The Bell Tolls for Me

It’s time for some home improvements around here. Perhaps I’ll start soliciting bids on a few projects.

First, we need a bell-tower. My dad suggested this when I told him that each rare occasion that Jack poops in the potty, I have an irrepressible urge to pull out a megaphone and announce it to the neighborhood. “Calling all ships, Jacky did a BM in the toilet!” My dad thought a giant bell hung in a stone tower clanging to and fro would do a much better job. Jack poops, Megan clangs the bell. And suffers hearing loss, but all for a good cause.

Editor’s Note: The bell tower would be seeing little use, currently. But it’s mere presence might inspire hope.

Next I need an elaborate netting system, rather like those that college football teams string up on ropes and pulleys behind the goal post whenever a field goal is imminent. We would have it strung up around the perimeter of the yard atop the six-foot wooden fences along the property line. Much like keeping the kicker’s punt from smacking the fans in the bleachers, the net would corral all the shiz Jack and Charlie throw over the fences. Tonight it would’ve kept the contents of our recycling can on our side of the fence. (Me, secretly when Charlie’s attempts to launch empty cereal boxes over the fence fails: Joke’s on you kid. Suckah!”

The third project on my list is a cleaning system for Jack’s bedroom. I merely want something like the apparatus that resets the bowling lanes at a bowling alley. It doesn’t have to be fancy. When Jack takes a whiz or lays a brick in his room, the device would pick up his mattress as if it were a standing bowling pin, whilst hosing off the floor and pushing everything into a drain in the corner. Why somebody hasn’t yet patented this idea, I do not know.

While we’re at it, I’d like to add a dovecote in the backyard. No birds please. Does it look to you like I communicate by carrier pigeon? I’m merely drawn to the idea of a stony cylindrical structure away from my house that hearkens to an era before IEP’s and ABA therapy and my life’s other weird accoutrements where I could go to be alone and rend my clothing and pull out clumps of my hair and weep loudly.

The neighbors will think it’s the birds.


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