Front page
Silflay Hraka?

Bigwig is a systems administrator at a public university
Hrairoo is the proprietor of a quality used bookstore
Kehaar is.
Woundwort is a professor of counseling at a private university

The Hraka RSS feed

bigwig AT

Friends of Hraka
Daily Pundit
cut on the bias
Meryl Yourish
This Blog Is Full Of Crap
Winds of Change
A Small Victory
Silent Running
Dr. Weevil
Little Green Footballs
Fragments from Floyd
The Feces Flinging Monkey
the skwib
Dean's World
Little Tiny Lies
The Redsugar Muse
Natalie Solent
From the Mrs.
The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler
On the Third Hand
Public Nuisance
Not a Fish
Electric Venom
Skippy, The Bush Kangaroo
Common Sense and Wonder
Neither Here Nor There
The Greatest Jeneration
Ipse Dixit
Blog On the Run
Redwood Dragon
Greeblie Blog
Have A Cuppa Tea
A Dog's Life
Iberian Notes
Midwest Conservative Journal
A Voyage to Arcturus
Trojan Horseshoes
In Context
The People's Republic of Seabrook
Country Store
Blog Critics
Chicago Boyz
Hippy Hill News
Kyle Still Free Press
The Devil's Excrement
The Fat Guy
War Liberal
Assume the Position
Balloon Juice
Iron Pen In A Velvet Glove
Freedom Lives
Where Worlds Collide
Knot by Numbers
How Appealing
South Knox Bubba
Heretical Ideas
The Kitchen Cabinet
Bo Cowgill
Raving Atheist
The Short Strange Trip
Shark Blog
Ron Bailey's Weblog
Cornfield Commentary
Northwest Notes
The Blog from the Core
The Talking Dog
WTF Is It Now??
Blue Streak
Smarter Harper's Index
nikita demosthenes
Bloviating Inanities
Sneakeasy's Joint
Ravenwood's Universe
The Eleven Day Empire
World Wide Rant
All American
The Rant
The Johnny Bacardi Show
The Head Heeb
Viking Pundit
Oscar Jr. Was Here
Just Some Poor Schmuck
Katy & Bruce Loebrich
But How's The Coffee?
Roscoe Ellis
Sasha Castel
Susskins Central Dispatch
Josh Heit
Aaron's Rantblog
As I was saying...
Blog O' Dob
Dr. Frank's Blogs Of War
Betsy's Page
A Knob for Brightness
Fresh Bilge
The Politburo Diktat
Drumwaster's rants
Curt's Page
The Razor
An Unsealed Room
The Legal Bean
Helloooo chapter two!
As I Was Saying...
SkeptiLog AGOG!
Tong family blog
Vox Beth
I was thinking
Judicious Asininity
This Woman's Work
Fragrant Lotus
Single Southern Guy
Jay Solo's Verbosity
Snooze Button Dreams
You Big Mouth, You!
From the Inside looking Out
Night of the Lepus
No Watermelons Allowed
From The Inside Looking Out
Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics
Suburban Blight
The SmarterCop
Dog of Flanders
From Behind the Wall of Sleep
Beaker's Corner
Bad State of Gruntledness
Who Tends The Fires
Granny Rant
Elegance Against Ignorance
Say What?
Blown Fuse
Wait 'til Next Year
The Pryhills
The Whomping Willow
The National Debate
The Skeptician
Zach Everson
Geekward Ho
Life in New Orleans
Rotten Miracles
The Biomes Blog
See What You Share
Blog d’Elisson
Your Philosophy Sucks
Watauga Rambler
Socialized Medicine
Verging on Pertinence
Read My Lips
The Flannel Avenger
Butch Howard's WebLog
Castle Argghhh!
Andrew Hofer
Moron Abroad
White Pebble
Darn Floor
Pajama Pundits
Goddess Training 101
A & W
Medical Madhouse
Slowly Going Sane
The Oubliette
American Future
Right Side Redux
See The Donkey
Newbie Trucker
The Right Scale
Running Scared
Ramblings Journal
Focus On Reality
Wyatt's Torch

November 08, 2002

Jitterbug Perfume

Ngnat stunk this morning. She wasn't gassy, she was dirty. She had a nauseating sweet smell that conjured a memory of sweat socks left in the locker under a damp towel all weekend.

I tried to ignore it, but the way we dress her in the morning prevented it. I sit with legs akimbo on her big-girl bed, which is really just the twin mattress and box springs from my bachelor days, and she leans against me for balance while I pull on her pants. This puts my nose in close proximity to her neck, which is nice but is not normally something I think about. Today a sour reek emanated from her, so that I had the choice of either not breathing, or sending her to day-care half naked.

"Jesus, honey. You smell like poor people. " I told her.

We do bathe the child every now and then, but we'd skipped a night in the schedule because the sainted wife was knee deep in head cold goo, and the responsibility of bathing the Ngnat has fallen to her over time. Yes, I could have bathed her, but I didn't really want to. I don't have enough familiarity with the bathtime ritual, and if some bit of minutia in her expected schedule gets overlooked, Ngnat gets snippy at a decibel level that would cause disdain for my parenting skills in most single people. It's handy for clearing a room of cats, though.

Also, she thinks drinking her own bath water is good for giggles, which grosses me out no end. Her mother drinks after the cats, so I suppose she comes by it naturally.

I made another half-hearted attempt at pulling up her tights. After all, once I got her to day care it didn't really matter what she smelled like, as far as I was concerned. My next whiff convinced me that wasn't going to work, as any neutral sniffer would classify her as a foster care candidate once they got within a foot or two.

What the hell. I work in IT. My schedule is pretty much mine to make.

"Time for a bath, Missy Stink."

You would have thought I was sticking needles in her eyes. It's one thing to have Daddy not know what the hell is supposed to happen next at the regular bath time. It's quite another to stick one into the morning schedule without even a warning memo.

"DON WANNA BATH!!" she screamed, and burst into tears.

She lay on the floor and cried while the bath was drawing. She sat in the bath and cried while I washed her hair. She stood in the bath and cried while I scrubbed her. Nothing would console her. She screamed as if the tepid water I rinsed her with was boiling hot. This was not right, this was not how the world was meant to be, and dammit, the world was going to hear about it. Finally we were done.

She looked up at me from the tub, tears leaking of her red eyes, lower lip still trembling. "I wan get out, daddy."

So we got out and got dry and got dressed and had another minor bout of unpleasantness with the hairdryer, as she normally gets to let her hair air-dry. And we went downstairs and ate a cold pretzel that mommy had forgotten before she went to work and got in the car and just barely made it to daycare in time for morning snack. I sat her down and took her coat and Rosa put her juice and brown-sugar Poptart in front of her and I leaned over and kissed her goodbye.

She smelled great.

Posted by Bigwig at November 8, 2002 12:48 PM | TrackBack
First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself.
Post a comment Note: Comments with more than two dashes per line will be blocked as spam.

Remember personal info?