"It always comes in 3s", an attage we apply to celebrities when buckets are kicked. Who knows why the universe does what it does, but we all know it to be true. When a celeb passes on to the big casting call in the sky, B-list actors and has been child stars everywhere lock themselves up in an attempt to avoid being one of the three for this go-around.
In my house, the number 3 holds a different mystical quality and it relates to weirdness. When something odd happens in the house, you can be sure that 2 more strange things are about to occur or already have and are awaiting discovery. Instances like this happen all the time here. For example, there was the time I found an unopened can of soup in the toilet shortly after discovering poopy underwear on the fence post and then opening the refrigerator to see one shelf completely covered in unwrapped squares of cheese "singles" slices. The underwear, mind you, did not belong to anyone in my house.
Today I arrived home from work and found a dog kennel sitting in my driveway against the wall adjacent to my garage door. Upon the kennel sat a large cardboard box, three of the four flaps folded in on themselves. When I got out of the car, I peaked into the box to see a dead chicken. At that very moment, I knew I could expect two more oddities in a very short time. The universe was kind to me and I didn't have to wait long. After getting the kids out of the car and into the house, my 2-year-old daughter shot out of the bathroom naked, ran across the kitchen, and out the sliding glass door to the back yard. I went into the bathroom to retrieve the clothes she had stripped off (yes, she is one of those children who feel compelled to be completely naked in order to go potty) and stepped into the world's largest puddle of urine I'd ever seen. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought Ogre from "Revenge of the Nerds" had just had a mishap in there. After cleaning up the mess, and on my way to the laundry room, I spotted sitting on the keyboard of my laptop, a letter to Santa Clause. Please note, it's June. But my 6-year-old daughter felt it necessary to pen her most recent "want" list to the jolly fat man, despite it being 80 degrees outside.
Unlike celebrity deaths, which seem to have some sort of reprieve lasting weeks, sometimes months, before another round strikes, the weirdness in 3s thing at my house can strike at any time. Just now, in fact, my daughters, one still naked from her bathroom catastrophy, both with faces full of melted ice cream bars they snuck outside about 10 minutes ago, just popped into the house and simultaniously said "Dad, one of the chickens died." Then my 6-year-old followed that up with the first few bars of death march music from "Star Wars". As I laughed at her song, consoled the 2-year-old, and walked them both to the sliding glass door to push their filthy, dripping ice cream bars and faces out to the back yard, I spotted a banana floating in our fish tank. The fish did not seem at all interested in the floating fruit but my cat, whom is usually an emotionless ice queen, was sitting on the couch staring into the fish tank at that banana as though it was a carrot on a stick.
After having just won, barely, an argument with my 6-year-old about why it's no okay to lock her now diapered, still ice cream covered 2-year-old sister inside the dog kennel with the dead chicken on top of it in my driveway, I now sit in my living room watching my 10-month-old baby boy walk around dragging a power strip that has had the tail of a sock monkey tied to it, sock monkey in tow. I await the final in this series of 3 to strike at any moment. And there it is! My dog has just come up from the basement, torso entangled by an old purse filled with what appears to be dried, crumbly, discolored Playdoh balls.
