All we had to do was drop Skylar and her boyfriend at the airport Easter weekend, and then I’d come home and have a proper emotional breakdown about all these endings.

The girls leaving. The house getting quiet.

What exactly becomes of Alex and me?

Only this time… no musical theatrics to divert me from college and high school graduations.

Here we go again.

Skylar packing up her room like it’s the last time she’ll ever come home.

Does she have to leave all those drawers empty?

Crisis interrupted.

In we walk from the garage to the kitchen.

Alexandra runs to the family room first.

Wrappers are littered everywhere.

Holly strikes again.

Really? Could the dog have eaten the contents of that Easter basket–chocolate, wrappers and all?

We were stunned. This could be bad. Real bad.

Alexandra swore they were hers. Holly didn’t eat anything.

One Wrapper

The next day, on her walk, Holly threw up a wrapper.

I took her to the vet, just in case, though she was acting perfectly normal.

So now I’m at the vet, trying to recreate the contents of an Easter basket like it’s a crime scene.

Luckily they were all minis.

Twix.
3 Musketeers.
Milky Ways.
Hershey Kisses.

“How many pieces were in the basket?” She asks before giving her an x-ray.

“A finite number, I can tell you that.”

The x-ray only proved she had a full stomach, including what looked like crinkly things–but x-rays aren’t designed to show wrappers.

We brought Holly home to wait and see what happens.

She’s an old dog–typically we catch her staring at the wall. It’s not like she even went into the family room to sniff the Easter baskets this year.

But as the day wore on, our suspicions mounted–maybe she had eaten more.

Innocent Until Counted Guilty

Her chest looked like she swallowed a whole Easter basket.

We were concerned but went to bed hoping for the best.

12:30 am. Holly runs in whining, I put her in bed with us.

Next morning, I tap the bed where she should be, only she’s gone, and in her place, just one mini Milky Way wrapper.

Two Wrappers & Counting

Another sluggish day went by. Holly was definitely not acting right, but she hadn’t thrown up, either.

Maybe we were in the clear?

The bewitching 12:30 am struck, and Holly came upstairs whining. I once again put her in bed with Alex and me.

She didn’t last even five minutes and ran back downstairs.

Next morning I’m cleaning up one spot in our bedroom.

I go downstairs to find Alex. He’s in his office. I yell out before entering, “Holly threw up.”

Alex says, “I know.”

“How do you know?”

And I walk in to see Alex standing somewhere amidst a clutter of books clustered all over the room.

Conversation abruptly stopped. I never saw anything like it.

18 piles of books.
Everywhere.
(We’ll leave it at that.)

Alex is the numbers guy, so I let him do the math. He found four more wrappers—some with chocolate and some without.

And so the count began—one from the walk, one from our bed… and four more.

Six Wrappers and Counting

That warranted another trip to the vet–another x-ray, induced vomiting, twice. At least this time they didn’t have to stick a needle in her eye. (Yes, that story freaked out even the vet.) They did things differently when Holly was young.

And, after all that, she only threw up three more wrappers.

That’s how counting empty drawers turns into counting wrappers.

Now Alex is counting nine wrappers.

And I’m wondering–like the vet–how many wrappers could it be?

Alex surmised 15.

Of course I didn’t believe him. It had to be at least 20, maybe more.

Every morning, one more wrapper.
Then a lull.

Where were we?

Oh, right. Now let’s say 10, unless Alex is reading this and can tell us otherwise.

15 Wrappers and Counting

She seemed good for a few days until six days later, she threw up five more wrappers.

A week before, I was grieving the end of motherhood as I knew it.

Then I’m feeding my dog Wonder Bread to coat the wrappers (hopefully the vet didn’t mean that literally–and Stroehmann’s works) and counting chocolate wrappers like it’s my full-time job.

Funny how life has other plans.

But somehow, it always shows up exactly when you need it.

And so, the countdown mysteriously continues.

We’re at fifteen wrappers… allegedly.

But on day seven, I found a lone Twix wrapper in the driveway.

Which feels… suspicious.

It’s just me here–writing when I can. If you want more whimsy in your life, you know where to find me.