It generally feels like I am the epicenter of all that is disgusting and requires onerous clean-up. Perhaps that's narcissism.
I feel happily peripheral just now, for last night it was Clara, not me, who slid messily through a large, viscous puddle of dog vomit, landing on her back in the midst of it and winding up with semi-digested kibble in her hair and between her toes. Granted, I had to clean Clara. But still, ordinarily it would have been me lying in the puddle.
Also, remember the Iguana Playground covered in glass? Husband called the city about it (I was too defeatist to bother). We went by to check this morning and, behold! Cleaner. Still glittering with small pieces of glass, but the large shards were gone. "Yay City!" I thought. "Go Baltimore! You have exceeded my expectations."
Or at least that's what I thought until the hipster dad we see there sometimes showed up. Turns out this young man in his owlish 1950s glasses (all the rage right now: wish I was bold enough to wear them) and Tokyo T-shirt swept up the glass himself (and it was a lot of glass--many many bottles' worth) with his 16 month old son on his back. Glittering bedamned! His kid was crawling around the grass there in seconds while he drank coffee out of a sake flask (my kids had been told they could use the slides but nothing else because of the remaining glass fragments--thousands--I was slowly picking up and putting in a baggy). Good for him. I'm awed.
Still too much glass for my comfort, and Baltimore still sucks. But that man cleaned the f*ing playground!
I'll be back with more ziplock and gloves to do small shard duty in the coming days.