The Kangaroo committed plant murder today and I lost my mind; a story in two parts

Part one: in which the stage is set

Today was hard. This week was hard. It just felt like one hit after another after another. As soon as I got one thing squared away something else would fall apart and I got whiplash just trying to keep everything in sight. My breaking point came yesterday afternoon. The plumber came over to check out a screaming noise my toilet was making that resembled a colicky newborn (been there, done that, definitely don’t need that shit from my toilet too) and while he was in the middle of telling me that both of my toilets need work, he happened to notice that my basement ceiling has water damage from the bathroom pipes upstairs and my sewer drainage pipes are cast iron, which is apparently a death sentence for both my pipes and my bank account. Never fear though, because he gave me a list of parts to get at Lowes, talked me through how to fix my own toilets so I could save a couple bucks, and then assured me that the water damage looked old and the pipes could wait a while. (Shout out to Marcus from Dauenhauer Plumbing for giving me a free estimate, free advice, and encouragement that I could, in fact, replace the flapper and wax rings all by myself.) I wasn’t excited about adding plumbing to my resume but it was either that or decide which organ I’m not currently using and could sell to afford the plumbing bill. Also, can we please talk about the fact that when Marcus opened the toilet lid he came face to face with an unflushed bowl of my urine, because the fucking toilet is broken and I forgot about it after drinking a large cup of coffee, and rather than let this guy think I’m some kind of non-flushing savage I blamed the Kangaroo’s potty training (which is a complete lie. Roo hasn’t peed in the potty in two weeks and I’ve abandoned all hope of him ever being out of diapers) and tried to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

At this point I’m frustrated that my house isn’t feeling as reliable as I’d like it to be, a stranger had seen my pee, I had spent all week panicking about finances due to my divorce, and I hadn’t slept or eaten human food in four days due to my anxiety.

So I take a few minutes and power pose in the middle of my living room while reminding myself that I am a strong, confident, powerful woman and can get through this. Only as I’m chanting this mantra it morphs into that scene from Cool Runnings where Yul Brenner is psyching up Junior Bevil before he confronts his father. “I see PRIDE. I see POWER. I SEE A BAD ASS MOTHER WHO DON’T TAKE NO CRAP OFF OF NOBODY! I see PRIDE. I see POWER. I SEE A BADASS MOTHER WHO DON’T TAKE NO CRAP OFF OF NOBODY!” and before I know it, I’m sing-shouting it at the top of my lungs while white girl dancing around the room. At some point in this middle of all this the dog comes into the living room and starts barking. I just thought he was really getting into it and shouting along with me. Nope. Turns out the UPS guy was standing on the porch watching me through the window, probably wondering if he should call a professional to have me put in some kind of padded room. Well, at this point what is one more embarrassing moment?

After hiding in my room for a few minutes to make sure that the UPS guy was really gone, I got ready to head to Lowe’s to purchase the toilet parts I needed. I was about to head out the door when I remembered that I hadn’t fed my tortoise, Al, lunch yet. I popped outside with my scissors, cut his favorite snacks from my front yard (grass, clover, dandelion leaves, and wild violets) and went into his room to feed him. I found him in the corner of his little house, arms, legs, and head all the way out, breathing laboriously and making popping sounds with every breath. I also discovered that my thermostat had malfunctioned at some point and Al’s enclosure was 65 degrees.

 I’m going to pause in my story here and give some quick information about Leopard tortoises and what they need to thrive, because it’s essential to this story. Leopard tortoises come from the savannahs of Eastern and Southern Africa and are born in the rainy season. This means they spend their first months of life in damp, warm, very humid burrows. (Please take a moment here and remember that Africa is a continent and not a country, and while our school systems may have failed us all and taught us that it is nothing but one large desert, it is, in fact, many countries made up of varied terrain, geography, and people.) Baby tortoises that are pets need to have these conditions replicated in order to stay healthy and happy. That means specific types of lights, heating elements, substrate, humidity levels, and food. They need to stay warm and damp, but if those needs aren’t met then baby tortoise gets sick. So when Al’s thermostat failed to keep his enclosure at a toasty 85 degrees he got a respiratory infection. Turns out your mom was right. You can catch a cold from being wet and chilly.

I called every exotic vet within a two hour drive of here but the soonest anyone could see him wasn’t for 24 hours. I did what I could to warm him up and get him feeling better. I gave him 1/16 of a raspberry because when you’re sick you deserve a treat, and then continued on with my trip to Lowes, feeling like garbage. Here’s the thing about tortoises. They aren’t all cuddly like a dog and they have this eternal “fuck you” expression on their faces so it’s hard to tell if they like you or if they hate every single thing about you. When they’re sick you can’t curl up on the couch with them and pet their ears. They mostly just want to be left alone. So I left him alone and continued on with my day, feeling even worse than I had when Marcus left, despite my raucous power posing.

When I got to Lowe’s I easily found the parts I needed and as I was heading to the checkout counter I decided to take a quick gander at the plants, because I thought I deserved a treat. Some people treat themselves with new clothes, a manicure, or a fancy coffee drink. I treat myself to plants, usually succulents. I can’t help it! You never know what kind you’ll find. Maybe it’ll be a new one that you’ve haven’t seen before, or one that you’ve only seen online but never found in person. Every now and then I get lucky and find a special one that just has to come home with me. Yesterday was a lucky day and I found a random rack filled with succulents all the way in the back of the section by the patio furniture, completely on its own. It had two types of Stonecrop Sedum I hadn’t seen before, one of which had this beautiful purple color at the tips. I filled my cart with some goodies and headed home, feeling excited about this special thing I had purchased just for me.

Now there is where I made my mistake.

The Kangaroo was spending the night at his dad’s house which meant I didn’t need to keep my new plants above his reach. My long term plan was to put them in a large pot in my garden out back but we are due some freezing weather and I wanted to let them live inside for a few days. So when I walked in the door I placed them on the floor, checked on Al, and went about the rest of my evening, mostly ignoring them.

Cut to today. I woke up in a funk and spent most of the day in my bed. I accomplished a lot while under the covers (guess who applied for her first job in almost four years?!) but needed the safety of my pillows and blankets. I got up to tend to the critters, but then hopped right back into my bed. I lost all track of time and almost missed Al’s vet appointment, so I had to run right out the door without taking any time to prepare for picking up Roo later (this is an important piece of information that comes in to play later on). Thanks to Covid-19, vet appointments mean sitting in my car while the vet takes Al inside and figures out what’s going on, and then calls to give you the official update and prognosis. (Side note- the next time you want to hear an awkward silence make a joke about your divorce when the vet asks about your husbandry…). Al’s update included confirmation of the respiratory infection and the news that tortoises heal very slowly, so Al will need shots of antibiotics every 72 hours for the next 30 days. Yup. 30 days. What a little drama queen.

Because Al’s appointment ran so long I went straight from the vet to pick up the Kangaroo from his dad’s house, and we went right home to go to bed (7pm bedtime is my favorite thing!). When we get home from places I usually hold his hand firmly and we walk right into the front door and then lock it behind us, due to his history of elopement. But today I was holding Al’s box in one hand and his medicine in the other, and needed Roo to walk in on his own. The Kangaroo saw the opportunity and sprinted down the sidewalk. And when I say sprinted I mean his little legs were a blur. I set Al’s box down on the porch and took off after him. Here’s the thing though. I was supposed to have surgery on my foot in April, but then Coronavirus hit and all elective procedures were cancelled. I am in an incredible amount of pain daily and I’m at a point where even just walking around my house is excruciating. So chasing the Kangaroo around the block just about did me in. He would let me get almost to arm’s reach and then would gleefully sprint away further down the sidewalk. By the time we made it all the way around the entire block and back to our front yard I was barely able to hobble after him. Luckily for me, he decided one lap was enough and headed to the porch, where he let himself in the front door. I was about 20 feet behind him when I suddenly realized that my new plants were all sitting on the floor of the living room, right in his path. Boom. Plant murder. Imagine Godzilla stomping through the streets of Tokyo or the Incredible Hulk destroying New York City.

I’d like to blame my blinding foot pain as the reason I snapped on him. Or maybe it was my anxiety about Al, or my frustration over the plumbing. It could have been pent up from being trapped inside for two months without another adult to talk to or panic over my financial situation. It could have been all of it or none of it. But before I knew it, I was shouting at him at the top of my lungs to WALK AWAY FROM MY FUCKING PLANTS AND GO TO YOUR ROOM! And he did. He hung his little head and ran away from me, slamming his bedroom door behind him, crying loudly.

And I sat down and cried too.

*Stay tuned for part two. I hope you like plant metaphors, because they are about to be coming at you hard.