Things have been pretty quiet on the farm these days. I’ve mastered the now infamous zero turn mower, we still don’t have any chickens and cutting down 22 dead ash trees from the property didn’t produce one single funny story. Aside from someone commenting that our place looked like a “man-made tornado hit it,” things have been rather dull.
Well, there is the fact that we still have 24 windows without screens. You think you’ve got problems with stink bugs? How many of you have had someone drop by and ask if you put up new wallpaper?
“Are you a New Orleans Saints fan?” she asked. “Those look like miniature fleur de lis.”
Just then, the “fleur de lis” began to migrate to one corner, which seemed to freak her out a little.
I don’t know this woman well but she mumbled something about a flashback to the ’60s and started scratching at her arms. I didn’t know whether to give her Benadryl or point her to the mushrooms growing out back.
I had a flashback of my own this last week.
I’ve been chosen by a travel company to lead my fellow Northeast Ohioans on a 13-day tour of the Hawaiian Islands this winter. I am well aware that this makes me the new Don Webster, and I’m OK with that.
What I didn’t expect was what happened when I went to the Channel 5 studios to shoot the commercial for the trip.
Some of you may recall that I hosted the Morning Exchange on Channel 5 for one whole year. I was hired to co-host what had been a very successful long-running program in its waning years. Some say I helped keep it alive for another year. However, I felt more like the Capt. Joseph Hazelwood of morning TV. (Google that reference if you don’t get it. It usually draws a chuckle.)
Despite working there for another year, anchoring the 11 p.m. news with Ted Henry, I’d never returned to that Morning Exchange studio until last week.
In an instant, it all came back to me like a bad recurring nightmare, except I had my clothes on and all my teeth.
My children were 3, 5 and 7 and I had decided to take them to work with me. I set them on chairs in a corner of the studio and told them to sit there and not move. But the lure of a table full of bagels and assorted cream cheeses proved to be too much.
As I was interviewing one of the guests, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them standing at the table. Picking up bagels and licking them. Not all of them. Just the ones they thought weren’t onion or everything bagels.
Taking your children with you to work when you work on a live television program is bad idea No. 1.
Screaming at them on live TV to stop fondling and licking the bagels is bad idea No. 2.
But the worst idea was to come.
As soon as I said, “Thanks for watching. We’ll see you tomorrow,” I scooped up the three bagel-lickers and shoved them in the minivan.
The next thing that happened proved that I was insane. I took them to the Cleveland Animal Protection League to look for a dog. I should have just gouged out my eyes with swizzle sticks instead.
We had been there the Saturday before, looking for the perfect family dog. I wanted the mutt that looked like a Disney movie dog, my husband wanted the one that was part Lab and my kids wanted a puppy. Any puppy.
I thought this sneaky move would secure the Disney dog.
It was the hottest day of the year and the kids were on an orange juice, bagel and strawberry cream cheese high, running up and down the kennel aisles, putting their lips on the drinking fountains and stepping in poop every time we took a puppy outside.
The kind ladies were telling me how they were building a new wing and naming it after Dick Goddard, and other potential dog owners would also stop to chat. Frequently.
The echoing of incessant voices, the sweltering heat, the humid air that smelled of dog feces, and my youngest whining, “Hold me. Hold me,” got to me.
I finally snapped and announced to the ladies that we would not be taking a dog that day and we had to leave immediately. I quickly called my children.
“Matthew!” He came running. “Hallie!!” She came running. “Will!!! WILL!!!!!!!!! Where’s Will???” I screamed in a panic as I turned in circles, looking in every direction for my 3-year-old son.
Just then, a little hand reached around to grab my face. It was his hand. I was holding him.
One woman grabbed the adoption papers right out of my purse without a word, while another sympathetic lady said, “That’s all right. I do the same thing with my sunglasses.”
Sunglasses. Thirty-five-pound son. Yeah, it’s almost the same thing.
We never did get a dog there. And I never took my kids to work with me again.
Robin Swoboda’s column runs every other week. Contact her at Robinswoboda@outlook.com.