When Zoe got home from school on Friday, I looked in her backpack and discovered a green shopping bag containing a journal and a bear named Rosco. I then learned that the kids all take turns bringing Rosco home for the weekend and are supposed to fill a page in the journal with pictures and descriptions of where they went, what Rosco saw, the strange noises he might have heard coming from mom and dad's bedroom on Saturday night and if he was subjected to any physical harm.
While looking through the journal, I noticed that most of the kids were able to take Rosco home for their birthdays, so there are several pictures of Rosco propped up by presents, balloons and cakes. There is also a note on almost every page about Rosco sleeping with his host. In their beds. Being breathed and drooled on. Since Zoe is the 16th child to take Rosco home for the weekend, that means he has slept with 15 other children, the most recent of which was sick. Wonderful.
Rosco's care instructions include what he likes to eat (anything) and that he's supposed to receive a bath in the washing machine on Sunday night before he is returned to school on Monday morning. If there were some way for me to be 100% sure that everyone had actually given him his bath, I might actually let him come out of his green shopping bag. And then I noticed that Zoe had taken him out of his bag and was playing with him in her room. Extra wonderful.
I went upstairs and discovered Rosco sitting on a doll size potty chair, having his fur vigorously rubbed down with a washcloth that had been saturated with a bottle of fake soap. Zoe was giving him a bath and telling him that he had to pee and get a bath before she would play with him. Play with him? Ah fuck. What the hell were we going to do with Mr. Germarific that would be journal and picture worthy? The only thing that I had planned for the weekend was a tennis tournament for the boys. If I had known in advance that Rosco would have been coming home this weekend, I would have scheduled some unique activities for him to enjoy.
Up to this point, Rosco's outings with the other kids have been pretty uneventful. He's been to a bowling alley, birthday parties, Costco, sleepovers, swimming lessons and been forced to watch a couple horrible movies. He's eaten at Culvers, played Wii, cavorted with family pets and even had someone "drum on his belly." There's a noticeable absence of activities like "helped the family with the marijuana harvest, fell asleep in a puddle of my own barf" or "stood on the street corner with a few baggies and a wad of cash." He has yet to do his first keg stand, drink a vodka Red Bull, watch porn or go downtown to bail Uncle Mark out of jail. Again.
I guess I'll do my best to find something for him to do that isn't mind-numbingly boring, but doesn't result in us being able to include a picture of Rosco in an orange jumpsuit. Even if there aren't any extra super fantastic events to write about, I know there will be one thing about Zoe's page that will make it unique: there is no way in hell she will be sleeping with that petri dish named Rosco.