Choices

The following was the e-mail that convinced me to chronicle our lives in a blog rather than in random e-mails to friends and family.

Do you remember the last time that you made a choice that seemed inconsequential maybe even meaningless? Do you remember when you thought you were making a choice to be helpful to someone else and in reality the one you were helping was you? That if you had known of what would happen next, you would be considered selfish and self centered but instead, since you had no possible way of knowing what the future was, you were just plain lucky?

This the subject of today's post...

Leah and I have three cats, Rocky, Peanut and Christmas. Three cats who have been getting the short end of the stick when it comes to attention these past few weeks now that we have a little one (i.e. Grant) in the house. So little has been the attention that we have been giving them as of late that their litter boxes have been, how should we say, well used. Yes, we shall call their letter boxes well used, so well used that I am surprised that they have not learned how to operate the toilets.

Because of the freshness of the laundry room today, I took it upon myself to clean out the litter boxes. This meant carrying 50 pounds of cat litter up the stairs, cleaning out the three litter boxes (1 per cat) and then carrying three trash bags full of dirty cat litter out to the dumpster.

During the middle of cleaning them out, I was over come by a toxic wave flowing into the laundry room from the nursery, so toxic was this stench that I looked in to see if my poor wife was OK. When i looked in, I saw my wife on the verge of retching and Grant looking particularly pleased to finally have whatever was inside of him, on the outside. While I contemplated calling OSHA or maybe a local HASMAT team, I thought, no, my wife is perfectly capable of dealing with this and I went back to cleaning out my nice fresh smelling litter boxes.

Sadly, the diaper changing did eventually result in Grant's outfit, the changing pads and the rug on the floor beneath the changing pad needing to go into the washing machine.

The moral of this story is that 50 pounds of dirty cat litter is far better than 5 ounces of Grant's diapers...

Just something I thought I should share.