A Typical Tuesday

Do you remember this? Probably not. Go ahead. Read it. See how horrible we are.

Fast forward to this morning.

It was a typical morning, a messy diaper change while the dog was outside. After letting the dog back in from outside, I gave Butterball her breakfast and lay semi-conscious on the couch while she ate, threw her juice cup onto the floor, and teased the dog with endless amounts of corn pops and banana waiting for Little Monster to wake up. As Little Monster came out of his room, groggy from sleep, I noticed it. Butterball's apple juice cup had leaked on the floor, directly under her high chair. I bent down and touched it, thinking it was odd that the puddle was pretty far away from the cup, which still had juice in it. The puddle was warm. It smelled of urine. Warm. Urine.

OH NO HE DIDN'T!

Yes. He did. Our dog left a wet spot in the living room. Not only did he do it under the baby's high chair while waiting for her to drop breakfast on the floor for him, he did it while I was IN THE ROOM! How I missed it, I didn't know. It must have happened while they were talking about something fascinating on the news.

After a few words I'm not proud of, perhaps at a volume that I definitely I'm not proud of, the dog was in his kennel. Ugh. I cleaned up the puddle, still grumbling things that I hope the kids didn't hear.

Then, Butterball started signaling that she was all done with breakfast. She waved her hands about and proclaimed "aaa duuuuuh!!!!" (Can you believe she says ALL DONE?! I can't!) I pulled her out of her high chair and snuggled her... I hadn't snapped her onesie after the diaper change, so I lifted it up to blow raspberries on her belly and as I leaned in, cheeks puffed and ready, listening for the excited giggles of a ten month old baby girl, I noticed it. Something looked wrong. SHE WASN'T WEARING A DIAPER.

So, that puddle. That pee. That wasn't the dog's fault. It was mine.

Lessons learned this morning:

• A diaper change is not actually a diaper change unless the old diaper is replaced with a new one. Without the new diaper, it's just diaper removal.
• DIAPER REMOVAL is not recommended for children who are only 10 months old. You should definitely always complete the diaper change.
• Coffee timers should be set the night before to avoid repeats of the lessons above. Or worse.

June. What a month.

There has been lots of craziness for our family this month.

Shortcake will forever be known as Butterball. Or Little Ladybug. Either one. Little Monster still insists upon calling her butterball. Unless, of course, I actually call her butterball -- then he corrects me with her name.

Our home in Virginia has found new tenants, although it did take several thousand dollars in carpet and paint to get us to that point, I'm happy that it will have a family to take care of it for us until we can come back and fix it up.

Kleenex, our female dog, is no longer ours. It was a very sad and depressing few days for me. She wasn't handling the new addition to our family well at all and began shredding things. She shredded quite a few things, and had a few other behavior incidents before Not the Momma decided she probably would do better with a different family. I was sad, but happy she was possibly going to a family with older kids and a more stable, permanent home. Luckily, we are in California, land of the no-kill shelters, right? So, we dropped her off at the SPCA. The man at the front took her back for a behavior test, which she passed with flying colors. He assured us that she was cute and that she would be adopted quickly. There was even a family that was oohing at her as we were dropping her off. Two hours later, we got a call that she wasn't doing so well. The stress of being in the kennel was making her go nuts. She was growling, snapping, snarling and her hair was going up at the sight of everyone. They wanted to put her to sleep, or we had to pick her up. It was a very difficult decision, but we decided, after talking to their behavior specialist, that it was better for everyone if we signed the euthanasia paperwork. We told Little Monster initially that we gave Kleenex to another family, thinking she'd be adopted... But when we stopped by the SPCA later, he somehow knew (without getting out of the car and seeing anything) that we were at a "dog farm" and Kleenex was there. And was Daddy picking up Kleenex? He has done pretty well without Kleenex, and our other dog still seems content. I wish that stupid dog had been smart enough to look cute at everyone and be friendly so that she could have found a new home, but things don't always work out the way you want. I am not so happy with how everything turned out, being as Kleenex was really one of my children, but it was the best decision for our family. Being a grown up sucks sometimes.

We have had lots of visitors and guests here to help out since the birth. My mom and sister came out, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Then, Not the Momma's parents came out to help. It was nice to not have to worry about cleaning or doing dishes, or dinner. My PWOC sisters brought us meals for five nights -- and did they ever bring us meals! We could have eaten for weeks with the amount of food we received. It is amazing to realize how many friends you actually have. Sometimes (this time especially) it's humbling. I think I need to be a better friend for the rest of our tour here.

We've even gotten our family photos taken. A photographer in our neighborhood was good enough to take them for us, and I think they turned out wonderfully.

The day Butterball was born, we were supposed to have found out where we'll be stationed next (after our short tour in Rhode Island). After having everything postponed three times, we finally found out that our new duty station will be in San Diego. I'm not CRAZY about the fact that San Diego is in California. But that's about the only problem I have. I'm excited to be somewhere warm. Not the Momma's job won't be the greatest, and it wasn't our first pick, but it isn't the worst job he could have. And once again, we'll be somewhere warm. Warmer than Washington, more temperate than Norfolk, and though we'll still have June Gloom to worry about, when I am missing winter, I'll just drag the kids to visit family.

Tomorrow Butterball has her 1 month appointment for a weight check. Hopefully that turns out well, and I can kiss June goodbye. We can hope that July and August and the months after will bring a bit less stress (of the unexpected variety, at least) with them. In the next few weeks I have some funny stories to share about how Little Monster is reacting to the new addition, and I'll post the entire birth story. Wait, have I done that already? Who knows. You can read it again.

Everything you can imagine is renal.

At least at our house it is lately.

Tuesday I was feeling a bit "off." And I blew that off, thinking that I'm pregnant. That happens. By 10:00 at night, I was sure I had a full blown bladder infection. I tried to self treat until the morning when I could call the doctor. This required sending my dear, loving, wonderful husband out into the middle of the chilly rainy night to brave the dangers of Walgreen's at night. He said the hoodlums were a bit scary. As I paced, soaked in a warm tub, and drank bottle upon bottle of water, I waited anxiously for him to get home. When he did, I took a couple of cranberry pills, and drank some cranberry juice, waiting, waiting waiting for the pain to ease.

I figured if I wasn't asleep by 1:00 AM, it was probably bad enough to head in to the ER. I really, really didn't want to be that fool in the ER showing up because they had a problem that a normal doctor could fix on normal hours. I really didn't want to be calling my OB in the middle of the night, complaining about a bladder infection. A stupid bladder infection.

You see, January 1st 2007, I ended up in the hospital with Kidney stones. I was throwing up, miserable, in lots of pain. I thought I was dying. Maybe I had an appendix rupture -- only without the fever. Who knew? So, those several hours in the uncomfortable ER chairs waiting for a room went by really really slowly. All I wanted to do was go home and get in bed and die there. In fact, I told Not the Momma that several times during the wait. But, being the stubborn (and loving and wonderful and caring) husband that he is refused to take me home. He wanted me to die on that cold tile, writhing in pain the day before he left for a year overseas. And that's when the guy who came in before me started complaining. About a toothache. And how he really needed to be seen now. Because he had a toothache. I was throwing up every 4 to 5 minutes (how, I don't know, I'd thrown everything up already), writhing in agony on the floor in such a show that when I sat down, people fled from me like I was Moses and they the Red Sea. They certainly didn't want to catch whatever I had. It really bothered me that the rooms were full of people who had hangovers and toothaches while I was being left to die. So, I made a pact to myself that I would NEVER go to the ER if I didn't have to.

Tuesday night, I was sure I didn't really have to. I could drown the bladder infection to the point where I could sleep -- and hopefully sleep would last long enough that I could wait it out until morning. But the longer I sat in misery, the sweatier I got from the pain, the less I was able to concentrate on anything, the more I thought about going to that ER. And, so, I changed the time to midnight. If I didn't feel sleepy or better by midnight I was driving myself to the ER for a stupid bladder infection.

At 11:57 (okay, so that might not be the exact time, but close enough), I went to the bathroom and passed another kidney stone. Immediate pain relief. I've never thought anyone would be crazy enough to praise the lord for a kidney stone, but I did it right there in my bathroom. Within the hour, I was sleeping soundly upstairs in my bed. Well, sort of. There was the small matter of the 64 oz of water and 32 oz of cranberry juice consumed between 10 and midnight. Compound that with the whole "I'm pregnant" thing, and I was getting to sleep for about an hour at a time with pee breaks. But I wasn't in pain. It was great. Everything is fine for me around here now.

However, there's another little tortured soul in my home. My girl dog started using the house as her bathroom the other day. Not normal behavior, especially when she'd just been out. Last night I noticed that when I let her out, she went about 5 times. Not good. She has an appointment tomorrow to get her poor little bladder infection fixed. The first vet I called suggested we come in on Feb 25Th. Which I said OK to initially. The dogs need their shots anyway. Then I came to my senses. What if I'd called the doctor the next morning and they said they couldn't see me for a few days for my bladder infection -- let alone two weeks? I'd have lost it. I would have died or killed everyone around me. So, she'll be seen first thing in the morning tomorrow. That's better. Much better. In the meantime, I'm eyeing those cranberry pills and all that cranberry juice. And Little Monster's diapers.

Hopefully by the end of tomorrow we'll all be happy and everything around here will be real, and not renal.

*"Everything you can imagine is real." -- Pablo Picasso

Dog for Sale!

Here is a picture:

How can you resist? She's well trained. She climbs right into the highchair for breakfast and dinner. She gets along well with other dogs and doesn't require much effort. She spends most of the day sleeping.

She's an avid rodent hunter.

Wait a minute. She just looked at me. Aw, who am I kidding? I can't sell her! She's FREE to the first commenter. I'm kidding. I swear. I'm afraid she's going to do mean things to me in my sleep now.

Seriously though. I have two options. I can continue to fill in the holes she digs trying to catch us a gopher (Yes, we're still having a regular old caddyshack 2008 over here), or I can embrace her skill and put her to work. Would PETA be upset if I used her to dig a hole for an in-ground swimming pool and create some custom landscaping? Oh, well. Too late.

Here's some photographic evidence of the work in progress. This is what our yard looked like before the excavation began:

Do you see the frolicking and good times being had by all? The nice freshly planted sod? That we spent a weekend laying? breaking our backs, getting dirty? Spending LOTS of money on? Ah, good times.

Here is a rough blueprint of her work, and some photos. I've taken the time to point out the improvments she's already made.



The beginnings of the swimming pool:




This one is difficult to see, because I've filled in part of her work. The grass will most certainly die over time, making the sink hole stand out more.


She's tired now. It's time for a break.

But, if you want a lovable dog and need some excavation done, I'd be happy to loan her out. All you need are an ample supply of dog food, greenies, and a nice, freshly planted, green lawn. Then, she'll get to work right away.

Now we HAVE to keep the dogs...

I have to give you some history here: We have gophers. Stupid, stupid gophers who are digging under our yard, encouraging our dogs to try to dig out their holes and catch them. After all, they're rodent dogs; that's what they're bred for. Kleenex got caught hunting one out last night, buried up to her chest in the hole. Then she snapped at Not the Momma when he grabbed her by the tail. (The right way to get them out of the hole, that's why their tails are cropped short. I swear he wasn't being mean.) She slept in her Kennel last night.

Now I'll set the scene: Not the Momma got Little Monster out of his crib at 7:30 this morning after he cried for a bit, brought him to bed and turned on cartoons.

Little Monster crawled to the foot of the bed where the dogs sleep in their beds on top of a chest.

Little Monster: NO NEE-NEh!? NEEEEE NEEEEEEHHHH

Translation: No Kleenex?! (with tones of shock and sadness) KLEEEEEENEEEEX!! (as in Come here dog!)

So. No matter how naughty the little rats are, we have to keep them. Because I just wouldn't be able to bear hearing that No Kleenex? Every morning. I would not be able to look into those big blue eyes and tell him that we got rid of his dogs because they are naughty. Not that we were ever really planning on getting rid of them -- we just threaten them with that. Now we can't even threaten, because soon enough, Little Monster will be able to understand.

My Day in Letters.

A is for AM. AM is too early these days.

B is for bananas, which Little Monster now refuses to eat more than one bite of.

C is for Closing the door on the nice neighbor lady’s face when she told me my dogs had escaped.

D is for DAMN DOGS.

E is for ESCAPING IDIOT DOGS!

F is for F*#&ING DOGS!!!!

G is for Great, as in how Great I looked with my tangled pony tail, dirty sweat suit, no bra wearing self as I ran around the neighborhood with my child who is still in his jammes. At noon. G is for Goldfish Crackers. Goldfish crackers that are covering the playroom floor. Goldfish Crackers that I will leave there hoping that when I’m not looking will ‘disappear.’ (Don’t worry. The crackers have only been there for a few minutes. Little Moster dumped them out just now. Nice, huh?)

H is for HOW IN THE HECK did the GATE get OPEN?

I is for Idiot. Which is what I feel like after slamming the door in my nice neighbors face.

J is for JACK RUSSEL TERROR!

K is for Kill. Which is what I want to do to the D, E, F, and G Dogs.

L is for Little Monster, who was a great help. He yelled for the dogs in the back seat of the car as I raced around the neighborhood honking my horn and yelling for Chewie Kleenexes

M is for Monday. Wait, Monday is over, right? Yes. So, then M can’t stand for Mondays anymore. M must be for “MORE.” Little Monster says “MORE” when he wants MORE kisses.

N is for NAUGHTY DAMN ESCAPING F*#&ING JACK RUSSEL TERROR DOGS!

O is for Over. It is over. The dogs are home.

P is for Probably not going to get the house cleaned, the laundry done, or a shower today. Work is very busy. I’m talking 30 different designs in the works, and unlike normally, all of my clients are actually responsive.

Q is for Quick as Lightning. That’s how fast those DAMN ESCAPING F*#&ING JACK RUSSEL TERROR DOGS! Run.

R is for REALLY? As in, REALLY CHEWIE, you are going to TURN UP a CAR RIDE? And continue. Running. Down. The. Street?

S is the word I probably said, and for SLAM, which is what I did to the nice neighbor lady who was kind enough to tell me that my DEFGJN Dogs had run away.

T is for Time for LUNCH!

U is for Unfair. As in, how unfair it is that none of this crap happens when Not the Momma is home to help.

V is for VERY LUCKY. Which is what my dogs are. You see, after the chewed cable from yesterday (did I say something about Kleenex eating my wire from the satellite to the bedroom yesterday?), I fixed it with electrical tape. I no longer have to send her off to the home for naughty dogs. They are also VERY LUCKY that they listened when I told them to GET! INTO! THE! CAR!

W is for Wednesday. I wish it were Wednesday. Because then Tuesday would be over, and the house will be clean, and the laundry will be done. Because that was the goal for Tuesday.

X is for Xylophone. Yeah, I have no idea how X fits into my day. Well, maybe if I use X for Christ and say that he helped me to remain cool and collected (except for the curse words and the slamming of the doors, and the frantic driving around the neighborhood) while searching for the dogs.

Y is for Yet another crazy day.

Z is for ZZZZZZZ, as in. I want some more.

While We Were Out...

Our dogs are naughty sometimes, not terribly, and not terribly often, but on occasion they will do something to irritate the living snot out of one of us.

It was my turn the other day. We’d left for a little while, and when we came back, we found wrappers all over the floor. I had mistakenly left my cup of chocolate on the kitchen table. It’s amazing what two terriers under 20 pounds will do. Between the two of them, they had taken all of the chocolate out of the cup, dumped it on the floor, removed the wrappers and eaten it. There were about 10 hershey’s kisses, a half dozen bakers chocolates and one Ghirardelli milk chocolate square. I was extremely irritated, because I didn’t get to eat the last of the chocolate basket I got for my birthday last year, I was now completely devoid of chocolate, and one or both of my dogs was going to potentially be very sick from the consumption of all of that chocolate. They were both banished to the backyard for the entire day until it started raining.

After considering how we found the kitchen, I have to laugh because:
1) In order to get to the cup, they had to climb onto a chair, and then onto the table.
2) The ceramic cup that contained the chocolate was still on the table. They had taken the chocolate out of the cup, and thrown it onto the floor rather than knocking the cup on the floor.
3) The chocolate wrappers (aside from the hershey’s kisses) were found in whole pieces. They un-wrapped the majority of the chocolate, then ate it, leaving the wrappers whole and intact.

48 hours later the dogs were okay, no signs of chocolate poisoning. However, I was starting to wonder just exactly the dogs do while we are gone.

Fast forward to this morning. We went to Target to pick up diapers, wipes, M&M’s, you know, the essentials. We got home to find a dog, laying on the kitchen table. When he saw me, his ears went back, his eyes got big, and he froze. He was frozen with fear. He didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know what to do, because, frankly, I never thought I’d see my dog, laying on the kitchen table. After a few seconds, the shock wore off, and I kicked him off the table. Weird dog. So, now I’m even more intrigued. What in the world are my dogs thinking? I’m beginning to think all those fantasy kids movies aren’t so far off. What weird things have your pets done while you were out?

Why people like us shouldn't be allowed to own dogs:

Our dogs aren't perfect. In fact, sometimes they're downright rotten. The girl dog has been known to leave packages in the house from time to time, and so has the boy dog, albeit less often. Until tonight, it had been awhile since either one had misbehaved like that. Until. Tonight.

I was getting the baby ready for his bath, undressing him, etc. I usually undress him, get the water running while he chases Not the Momma, threatening to shoot him with his "fire hose." I walked into the bathroom, and stepped in it. Barefoot. It was a big pile of dog doo. A Giant pile of dog doo. A pile that looked like it had been left by a Great Dane rather than one of my 20 pound terriers. I immediately started yelling. Both dogs looked equally guilty. Not the Momma came out and took the dogs out to their kennels in the garage for a time-out, while he yelled at them too. Meanwhile, I'm gagging, trying to clean it up. After about 10 minutes of this, I notice it's tracked all over the upstairs. The upstairs I just spent the entire evening cleaning. The baby was oblivious to Not the Momma's and my frantic cleaning spree...

... apparently, we were oblivious to something else. After Little monster played peekaboo with me... IN MY CLOSET... IN MY CLEAN CLOTHES, he ran out of the room and into his bedroom. That was when I noticed it. The streak running down the back of his leg and on his foot. There was dog doo ALL OVER THE BABY. HE HAD been PLAYING in the DOG DOO.... Immediately I freaked out and started cleaning him off. While I was cleaning I noticed something. The dog doo that was all over him... Seemed to have come FROM him...

wait... that means.....

THAT GIANT GREAT DANE TURD IN THE BATHROOM CAME FROM LITTLE MONSTER! And now the dogs were being punished for it. Oh lord. We got the baby in the tub, and I went down and made up with the dogs, giving them their favorite treat.. Greenies (don't tell me how I'm killing my dog either, because they've eaten millions of them and have been fine every time). Not the Momma wondered why the Girl Dog, who normally sulks and rolls over into the submissive position whenever she's in trouble, came over to him wagging her tail and licking him after the whole ordeal... The Boy Dog... Well, he looks guilty every time anyone gets in trouble, so that explains his behavior...

We are the WORST. DOG PARENTS. EVER. Yes. Ever. But they don't seem to know. And Little Monster? No more dried apples for him. ;)

Torture? No such luck!

This is what happens when I TRY to torture my dog by putting her in the baby's high chair... I think she wanted dinner!