Doolittle’s got nothing on me
I talk to my dogs. Let’s go out. Time for lunch. Want a treat? Get off the sofa. Ok, more likely: Make room for me.
I also, in the course of my day, tell the pups what I’m doing. I’m going to take a shower. Heading to the grocery store, be back soon. General Hospital is starting, let’s watch.
None of this is a problem for me. The dogs keep me company and I’m pretty sure they understand a good deal of what I say. I know they agree with me that Sam and Jason should definitely get back together but that Nicolas and Liz, well, that’s not a good match.
That being said, as if two (and until a week ago, three) dogs isn’t enough, I also tend to talk to the appliances.
When the phone rings I often yell, “I’m not answering you!” or “Call the cell phone!”
When the washer is on the fritz and buzzes throughout the cycle I say, “Just wash the damn clothes.”
When the garbage disposal broke sometime last week or the week before I said, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon I don’t have time or money to fix you, cooperate.” It’s still broken.
I also ask questions.
When the spring broke on the garage door and it sounded like a gunshot in the house, I asked, “Why? Why do you have to break today when I need to leave the house in 20 minutes?”
When I forget to take out the trash because I think it’s Tuesday, not Thursday, I look at the pile in the garage and say, “Why didn’t you remind me to take you out?”
There are also quite a few damn corners and chair legs that get berated when I bump into them on occasion, and toilets that might flush a little slowly sometimes for which a good crossing of the fingers, holding hands together in potty prayer and saying a chant of pleaseflushpleaseflushpleaseflush seems to work. Sometimes.
I also express gratitude to found keys, glasses, money and socks — sometimes resulting in kissing the object (except for the socks).
I’ve decided it is not an issue worth therapy though, unless they start talking back.
A contest I’m not sure I’d want to win
I don’t enter a lot of sweepstakes, but there was one that caught my eye. Not in a good way, mind you, but it attracted my attention because the prize was a six month supply of mayonnaise.
What is that, like, one medium-size jar? Total prize package valued at $3.79? Or if they really think you use a ton of mayo in your extended family is that six jars?
Now offer me a coupon — I’ll clip it or print it and be all over it like mayo on whatever you put mayo on. But energy and effort and another damn email list for a one free jar of mayo per as many contestants as enter? Because you know, your chances of winning are based solely on the number of people who enter.
Pass the mustard please, and I’ll be happy to pay for it.
Back to normal
With my daughter home from camp, things are back to normal. Even without Tucker. Even though I sneezed yesterday and the other dogs just looked at me with their canine mental ‘bless you’. Tucker would run into another room if I even thought about sneezing. I spent the past ten years apologizing for every achoo. I didn’t mind.
But it still feels normal.
I credit the fact that this is still a house full of dogs and the routines and supposed-to’s are meandering back into place with my son on the golf team and school starting Wednesday, with three people at the dinner table instead of two, size five purple Converse high tops by the garage door, extra laundry (extra extra due to camp), the sound of Teen Nick coming from behind a closed door and the shrill of girly laughter trailing after it.
It even feels normal that my daughter will start high school and my son will finish it.
Important things are as they should be.
Can’t get more normal than that.
Ode to a good dog
I walked around the house, picking up the bowls full and half full of water that we’d put every where Tucker liked to lay, so it was easy to give him a drink when he looked thirsty. Some of the water was still cold.
I took down all the bones from the top of the fridge, the bones Tuck wasn’t allowed to have because they might irritate his stomach. Those bones also forbidden from the other dogs since May. Giving one dog a bone and not the other is like giving one kid an ice cream cone and telling the other to watch him eat it. I dropped the bones around the house in the used-to-be-usual spots for chewing — under the dining room table, on the expensive living room rug, in the middle of the long hall leading to the bedroom where it’s easy to step on it if you’re not looking.
The rugs Tucker laid on the past few weeks, because it was easier for him to get up from a rug than the slick floor, stayed. They’re our bath mats really, because bath mats don’t slip, and by tonight they’ll be washed and back with their mates in the appropriate bathrooms.
Tucker loved the bathroom - it was a one-stop shop. A bowl perfect for drinking that was always full (and in a house with three dogs, always flushed), a cold floor and a comfy rug, and visitors. So many amenities! As a puppy it was the place he’d grab the end of the toilet paper roll to begin his romp around the house - the canine caper that ensued was not unlike that of high schoolers and trees. His antics got him a permanent place in the bathroom when I showered, because I never knew, as a pup, what he’d do alone for those few minutes. It remained his routine always, the shower started by anyone here and Tucker knew it was time to lie on the bathroom floor and wait. If you didn’t wait for Tucker, he barked outside the bathroom door to get in. So we always waited. The other dogs followed suit and many times there were three dogs in the bathroom at shower time, which was so sweet and very much like an obstacle course when wanting to dry off.
Tucker was 100 lbs of Golden Retriever sweetness. A Retriever who never retrieved, he liked to be chased around the table on the patio in the backyard, changing directions every time he thought you were about to catch him. He loved to roll in the mud out there too, and when we replaced it with mulch, he loved to roll in the mulch. It was then we learned he simply loved to roll around.
He would never hurt anyone but was a good defensive strategy for a house with one mom and two kids, because to everyone but us, he was really big. He was the dog, who when he got out of the backyard, came to the front door because he was no dummy - his bathroom was in there. He wasn’t going anywhere. Tucker was a dog who listened because he wanted to but could never quite get over his need to jump on people who came in the front door. He loved company and any food they might happen to have under aluminum foil. He was fiercely protective of us and loyal to us - and anyone hoarding treats. Tuck was the dog who was in-touch with our feelings, lying still and quiet if we were sick; wagging his tail at our happiness. He barked loud and deep at the doorbell but forgave you silently if you stepped on his tail or said no. He hung his head before getting yelled at when he scavenged in the trash - and only threw up when he was sick - not when he ate sticks, grass, chicken parts, coffee grinds or apple cores. Even with those escapades we knew he was very smart. But more than that, he was gentle. I called him Prince Charming. And Tootles. Once, I mentioned Tupperware and he came running. He also had a sense of humor.
There were a few years — the two-dog years — when all of us slept in my bed. Me, my much younger kids and two dogs. Then, with kids preferring their own rooms , and the adoption of dog #3 almost five years ago, Tucker took to his spot in the hall most nights, where he could see every bedroom. And keep his eye on the bathroom too, I’m sure.
I looked at the doggie place mat and Tucker’s food bowl. I’d have put them away but Zachary said it was OK to use them for the other dogs. The little dog bowl stand meant our biggest pooch didn’t have to bend all the way down to the floor for his food. Frankly, he’d have eaten anywhere — and anything. But why should such a good dog bend so far for his meals?
I let out the dogs - one and then the other - and tapped on the sliding glass door when I wanted them back inside - which was very soon after they’d gone out. Fed and filled they chewed, pawed, snuggled, annoyed and asked for belly scratches in the way dogs do. They walked off to their own favorite spots - one on my bed, head on the pillow (where else) and the other in the middle of the hall where she could see me, lest I go to bathroom, fridge, laundry room or basement without her.
Tucker never made a lot of noise, but Zachary and I agreed it was really quiet.
It’s morning. It’s time to feed the dogs again – and then shower.
Where, from now on, I’ll have just a little too much space to dry off.
Lizzie, Tucker, Mitzi - March 2009
August is the new October
Nothing says hot, humid summer like candy corn, costumes and bags of mini chocolate bars.
While I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that my kids start school before Labor Day, the folks at the big box stores have moved the sunscreen and flip flops to the end caps and stocked their shelves with all things scary, creepy and spooky. The Fall fabulousness is there too, with fake haystacks and cutesy scarecrows, spicy scented candles and everything pumpkin.
I think it’s wrong to buy school supplies when I’m wearing sunscreen but with two kids in high school that starts soon, I have stacks of spiral note books and boxes of pens and mechanical pencils next to the bug spray and aloe in the storage closet.
On principal I don’t walk down the Halloween aisles before October, but the permeation of holidays into months where they really don’t belong, makes my shopping excursions more like scavenger hunts.
Who buys their Halloween candy in August? Really. Who? I can’t buy it before the day of Halloween if there’s going to be anything left for a wayward trick-or-treater who happens to ring my doorbell. Either that or I buy the candy no one likes and then the kids skip my house anyway. No one wants lollypops or bags of pretzels on Halloween — even in cute themed bags, just for the record.
Then the other day I walked into the local card shop and was greeted by the scent of peppermint. Peppermint candles. To my right was a display of Christmas ornaments and in the corner of the store a friendly clerk was setting up a toy train.
“Can I help you find something?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you have Halloween cards?”
I gathered a few, paid and left — humbly reminded that things can always be worse.
She is 14
This picture was taken 13 years ago today, on my daughter’s 1st birthday. And you know what? She still likes bows in her hair. It’s “in.”
Ahead of our time, as usual.
Should I be part of the chain gang?
It’s no secret that I always wanted glasses but I was pleased I didn’t need them until a month before my 44th birthday. It’s also no secret I’m a glutton for punishment when it comes to accessories. I love jewelry and scarves, purses and capes, and yes even glasses. A multipurpose add-on, like a purse - glasses add function and fashion. Plus with the addition of the frames to my face I was convinced I looked really smart. Well, smarter, you know.
So it didn’t bother me much when, by the time I was almost 45, I needed upgrading and intensifying. One pair of singular prescription glasses for the computer — and a pair of heavy duty progressive three prescription babies for everything else. Although I don’t have to wear them all the time — I wear glasses for reading, writing, computer time, TV watching and driving. Doesn’t leave too much else. I often wear them at the gym, since I must either listen to a book or podcast (which requires pushing small buttons and/or spelling) or watch TV while I sweat. Sometimes I take them off in a department store because the multi-lens thing can give you a psychedelic experience. I change glasses at my desk, remove them to dry my hair and put on make-up. I lay them on the table when I eat and on my night stand when I sleep.
And I lose them.
Or more accurately, I misplace them on a regular basis. And these puppies were quite dear with their invisible progression and special super sonic non-reflective coatings. And the frames? Let’s just say they weren’t in the “A” category of frames. No sirree. We were meandering somewhere around “M” when I found them.
Tonight I misplaced these glasses for three hours. I went out to dinner with friends who had a grand time reading me the menu making up dishes and prices. Luckily I CAN see without them, it just gives me a headache.
As I kvetched a little through dinner about always losing my glasses, I looked at my friend and said it might be time for one of these:
My friend is12 years older than me, but she rolled her eyes, threw her head back and laughed. But I was completely serious. I’d just wear it in the house and think it might save me a lot of time and angst and headaches in the future. Self-preservation is the name of the game folks and anyway…it totally looks like an accessory to me!
Oh, and just for the record, whenever you go looking for your glasses, don’t look further than under your own kitchen table.
I’m just sayin’.
Picking your battles can lead to pleasant surprises
My 17-year-old son stared at the laptop.
“Uh huh,” he said.
“Uh huh what?”
“Uh huh I’ll empty the dishwasher in the next hour.”
Of course that meant he’d do it in 59 minutes, but that was enough. If it were me, I would do it right away and get it done, get back to laptop.
Same goes for meals. He has always saved the veggies for last, because he likes them least. I save the best for last - which usually means the carbs, or I eat it all at the same time. Goes to the same place, y’know.
Whatever works.
I’ve learned that with my son, if I ask him to do something within a certain period of time, without nagging (reminding is ok - which I tell him) then it usually gets done. It can be in 5 minutes, an hour, the next few days. If it’s urgent then so be it, but let’s be honest, how many household chores are truly of-the-moment? He’s the tallest, strongest person in the house, so he lifts, carries, moves and reaches at a moment’s notice. But for those things not even I like to do, I don’t mind saying “When the game is over please take out the trash.”
I was sitting at my desk when he came in and said he was going to the driving range. I kissed him good-bye and continued about my business. But when I walked into the kitchen, the dishwasher was full. And no, I did not even think to ask him if it had been emptied before he left. I didn’t assume he did it, pressing matters prevailed. I just didn’t think of it.
I’m not of the mind to call a kid back from practicing for varsity golf tryouts to empty a dishwasher that will still be amply full when he returns.
I went back to work.
And while in my mind I hover over my kids, in reality, I do not. I keep close tabs on their internet expeditions, but I do not check, double-check and triple-check if homework or a chore is done. I ask who he’s with and where he’s going, but even when he called me at 11:55pm to ask if he could sleep at a friends (he has a midnight curfew) I said yes, and did not get out of bed and drive to see if his car was where he said he was , although I thought about it. I also did not do it when I awoke the next morning as I had promised myself. He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him - so I do. That, and I was really tired.
A while later I texted him with the age old mother-son question.
“Sushi?”
His answer: “Ya”
I’ve learned “Ya” is short for “yes,” (because that’s so long), not short for “you.”
Then my phone rang.
“Hey,” I said. It was golfer/non-dishwasher emptying son.
“Want me to go pick up the sushi?”
“Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”
If you’ve read this blog, or anything regarding sushi that I’ve written before, you know that the suburb we live in is not a foodie’s dream. Sushi we like is about 10-15 minutes away — which meant my son volunteered for a 20-30 minute excursion without me asking. I didn’t remind him about the dishwasher. I didn’t scold him for leaving his chore undone.
He returned home and we indulged together, chatting and watching Food Network in our family room. He got up from the sofa when he was done, presumably to throw away his chopsticks and containers.
And I heard dishes clanking.
Bad blogger, me
Forgive me blogosphere, it has been five days since my last “real” post.
I was not on vacation. I was not sick. But, I did not write and I did not read. I did not think of quips for the next entry. I did not click on links. I did not post a comment. I did not ponder the latest blogging dilemma with regard to integrity, ads, products, reviews or polls.
I didn’t Tweet and I didn’t Facebook (much). I didn’t LinkedIn, SheWrites, TwitterMoms, Red Room or Backspace.
I did take a break. And now I’m faced with catching up — or just picking up from here.
I’m taking care of a sick, old dog who doesn’t always act sick or old, but is. I have to take another dog to the vet because she won’t stop shaking her head. I’m working on projects around the house, client manuscripts and my own personal to-do list. And when I squeeze it in, I’m writing.
When you are busy or preoccupied, with little blog worthy fodder in your day — do you put it all aside and remain a good, dedicated blogger or do you give yourself a break?
