House Calls

Time to call the doctor.
Yes, it's a house call.
But not what you're thinking.
Since moving into our house in May of 2009, and one child later, I've taken note of what all has migrated into our home since then.
It first became obvious when I recorded a home movie of our daughter on Easter of 2011, following her as she toddled her way over to her hidden Easter basket hidden behind the couch.
When I watched the movie a short time later, I wrinkled my nose at what I saw.
The stains on our dining room carpet.  Then as I walked into the family room, I saw the same thing.
While it's only natural to blame this on our two-and-a-half year-old, I'm smart enough to know better.
And sometimes I wonder if folks in Japan and Eastern Europe have the right idea with their shoes off at the door policy.  Lately, I'm seeing more and more Americans adopting this same policy, and wonder if I should assimilate as well.
I've tracked in salt and snow from the winter, and rotting black walnut residue during the fall.  Add Savannah's spills and other such messes, and it makes sweat break out on my brow when I run the mental adding machine for a professional carpet cleaner or worse, new carpeting.
But before I could suffer a panic attack, something caught my eye one morning before work, when I was at the local hardware store.
The Rug Doctor.
I had remembered this being advertised on game shows as a consolation prize, and was more surprised to see that it was still around.
The price was certainly right for a 24-hour rental.
Seems easy enough.  Unless I get a second opinion.
The problem is getting everyone out of the house long enough to get it done.

NEXT WEEK:  Fridicule