait until after Hell Week part 2 so I wouldn't waste valuable studying time reading. My self control is apparently not very strong.
And then, since I was already at the bookstore, and already thinking about how much I love Anne Lamott's writing, I started thinking that I should see if they had another one of her books. I read Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year a couple of years ago, and it's still one of the funniest books I've ever read. So I found it, and, er, bought that too. I'm happy I did though. The first thing I looked for was this story from when she brought her son Sam home from the hospital:
So there we were, me and my feverish little baby, with Pammy and Peg puttering around the house putting things away. I put Sam facedown on my lap and took off his diaper and even his little T-shirt, so he looked very sweet and vulnerable, like a chicken. Right then the kitty ran into the house and straight through the living room into the kitchen, very deliberately keeping her eyes off Sam and me. I was putting petroleum jelly on the thermometer when she tore from the kitchen, back through the living room, and out the front foor, still with her eyes averted, as if she had little blinders on. A minute later, I inserted the thermometer into Sam's rectum. I think it surprised him a little bit, and right at that exact second the kitty tore back into the house and ran up to the couch to check out the new arrival. In the next few seconds, with the kitty's eyes on us, shit began spouting volcanically out of the baby's bum, and I started calling for help. The shit just poured voluminously out of Sam while the kitty looked up at me with total horror and disgust, like "You have got to be kidding, Annie, this one's broken." Like she had put all her trust in me to pick one up at the pound and this was the best I could do.
For the next few hours, she avoided him, as though the image of the shit storm were too painful and disgusting for her to forget, but by that night, she was butting her head against his and licking his ears. We all slept together on the big queen-sized futon in the living room, where it's warmer.
Oh non-required reading, how I love you. I can't wait to start her new book.