Thursday, November 18, 2010

Early Morning Conversations with a 9-Year Old

Dotter:  Am I Ireland?

Me: No. Ireland is a country. You are most definitly not the country of Ireland.

Dotter: No, I mean am I Irish?

Me: You're all sorts of things. Like a mix.

Dotter: What does that mean? That I'm a mix?

Me: You're made up of all different stuff -- Dutch, Australian, Irish, Scottish, English -- you're like a cake mix. You know, when you use a whole bunch of ingredients and mix them together, then you get a cake!

Dotter: But I don't like cake.

Me: That's fine. I was just using it as an example.

Dotter: I like brownies though.

Me: Fine. You're like brownies.

Dotter: My poop today was all bumpy but at the end it came out like a smooth point.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Dog That Keeps On Giving.

You know how you try to kill something and it keeps coming back to life? Well, Satan the Dog is like that. Except I'm not really trying to kill it off. I'm trying to kill the memory of it off. There's a difference. One makes me a cold-hearted bitch that faces imprisonment in a horribly cold, dank cell that won't allow down comforters and the pleasant silence of watching HGTV in solitary confinement. The other just makes me a cold-hearted bitch.

So, Big V called.....

The good news is - he has found the dog a home! For sure this time. It's about an hour away and he will need to drive immediately to the kennel where the dog is currently being boarded (thirty minutes away in the opposite direction) and drive the dog to its new home. (Guess who gets to hurry home, get the baby from the nanny, tie him in the car, race to the sitters where Dotter is, race home, gather the Bean, take her to youth group, wait a half hour, drop Dotter off at her youth group - which, by the way, she's on the schedule to provide snacks. Joy. Pick them both up at 8:00pm, try to figure out something for dinner, change a few diapers, clean up mashed food off a highchair and stop the baby from eating things out of the garbage? Me. That's who. And I just love working after work. It's my favorite.)

So, Big V is taking the dog an hour away to its new home. But can we all rejoice?

No. Not really. Because, see there's the off chance that Satan might not get along with this guy's other dog. Being that he's been locked up in a kennel for the past few days Satan may have development some sort of anxiety or behavioral issues. As if the dog didn't have them before.

Our conversation was in a state of rapid decline when V defensively snapped, "I hate when you say the dog bit someone."

"But it did bite someone. It bit Josh in the knee."

"But it didn't mean to; it meant to bite Josh's dog."


Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Musical Rooms

Cletus the Used to be Fetus is boycotting his newly moved into pink room. I'd prefer a silence strike, but that kid, he's a tricky one...he's decided to proceed with some sort of howling ambush. Every two hours he wakes up and screams. All. Night. Long. He's been doing this for a week. It's getting old. I'd let him cry it out, except we shoved him in a room with Dotter and she needs her sleep. (She takes school seriously and lets the teacher know when her mother failed to ensure 8 nonstop hours of slumber.) I could shove Dotter in with Bean -- if I wanted to spend the rest of my life blaming myself for the murder 15-yr old Bean would surely commit against her 9-yr old sister. To me, the answer is obvious: shove Bean in the basement.

What highschooler wouldn't want their room in the basement? Away from the nosey parents. Away from the annoying little sister. Away from the toddler that plays in toilet water. What highschooler wouldn't want their room in an area designated all to themselves? Television over here. A couple of couches to flop on. A table next to the bookshelves, perfect for homework.

My child. That's what highschooler wouldn't want that. Mine.

I tried to entice her by telling her we could install new carpet or hardwood and promising she could pick out her own color scheme.

"What do you want your room to look like?" I asked as giddy as I could muster.

Her snide response: "I want black walls and my windows to be secured with duct tape. You can give me bread and water through a hole in the wall while you're at it. I can pee in a little tin can, too."

And I thought sweet! This is going to be a lot cheaper than I thought!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Satan's Return

"... we interrupt this program to bring you the following announcement: The damn dog is back."

And so began my weekend.

Big V called me at work late Friday night, hemming and hawwing about the dog. You know, the dog. The we-got-rid-of-you-because-you-ate-through-the-drywall-and-we're-afraid-you'll-eat-the-children dog. The satanic dog I openly referred to as Satan because, well, because it was. The dog that finally, after two very long years, had left our home never, ever to return again. Yes, well, you see, that dog was back. Kind of.

It wasn't quite back in our house, but it was back in Big V's truck.

Here's the short version:

Satan left our house and went to Dan's. Dan had two dogs already. And a girlfriend. He wanted to keep the two dogs. And the girlfriend. So he called V back and was all this is not working out, man. However, Dan found Gas Station Dude who wanted the dog. Because Gas Station Dude loved hungry pit bulls that ate metal, wood, and any and all major appliances. But V didn't want Gas Station Dude to have his beloved dog because Gas Station Dude was Arabian and everyone knows Arabian's eat dogs. (His ignorant racist comment; not mine. And, yes, I did tell him it was ignorant and racist. He said he wasn't trying to be racist, he just didn't want his dog eaten. To which the Bean piped up with people who work at gas stations eat dogs?! That's so gross!)

And so, in order to protect the dog from being eaten, Big V went to Dan's, got Satan and brought him to Aaron's house. Aaron is almost forty and lives with his parents. His mom has a small terrier of her own. Satan lasted less than 24 hours at Aaron's because apparently Aaron's mom felt this crazy pit bull might eat her dog and she wanted to save its life.

So the dog went back to Dan's. But then Dan was all this is not working out, man. You know, again. So Big V went and picked up the dog from Dan's and brought it to Nate's. Except Nate lives with some guy who doesn't even like dogs and might also not want a dog who eats large scale furniture like they're Scooby Snacks, so Big V picked up the dog and took it to Ryan's. Ryan just bought his house so it's new to him and he probably wants to see it stay that way and not in the this dog just destroyed my kitchen cabinets kind of way. So the dog went back to Dan's .... but did it?

Flowchart for Satanic Dogs
No. See, Dan's a smart guy. And he knows V is just trying to bounce the dog from couch to couch because he doesn't want to deal with the inevitable. (Meaning that the dog is crazy and insane and should be institutionalized; not necessarily that it should be eaten.) So Dan did what anybody would do in this situation and when he saw Big V's name light up on his cell phone he left town. This meant Big V was left on a rainy Friday night with a satanic animal that he knew wouldn't be allowed back into our house. (See, I've kind of grown accustomed to the baby. I think it would be fun to see him grow up into a young man.) Which brings us to the phone call I received just moments before I left work Friday night.

"Uh... well... uh... you see... I had to get the dog from Ryan's... don't worry - the dog didn't do anything. It's a great dog actually and behaved perfectly, it's just that.... uh.... someone told them that it might be difficult to get insurance being that it's a pit bull....." A pit bull that has bit someone in the knee cap. Go on. ".... and, uh.... well.... so I was going to bring it back to Dan's but...." Dan? The guy who has told you seventy-six times already that it's not working out? That Dan? ".... uh, yeah... that Dan.... except he's not home. He went away for the weekend...." Smart man. He's catching on. ".... yeah... well... so I know you don't want the dog back in the house and I promised you it wouldn't come back and I'm a man of my word so I'm just going to hang out with it in my truck until I figure out what to do."

A couple hours later Big V called me back. He had a plan! The dog would be boarded in the morning at 8:00am. That was the good news. The bad news was he still had to figure out what to do with the dog for the night. So, he figured he'd come home - but not let the dog in the house - and he would take one of the extra mattresses from down in the basement and put it in the covered bed of his truck and he and Satan would sleep out there. In the back of a truck. In our driveway. With a dog. In the freezing cold.

I said fine. Don't use any of the good blankets.

Then I called my sister: Can you watch the baby tonight because V can't because he's going to be sleeping with Satan in the truck?
To which she replied something along the lines of I can't believe you're making him sleep in the back of his truck. And I explained how it was his idea and not to worry because he was dragging up an extra mattress. To which she replied something along the lines of but he'll freeze? What if he turns the truck on and dies of carbon monoxide poisoning? And I explained that he could use a blanket, just not any of the good ones. And then she said something about what would Jesus do? And I said strike Satan down with a lightening rod? And she was all for the love! Let the man sleep in the basement with dog! And since she's both older and wiser than I am I took her advice. Plus, also I had big plans on Saturday and didn't want to be held up in a police interrogation room.

Big V took the dog to the kennel Saturday morning and I haven't seen it since. (Let's see how long this lasts, shall we?)