Yesterday was a particularly long day. I had a list a mile long and found very little time to tackle any of the to-dos on that list. Instead I found myself zipping from one classroom to another watching the magic happen and sometimes working alongside teachers to make the magic happen. When I finally had a moment to look at my calendar I realized the items on my list could wait. I turned off the lights to my office and headed out to pick up the cutest grandbaby that ever existed, then home.
As normal, I struggled to unlock the front door, baby in car seat hooked on one elbow and bag of important stuff that rides home with me daily dangling from the other elbow. What was not normal was the smell that greeted me once the door opened. I put baby down on the bench on my front porch because I just knew a wild animal had invaded our home and I didn’t want to risk injury to baby as I fought it off. That smell could only belong to the wildest of animals – a feral pig, bear, goat – I don’t know – but it had to be something that didn’t mind rolling in the dead remains of another creature. That’s how bad the smell was – it was the smell of a wild animal that rolled in something dead. Trust me. It was bad.
I was at the ready. I had my pepper spray opened and my trigger finger ready to push the button. The plan was to startle the animal with the spray and then bash it with the baseball bat I found in the front closet. I skulked around looking everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I could not find the animal or the source of the smell. I ran from room to room sniffing wildly like my dog, Reef, when he suspects I’ve had the audacity to pet another dog. Realizing that there was no LIVE animal in the house, I brought baby in and went on the hunt for whatever was rotting in my walls. But the smell was so bad, I couldn’t pinpoint one area. In an effort to breathe without gagging, I lit a bunch of smelly candles and started to saute some onions. That did the trick because as the household members started to trickle in, no one mentioned the smell of death coming out of the walls.
Flash forward to this morning. I’m in a meeting and my daughter texts me, “Mom, it smells like something died in the house.” Guess whose walking around the house armed with pepper spray and a bat now?