Tag Archives: pee

Dear Diary, It Gets Better…+

Standard

So, I woke up with my bloody finger all bloody and painful and bloody. Making things difficult is something I enjoy, so, I went to my non-functioning bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and went down to the kitchen sink to brush my teeth and wash my face. Something about brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink makes me feel pukey. Anyway, took the kids to school and by the time I got back the plumbers were here. Ripping out my bathroom floor. Yup. The toilet was in the hallway and the vanity was in the middle of the floor, the only part that was left. Yeah….

So, the plumbers said “Well, this floor is tongue and groove and probably about 100 years old… so…” I said “Not a problem! I saw a cool penny floor on Pintrest I have been really wanting to try… so…” And then I accidentally slammed my bloody chunkless finger in the door and screamed SON OF A NUTCRACKER, kicked the toilet and went into my room where the dog promptly peed on the carpet. Good Morning!

I decided that I had to pee too. But, instead of peeing on my carpet, I drove four houses down to my friend’s house and used their john. From there I went to the doctors. As I was describing to the nurse what happened to my finger, she scrunched up her face and said “I’m NOT touching that!” And went to get another nurse who was older and had obviously been through the Mandolin Wars. She pulled off the bloody wrapping. Ow. Then she tried to pick the Styrofoam stuff the other doctor had smushed into the gapping wound. That was NOT at ALL enjoyable. Not even a little bit. It wasn’t coming off so she made me soak it. Then she picked at it some more. I was sweating and swearing. She couldn’t get it so she re-wrapped it and sent me home. To my bathroomless house.

The kids came home and I had to explain to them that we no longer have a bathroom. No tub, no toilet, no sink. Luckily, we DO have awesome neighbors. So, we got to shower at their house. But first, I used up half a roll of Press and Seal wrapping my finger and taping it down with duct tape. I should have thought that out better. The duct tape sort of stuck to my hair as I was shampooing…so, now I have a bald spot. Put that on the list.

Someone asked me if I was cursed. Maybe…I knew an old lady who thought she was a witch…maybe she put a spell on me. Doesn’t matter to me if she did or didn’t. What goes around comes around…so if she turns up bald with a bloody finger and no bathroom or computer and a hijacked checking account we will know it was her and she will be pretty pissed (because no one besides me could handle this level of nonsense) Besides, this is some really outrageously funny crap if you ask me. Every morning I wake up sort of excited to see what is going to happen today. And it all makes me laugh. When you have lived through real tragic shit, these daily petty irritations just seem like small distracting entertainments. Not the end of the world. A little painful, costing me a small fortune but such is life. It’s not over till it’s over.

Things I have learned so far : 1) if you take a shower using only your left hand it feels like someone else is giving you a shower. 2) rocks will break a garbage disposal so never transplant plants in the kitchen sink 3) tupperware can be used for more than just leftovers

this is my Bloody Finger. As you can see he is none to please about being bloody.

this is my Bloody Finger. As you can see he is none to please about being bloody.

Fact: as soon as a toilet is unusable you will have to pee worse than you have ever had to pee before

Fact: as soon as a toilet is unusable you will have to pee worse than you have ever had to pee before

This is my finger all cleaned up and ready for the shower. Press and Seal and some snazzy duct tape...Obamacare at it's finest...

This is my finger all cleaned up and ready for the shower. Press and Seal and some snazzy duct tape…Obamacare at it’s finest…

Advertisements

Dear Diary, In Conclusion….

Standard
That's alotta people just standing under that No Standing sign. NYC Broadway types are the epitome of anarchy.

That’s alotta people just standing under that No Standing sign. NYC Broadway types are the epitome of anarchy.

So, we didn’t get back to the hotel until well after 2:30am and that is past my bedtime, by like, alot. I did shower before I got into bed though and here is why : NYC is grosser than gross. Or maybe I am grosser than gross when I am in NYC…that is a possibility. I walk fast and sweat. I do not understand these people who are wearing scarves and long sleeves in the summer, in the city, in the summer, in the city (It’s a song ya know?). Plus, I had three pairs of shoes in my purse, all had been worn at some point during the day. Add to that a bra wet with sweat and smelly socks. It’s a long story, but trust me when I say that there was no avoiding touching the bottom of shoes that had been worn all over Manhattan.

Here is how our day went : We got up, found a bagel shop and a Starbucks and the train station. Now, we parked in this very, very , very old parking lot that happened to be about 5 blocks from the actual station. To park in this lot you had to fold up 15 dollars very small and shove them through a slot on a board. Yes you did! We stood there for a bit with another couple debating the pros and cons of how we thought the contraption worked. Finally, a criminal came over and informed us that yes indeed the situation was what it looked to be. So, the other couple stuffed their money in, we stuffed ours in and then we walked. I have no idea why the hell we had to park 5 blocks away from the station. Down a long, dark alley, under an overpass with broken glass scattered all over the sidewalk and then along a fence with razor wire at the top…it’s VACATION!!!!!!!!!

Got to the station and hopped right on the train! Sat down and immediately realized I was having a gallbladder attack! So, that was 2 hours of making a plan on what to do if I needed help and googling gallbladder attack remedies. Got off the train, went to a couple of flea markets, then to the movies. The kids were dying to see some cheezebag movie that had just come out and I knew the bathrooms at the movie place would be nice enough to change into our evening clothes. Met a lovely older lady and had a great discussion about the movie. Charged my phone, changed our clothes, took my 15 year old to the Broadway show she had tickets for. Her friend met her there. My 11 year old and I hopped back on the subway, and went to Ninja Restaurant. That was SO. MUCH. FUN!!!! Jumped on the subway, met my 15 year old and her friend at the stage door and got autographs and pics with the stars of the show!

Parted ways with her friend, jumped on S to get to Grand Central to catch the train back to New Haven. That sounds like an easy thing but if you read this you will understand that nothing is easy. We were exhausted.  And I had to pee. So, the train leaves the platform and I head to the bathroom. I check before I squat that there is tp. There is NO tp. I pull myself together and go back to our seat. I rummage through my purse (touching dirty shoes and sweaty bras) looking for a tissue or napkin. Nada. How is it possible that I have been a mom for 20 years and I don’t have a crumpled up tissue in the bottom of my purse? Oh that’s right…I skipped my Mommy Club dues to be able to afford this frickin trip. My only option? A smelly sock. I decided to check the bathroom two cars down. Same sitch. But, I noticed this pull down table thingy next to the toilet and just in case it was a secret tp stash, I pulled it down…It wasn’t. It was a place to put potato chip bags filled with vomit. And as I closed it back up, I got a strong whiff of someone’s vomit along with a splash that landed on my thumb. Now, I have to pee, no toilet paper, stranger puke on my thumb and all I have is a sock. That about sums up my life. Listen, I did what I had to do. You have no idea what it’s like living on the edge…Let’s all just be impressed with my resourcefulness and leave it at that, OK?

We hopped off the train, hopped in a cab (because there is NO WAY I was going to spend money on a better motel in a better area and then get killed on the way to my car. THAT would be such a  waste!!!!) jumped in our car, locked the doors and drove back to the motel. Stumbled into our room, the kids fell on the bed and were out before I could say goodnight. I immediately showered HOT to rid myself of the memory of chip bag vomit and socks…

Crawled into bed and was out.

It was a wonderful day. We met alot of people. Most of them were asking me for directions. Which I gave out like I knew what I was talking about. Because people are just looking to have an adventure, they don’t really want to know how to get there! Today we got up, found our bagel and Starbucks and hit the road for home. But on the way home is the Basketball Hall Of Fame. So, we had to stop…took the tour, played the games, had a blast! They have a Cold Stone Creamery and so, we had a treat. THEN we were on our way home. Over all it was an epic vacation, but every vacation we take is epic in some way.

And now I know what happens to the “missing” sock….

That's my FAV guy right there!!!! So close I could throw a sock at him!!! Good thing I didn't as it came in real handy a little bit later!

That’s my FAV guy right there!!!! So close I could throw a sock at him!!! Good thing I didn’t as it came in real handy a little bit later!

Dear Diary, My Kid Is Perfect (like I had any doubt)

Standard
Can't see the dog poop from here mom!!

Can’t see the dog poop from here mom!!

Today I woke up at 5:30am. Why? Because I was worried about next weekend when I have to wake up at 3am to take a bus to NYC and how sick I get when I have to wake up that early but how I can’t just stay up because that also makes me very sick. And what am I going to wear to New York and where am I going to sit on the bus and how much it sucks to get home at 1am and have to get into a cold car and drive the 45 minutes home and which bags I need to bring and what the kids are going to wear and by then, I was back to today and it was 6am. By skipping my early morning pee and Tylenol I was already starting to have a headache. So, I got out of bed, peed, took my Tylenol and pretended to meditate. I could tell it was going to be a super terrific wonderful awesome fabulous hell yeah really good day!

I finally decided to stop faking it, got out of bed at 6:30 and took a shower. But first, I dropped the toothpaste in the sink that is clogged so, basically I dropped the toothpaste into a pit of germs and spit. Before I used it. Then, I hopped in the shower and one of the kids had changed the radio station so it was on some top 40 crap. A really good song came on and I got goose bumps but I had to shave, which I did even though I know better and now I have the worst razor burn. Maybe the razor burn would have been tolerable if I was just putting back on my sweats, but, I had to get dressed in my mom costume because the 11 year old had a doctor’s appointment and a parent teacher conference. Super Terrific!

I woke the kids up. The 11 year old took a shower because she had her 11 year old check up today. The 15 year old took out the dog and fed him and started the car. I had to dry the 11 year old’s hair because it is negative 34 with the windchill in MARCH. Then, I came down stairs, tripped over the dog leash, realized that all of our winter coats are in the car so we are all going to catch pneumonia and then half fell down the icy stairs, banged my knee getting into the car and my phone won’t charge anymore. Wonderful Awesome!

Took the kid to her Dr appointment. She is perfect. Like, I totally knew that, but, I am glad the Dr and nurses got to see a perfect child…I’m happy for them. I am sure it made their day. Then, we went to school. I dropped her to her 3rd period art class and went to meet with her teachers. I was totally cool with this parent teacher conference. When my oldest was in kindergarten, her teacher explained to us that if a kid was having issues, they were the ones who got the beginning of the year conferences. Kids who were doing great got the end of the year conferences. Being that this is the end of March, I knew I was in the clear. And sure enough, her teachers were all “she’s perfect!” I was sort of feeling like maybe I should call a press conference to make sure the whole community knows my kid is perfect. Mostly because being the mother of 3 kids, 2 of whom have entered full blown teenagerhood, I know that perfect children do not last.  Hell Yeah!

My dog’s feet smell.

I got schooled today in bird sex. It’s gross.

This is what people in my house do to avoid going downstairs to the kitchen. And by people, I mean me.

This is what people in my house do to avoid going downstairs to the kitchen. And by people, I mean me.

.

Solider Boy…Oh My Little Solider Boy

Standard

I have a best friend who everyone wishes was their best friend. Actually, ALL of my besties instill jealousy in others. Not intentionally, I am just one hell of a lucky gal and I have incredible best friends. When I think of the women I have been blessed to have in my life, as my friends, closer than family, I marvel…because I myself am not that great of a friend. My intentions are always good but you know where good intentions lead you…

When I was pregnant with baby #1, I was secretly terrified. I didn’t even know how scared I was. Mainly because I had no birth story of my own. I was adopted so my life began at 5 months old. My mother couldn’t give me any idea what birth was really like or even what MY birth was really like. So, as far as I knew, my stomach was simply swollen. Or possibly I was growing a huge tumor. I was the second in our group of friends to have a baby. Our first friend wasn’t all that helpful at the time because, well, she was taking care of a baby. My girlfriends didn’t really know what to make of the situation. I wasn’t a “kid” person. I wasn’t particularly maternal, like, ever. So, they rallied but we all just acted as if nothing was different. Which was comforting.

My best friend had been through a major surgery just a couple of years before so she was the one who instinctually knew I must be scared. Thinking back, we were just kids. But holy hell were we strong. Friendship really doesn’t cover what we have. This particular best friend is always ready with a laugh. She is the one who makes me funny. She makes anyone she meets feel like they are her best friend. She’s a good egg.

One day we were at my mother’s house. My mom is kind of what Oprah would call a hoarder. She has lots of random things lying around and stuffed in cupboards and tucked into corners, stacked in boxes, pushed up against the walls, on shelves in the garage, you get the idea. It’s heaven for little kids and prop comedians. We were sitting there at the kitchen table discussing plans for who knows what, when all of a sudden my best friend picks up a tiny wooden solider toy from the back of the stove and starts laughing hysterically which makes me laugh hysterically which makes me cry…down my leg. Even when I wasn’t pregnant this was the way our time together generally went. She laughs, I laugh, we pee.

Now we are both laughing so hard we are crying and she starts singing the song from the 60’s by the Shirelles “Solider boy….oh my little solider boy…” ( I should mention here that she has a killer singing voice. Like, she was in a blues band and all, cut a cd…the girl can sing which makes this all the funnier). I know I know, you had to be there. But, we decided that she WOULD be there for the birth of my first baby. I needed her. She would make this terrifying thing I was going through ok. She would make me laugh and remind me that it wasn’t the end of the world. And, she would bring Solider Boy with her. I was supposed to have a focus object for labor and Solider Boy was obviously perfect.

Now we had a plan. My best friend would smuggle Solider Boy in to the hospital in her mouth, cause he fit in her mouth and then pop him out when she got to my room so I could focus! We were still in fits of giggles when we left my mother’s house for the our own houses…ofcourse she called me 10 minutes after she got home to sing the Soldier Boy song on my answering machine which sent me running for the bathroom.

When the blessed day came and I was in my hospital room in writhing, unbearable pain, I wanted my best friend there with me. But the nurses refused anyone to come in! I have NO idea why. Possibly because they were bitches, possibly not. Anyway, I heard the commotion in the hallway and I heard my best friend yell “THEY WON’T LET ME IN!! I LOVE YOU!! WE WILL BE RIGHT OUTSIDE……ME….AND….SOLIDER BOY OH MY LITTLE SOLIDER BOY!!!!!!!”  And she walked slowly back to the waiting room singing at the top of her lungs Solider Boy….and I laughed and then cried. 100 years, 3 pain shots and an epidural later I pushed out my beautiful baby girl. My best friend and Soldier Boy weren’t there to witness her first breath but I knew they were there in spirit. I slept and when I woke up, I lifted my head to check on that little pink peanut sleeping in the bassinet next to me and then shifted my gaze to the night stand to see Solider Boy keeping watch over both of us.

In the 18 years since that night, I have moved house a few times, had a couple more kids, been divorced and basically lived a lot of life. My best friend has been living in New York City for the last 15 years. We are still tight. Anyway, I didn’t know where Solider Boy had gotten to. I couldn’t imagine that my best friend would know where Solider Boy was. But recently I was reminded of our Soldier Boy after watching a Seinfeld episode where Jerry, George and Elaine were attending a classical piano concert and were supposed to be very sedate and Jerry put a Pez dispenser on Elaine’s leg and she starts laughing so uncontrollably that she has to leave the concert disrupting the other audience members and ofcourse upsetting the piano player who George was dating. I sent the clip to my best friend and told her this reminded me of us and Solider Boy… did she remember Soldier Boy? She sent me back this:

Do I remember Soldier Boy?? I had to wipe the chicken salad I had for lunch off of him to take this photo. Of course I remember Soldier Boy!

Do I remember Soldier Boy?? I had to wipe the chicken salad I had for lunch off of him to take this photo. Of course I remember Soldier Boy!

And………… I peed.

 

My New Reality

Standard

It's not MY fault I don't have a toy....

Wake Up: 5am to Leo screaming in his crate. Fall out of bed because I am being attacked by Cecelia, who was sleeping at my feet and is cranky if she is awoken. Ever.

5:02am: Trip down the stairs, kicking in the adrenaline rush, Leo still screaming in crate. Try to organize my thoughts….do I put on my coat and boots first…do I get Leo first….where did I leave his leash….why am I always broke….what day is it….who’s life is this….LEO!

5:02 and a half am: I open Leo’s crate door and he bolts out only to run right back into me only to crash his little body into the gate only to run around the coffee table. Me? I am standing there crying.

5:03am: Still crying, I try to attach his leash.

5:15am: Success I have attached his leash. We head for the door. At this point, I have to figure out if I have my boots and coat on or if I need to put them on. If I have to put them on I cry some more because Leo is not yet allowed to roam free in the house. Especially as he has to pee and poop. I strangle myself trying to get my coat on and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I don’t care.

5:16am: Leo poops while walking in a circle. I wonder if that is some sort of instinctual thing…like standing inside of his poop circle will keep him safe from the spirits…? I wait a few more minutes to see if he will pee also, knowing darn well that he peed in his crate, under his bed. Yes, UNDER his bed.

5:17am: Back in the house, I fall over trying to get off my boots. I wouldn’t necessarily take off my boots at this point, but after cleaning up the gobs of dog poop that I unknowingly tracked through the house a few weeks back on more than one occasion, I decide to make the extra effort.

5:18am: I hook Leo’s leash to the gate, fill his bowls with food and water. Spencer is rhythmically barking and Emma is whining. I start crying again. I go get Spencer and Emma. I have to lift Spencer to his feet from his laying down position as he can no longer get up on is own. Once up, he is pretty shaky and falls often. Mostly into the dog poop outside.

5:20am: Spencer, Emma and I walk by Leo. Leo decides we are very mean and starts screaming at us for leaving him alone in the house.

5:21am – 5:32am: Spencer alternately pees, poops and falls down. Emma pees, poops while walking (good trick Emma…no way to pick that up!). I alternately cry, swear and pick Spencer up. We come in.

5:33am: Leo immediately shuts up when we walk through the door and tries to pretend he wasn’t screaming like a B movie star. Spencer heads right for Leo’s food, and falls. Damn it.

5:34am: I pick up Spencer and herd Emma into the kitchen where I feed both of them while Leo is in the other room, watching us and crying quietly so that Spencer won’t make fun of him.

5:35am: I take Leo out for his second walk. He pees a little just to make me feel better.

5:36am: I put Leo into his room, where he immediately starts screaming again because I have to go fetch Em and Spence and put them back in their room. On the way, I give Spencer his old man medications which include a thyroid, an antibiotic and benefiber…he’s fixed so he doesn’t need Viagra….Leo still screaming, somehow louder than before.

5:37am: I go back to Leo, clean up his crate, toss his bed into the other room for washing when the sun comes up, and force him to lay on the couch with me where he proceeds to try to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up once again and get him a toy cursing myself for not thinking ahead and making a mental note to always keep a toy of his on the couch there by avoiding the inconvenience of getting up after I had lain down. My next thought is ‘what was the thought I just had?’

6:00am: Leo snuggles down and stops wiggling and chewing and starts snoring.

6:01am: I stop crying and try to dooze off again just for 45 minutes before I have to get up to get the kids ready for school.

6:02am: Spencer decides he needs to poop and have some water. I decide he doesn’t. Ignore.

6:03am: Spencer wins (sometimes…othertimes I think I win, but then Spencer poops on the carpet and that is at least 20 minutes of cleaning…he has had a really hard time training me…I am a very slow learner)

6:04am: Leo screaming. Spencer let out. Leo screaming. Spencer comes in. Leo screaming. Spencer takes an extraordinarily long time getting a drink. Leo screaming. Spencer pauses to contemplate me and my tears, goes back to drinking.

6:15am: Spencer is back in his room. Leo is again on the couch trying to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up to get his toy and make a mental note to always keep one of his toys on the couch. I promptly forget my mental note.

6:30am: Leo is snoring. I am laying with him, wide awake, remembering the good old days of no pets, trying to remember all the good things about having these dogs.

6:31am: Cecelia decides she wants to come in and attaches her entire body to the window that is right near my head. Spead eagle. At the same time, Eddie starts yelling at me because I let Cece out and not him so he stands on the other side of the gate and yells until Leo wakes up and jumps down to go throw his body against the gate which makes a lovely crashing noise.

6:32am: I hate my life.

6:33am: I lay down, waiting for the alarm which will signal the start of my day, in total denial that my day started at 5am with dog poop and pee. Leo is trying to chew the furniture and I am rationalizing that with the fact that I don’t like my furniture. I do, but at 6:33am, I don’t really care.

6:45am: Alarm. Leo screaming. Kids up.

Jealous right?

They are cute when they want to be....

 

Emma Makes A Phone Call

Standard

Helrow? Helrow? It's Emma...I just peed...

It is 6:15am on a saturday and I am awake. Not because I want to be, not because I need to be. Because I have dogs. Oh sure, some of you with good dogs won’t understand how my dogs have me trained…and not very well trained I might add.  I really don’t understand their methods either. It involves pee, poop and sad puppy eyes.

Anyway, yesterday I cleaned the entire downstairs. Pretty stupid of me actually as I have dogs and kids. Why bother, cleaning is pointless and discouraging. I used to hold off on the Big Clean until I had a day when I was rid of both kids and dogs. But those days are over. Spencer no longer needs to go to the groomers as his fur never grew back after the last shave down 2 years ago and out of 3 kids, one of them is always home and generally always has a friend with them. My home is not my own. Yet, despite all the chaos, I cleaned. I mopped every square inch. Scrubbed on my hands and knees. It was nasty because of the dogs and their peeing and pooping which I make the kids clean up. Kids cleaning up dog pee and poop isn’t going to be as through as say, a professional dog pee/poop cleaner upper (that would be MY mom). So, there was residue. But now, it is gone as I mopped the bejeezus out of those floors.

As I mopped, I gave Emma and Spencer the Evil Eye. For what they had done and for what I knew they could do again. I didn’t bother with my lecture. They’ve heard it all before. By the time I was done, I could barely stand to walk upstairs. I yelled to one of the kids to take the dogs out and followed that statement up with “because if the pee or poop on my clean floors you WILL be grounded!” That just makes them roll their eyes. As if they have any control over when or where the dogs choose to pee. Part of me is kidding but part of me really wishes that the kids would magically know when the dogs have to go and take them. I used to wish for fame or fortune…now I wish for a morning free from dog pee. Yeah, being a grown up is way different than I imagined…

So, at approximately 6am, Emma starts tap dancing. This always wakes me up. She has a few routines. She has a rhythmic number which is generally her Laying Down Dance. She has her fast, more modern Trying Not To Step On Spencer As He Steals the Dog Bed. And then ofcourse there is the slow, methodical Trying To Be Kind Of Quiet So I Can Pee In The House. This morning, however, there was the slow methodical coupled with a huge crash. This means I have to get up to investigate. I throw on my robe of resentment, slip on my slippers of anger and charge downstairs as the banging is continuing and I don’t want the noise to wake the kids and their sleepover buddies.

I have no idea what I am looking at. I see an outline of Emma in the corner, half sitting but not moving. There springs a tiny hope in my heart that she hasn’t peed…she just got lost and can’t find her way out of the corner. I go over to her and smell pee. I also hear “hello? Hello? Do you need help? Hello?” Other people might be concerned that their dog started talking. Me? I’m thinking “yeah, I need help… I need some serious help…” I can’t figure out where the voice is coming from. I try 3 times, unsuccessfully to get Emma to stand up but she can’t. Again I hear this voice “Are you hurt? Shall I call 911? Hello?”

Underneath Emma is the old phone. It looks like a rotary dial phone from the 50’s but it is actually push button. The hand piece is now in two pieces and the cord is wrapped tightly around Emma’s entire body. I pick up what is left of the hand piece and say “Hello, I’m sorry, my dog peed and fell and somehow wrapped herself up in the phone chord, I don’t know how she managed to dial a number. I am so sorry for waking you!” The woman sounded incredulous. I think maybe she didn’t believe me and thought there was something sinister going on. Yeah, sinister was about to go on…

I finally got off the phone with Emma’s new best friend. Remember I was actually kneeling in pee, talking into the hand set that was in the area of Emma’s belly. Her smelly belly. At 6am on a saturday. I can’t get her unwrapped from the phone. It finally dawns on me to unplug the phone from the wall. I do that and untangle her and she is free at last…free to run to the other side of the room, you know, the side that is still clean, and poop. Just a few turds as she heads for the door. I let her out, why I don’t really know, as she has now peed and pooped…what does she need to go outside for? And I set about cleaning up the pee, the poop and myself. Spencer, to his credit, stayed right where he had fallen and just watched me with that dumb grin. I go to let Emma in and she is nowhere to be found. She’s gone. I call quietly for her in a very nice voice hoping to trick her. No Emma. Oh and I should mention it snowed yesterday, and I am in my skivvies as the pj bottoms were soaked in pee. Her pee not mine. I can’t pee randomly on the floor, it’s in my contract.

I go all the way to the back door and call for her. No Emma. Now I start to think if she walked out of the house and got hit by a truck….no, I would be very sad. And her new best friend on the phone would be devastated. I leave the backdoor open just incase and go back to the front door and there she IS! Yea! She now smells like wet dog with pee…there has to be a way to sell this smell. Maybe in a candle, an eau de toilet? snort…that’s funny…shut up, it’s 6am on a saturday and I am covered in dog pee and I am not crying.

I wonder if I can train the lady on the phone to come over and walk Emma every time she calls…

Spencer goes to a BBQ

Standard

his “Westminster” pose…doesn’t LOOK like he’d be licking random grease traps does he?

It’s summer. Spencer is 13 years old. He has cloudy eyes and selective hearing. He has ruined every single one of my antique oriental rugs and now he’s working on ruining the hardwoods. He needs a full time nurse to help him wipe when he poops. And he cannot walk on the hardwoods because they are actually laminate and he just belly flops and can’t get up. Yeah, that’s my dog…He’s fallen and he can’t get up. Real funny except in the middle of the night when he falls in his own pee AND poop and then can’t get up. Cold showers at 3am but not for the same reason as they used to be.

I have made many concessions for this mutt. I have rolled up the rugs. I have spent a small fortune on baby gates. I have invested in dog beds…that’s right, beds. Because he’s a picky sleeper. I have barricaded the stairs so he cannot go upstairs because he throws himself down the stairs and I know he will break a hip one of these days. Basically, he is now confined to one room. The fancy livingroom (which isn’t so fancy anymore minus the rugs and plus the pee and poop).

Last fall I had new storm doors installed. I had my heart set on the full length screen door but I knew that would be a major temptation for Spence. He has never seen a screen door that he didn’t plow through. Still, I talked myself into the full length, stupid expensive, screen door. In the winter, it was a full length glass door that Spencer left nose prints all over. I changed it out, put the screen in, bought yet another heavy duty baby gate to go in front of it and figured I was brilliant…or at least smarter than Spencer.

I was wrong. Oh so wrong. First of all, to get out of my front door, you had to open the door, then the baby gate, then the screen door,go through, while holding the screen door open but closing the baby gate and/or the door all the time yelling at Spencer to “GIT” because he is deaf and trying to escape. It’s a process. One which I am sure the neighbors enjoy watching. Anyway, I have to be vigilant as Spencer loves to roam and the street is busy and the neighbors don’t care for him pooping in their yard and going thru their garbage. I don’t blame them. I don’t like it either.

But Spencer has gotten old. So old that his fur never grew back from his last trip to the groomers last year. He is now a short haired dog with some long hairs here and there. Kinda like an old man with the nose/ear hair growth…He was really acting as if he wasn’t all that interested in escaping or even doing his routine where he does a dive roll through the screen door. The baby gate was pretty secure. I became complacent. I thought he was too old for his antics of yesteryear. Can I be any wronger?

Emma: I’m sorry. Me: for what? Emma: for having a dumb brother.

The other day we were out and about and I had left the front door open with the baby gate closed and the screen door locked. I got a text from my neighbor who lives 5 house down that Spencer had just come up for a visit and he walked him home and shut the door. WHAT???? How is that possible????? I got home and there is Emma laying in the backyard waiting patiently for someone to let her in. No one knew she had also escaped because she is smart and simply went to the backyard to wait for us to come home. She  looked like she knew she was in trouble but she is kind of the asskisser of the pack and was already acting all contrite and remorseful. And what did she do with her time alone outside in the big wide world? Nothing. She waited for us in the backyard. Spencer on the other hand just HAD to go visiting. Lucky for him he decided to visit the guys who like him, or at least tolerate him.

So, exasperated, I close the front door. I am beaten, I give up. Spencer wins. I can’t have nice things. No antique rugs, no full length screen doors.Wait a second… wait one gosh darn second… I am the human here… I am the grown up… I am THE MOM!!! I say open the front door and live life!! That damn dog is not allowed to rule this house!!! And for a few days, I think he understands that I am in charge and what I say goes and I say he is NOT allowed to go THROUGH the screen door ever again! Yeah, he gets it. And just incase he doesn’t I shut the front door every time we leave the house.

All is well…until today. I open the door, I give my warning (which even I am sick of hearing) about not leaving the house, to which Spencer just rolls his rheumy eyes, and I go upstairs. I get a text from my neighbor UP the street that she just sent Spencer home and he is at the front door. WHAT???? I know deja vu right? I run down stairs yelling at the kids that Spencer is outside and I open the baby gate and the screen door, (which now is really just a frame of a door with some screen kind of hanging from the corner), fully expecting to find the arrogant mutt waiting. He’s not there! I send the 8 year old down the street, the 12 year old up the street and I go to the back yard. He couldn’t have gotten far. It had literally been possibly 15 seconds from my neighbor’s text to me arriving outside. No Spencer. No Spencer anywhere. After 15 minutes I start to get worried. He is kind of blind and sometimes deaf and the roads are busy. I know all he wants is food or better yet garbage or nirvana would be something big and dead to roll in…half and hour, still no Spencer. The 12 year old thinks she has picked up his trail as she found a steaming pile of poop right in the middle of the sidewalk around the corner and down about a half a block. At this point, I am driving around, alerting all the responsible dog owners who are out walking their well behaved dogs on leashes. Imagining the worst, that he has been hit by a car and is being taken by ambulance to the ER and that he is uninsured, I drive slower and yell louder. I don’t know why I am yelling because he only hears what he wants to but that is what dog owners in the movies do when their dog is lost.

About 45 minutes and at least 10 trips around the neighborhood, I pull in to the driveway and see that Emma and my 8 year old are sitting on the sidewalk and my 12 year old is walking toward my neighbor who has Spencer by the collar. Relief. I wanted to hug him and kick him all at the same time (Spencer that is, not my neighbor). My neighbor had been driving around looking also and he decided to go home and check his yard again when he saw Spencer’s butt in his next door neighbor’s yard. As he rounded the corner he caught Spence in the grease pan of their grill licking away as if it were his job. My neighbor introduced Spencer to the new neighbor, making sure that the new neighbor understood that Spencer was harmless albeit annoying and then he hauled my dumb dog home.

Spencer was in the mood for some barbeque. It is summer after all. Turd.

P.S. for all of you who may think that I don’t feed Spencer enough please refer to http://ellie072.wordpress.com/2010/03/09/spencer-the-addict/ which will give you an idea of what Spencer is, which is not underfed!