Dung Beetles & Canine Lasers

Last Saturday was a family day full of projects and errands. Midway through our excursions, we stopped in at King Wok for some lunch. (Not to be confused with King Wok II, also by our house. Just regular King Wok.)

The mister and I are big fans of good Chinese food which, unfortunately, King Wok is not. It’s quite terrible, in fact. Very…gelatinous.

We finished eating and started packing up to head to our next stop. I picked up the babe to change his diaper and my hands touched a wet bum. Never a good sign.

I checked his back out and – sure enough – poosplosion. Honestly…my kids never poosplode at home. Just in public. (Usually at restaurants.) It’s their gift to the world, I guess.

Anyway, I grabbed the bag and headed into the one-seater bathroom to find no changing table.

“I bet King Wok II has one.” I thought as I began to changing the diaper on top of a wall cabinet that was sitting on the ground. Gotta love international restaurant bathroom decor.

A few seconds in, I realized Hutt’s diaper situation was the kind that would’ve been an immediate hose-off in the sink, had we been home.

I stuck my head out the door and called for backup.

Did I mention we were the only patrons in King Wok? (Should’ve been our first clue.)

Imagine what Mr. Wok is thinking as he watches the scene: Mom and baby go in. Mom yells for help. Dad and toddler join them.


I’ll spare you the gory details.

All you need to know is that Taylor and I stripped our precious baby boy, put him in the King Wok sink, bathed him witdung beetlesh radioactive-pink restaurant soap, and dried him off with 1-ply brown paper towels, all while our firstborn was in the corner dancing and singing his second #1 hit, “Dung beetles eat poop. Dunnng beetttlllesss eat pooooooop. Dung beetles eeeaaaattt poooooppppp!!!!” (a hysterrrical fact we recently learned from a bug book).

It was bad. And will surely end up in Hutton’s medical record.

If you never hear anything I say ever again, hear this: do not ever, under any circumstances, step foot in the bathroom of King Wok. Awful things went down in there.

Canine Lasers

Every time the vet calls to confirm an appointment for Mack, they say, “And how is your baby –” but before I tell them how Hutton is doing they continue with “– does his tail seem better? Is he happier? Poor baby.”

Oh, right. The dog. Yea, he’s good. (Funny how things change when you have an actual baby.)

So when the boys and I were there the other day for his fourth laser treatment (still don’t know what that means or if it’s even a real thing), we were looking at the boarded cats.

I started looking at the name tags on their kennels: Charlotte, Daphne, Javier, and Lucy.

Fancy names.

Then I noticed that 2 of the 4 cats had receiving blankets in their beds that were the exact same blankets my 5 month old human has. Same blankets. Baby receiving blankets from Target.

Like, yes, poor Mack and we love him very much and I’m very sorry I accidentally severed the end of his tail, but I see now why we have already paid a minimum of $500. Partly for lasers (?!), partly for the doctor’s expertise, but mostly because they view him the same as a human baby and really need to change his cast color as often as possible.

But. It’s ok.

Because Mack Dad is much better now.

And we’re super glad the laser therapy is working so he doesn’t end up as an amputee.

Stupid standard wooden doors.

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