Wednesday, July 20, 2011

A Lot of Catching Up To Do

You know it has been a long time since you blogged when a friend who like doesn't even have an internet connection (yes, I'm talking to you Bex) tells you that you need to blog. It has been so long since I blogged that Bestie Maryanne has stopped asking. Bestie Kim is down to checking once every 3 days. It is so sad. So sad.

Sometimes I think that I just can't come up with anything funny but I know that isn't true because my Facebook posts continue to be so maybe that it is that I just can't be funnier for longer than 240 characters? Do you think Facebook has ruined what would be my wonderful, blooming, blogging career?

Since I promised a blog post--tonight--I will write about the golden silence in my homestead right now. It is 8:30 on a Summer night and my kiddos are next door tormenting Melissa. It is blissful. I can hear them so I know they are happy and well cared for yet they are not here tormenting me. 8:30 is SOOO past their bedtime but don't you just love Summer and breaking all the bedtime rules?

On Monday I realized that I had cleaned my kitchen and living room (Which room is the living room? The one with the TV? Or is that the family room? I can never remember. In my world the living room is the room with the TV.) no less than 4 times. FOUR TIMES. That included vacuuming. My kids aren't exactly hoarders, I'm not sure what you would call them, but I am certain TLC could make a reality show out of them and what filthy little children they are. Not only filthy but messy. Even after I bathe them they manage to get sticky. It is like our whole house is made of syrup and they are incapable of not getting sticky. They are also incapable of not bringing toys downstairs from their bedrooms or the bonus room. They somehow have become convinced that the world is their oyster and my house is the epicenter of that oyster, the epicenter where they can just spread their toys and cars and babies and legos and foam swords all over and then when told to take them back upstairs claim that those very same toys are "too heavy."

Since I started typing this, Hot Jeff has brought them in, marveled at their filthiness and is now appropriately giving them a bath. I heart him.

So what else is going on in the Mother Hen's world?

Well we got a dog. And even more amusing than the fact that we got a dog is how we got a dog. First: I am not a dog person. I don't like dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, neighbor dogs. The only kind of dog I like is a rescue dog and only if I am the one s/he is rescuing.

So one weekend Hot Jeff went to the Deschutes for some testosterone time and the kids and I had some time on our hands. Hot Jeff and I had briefly discussed getting a lab. And when I say "briefly discussed" I mean like Jeff said, "Boy, it would be fun to have a dog." And I said, "Maybe." and the kids said, "Yah. Wahoo. Can we have pie?" (They are very random like that.) So anyway, as a means to kill time (and to tangibly show my kids what a poorly thought out decision looks like) I decided to take them to the Humane Society. Um, yes, the Humane Society. I don't know whatever possessed me to do this other than sheer lack of sleep and adult conversation.

We walked in and I said, "Do you have any puppies?" Maryanne has since told me that when you go to the Pound and ask if there are puppies AND you have two preschoolers in tow, that automatically translates in Humane Society language to "I am a sucker. If you show me a puppy with sweet eyes AND A FREAKING CONE OF SHAME (e-collar) on its neck, I will pay you a ridiculous amount of money to take that dog home with me."

You see...I really didn't want a puppy. But I certainly wasn't going to traumatize my children by taking them back to see the nasty, lice infested, found under a bridge dogs...what kind of mother do you think I am? So puppies it was.

There were 5 puppies in the kennel. The first one not only had the cone of shame on but it only had 3 legs. Are you kidding me? You would have to be dead inside to not take that dog home. Fortunately for Tri-Pod it had a nice family of 5 cooing over her. I lingered at the second kennel and pondered the smell in the air when Samuel's shrieking pulled me back to reality. He and Roo were kneeling in front of a kennel that held the little bittiest, sweetest black puppy I had ever seen. The HS volunteer, trained to watch for signs of weakness, must have seen me start to lactate a bit and said, "Would you and your kids like to go play with her in a private room?"

If you don't speak Humane Society, as Maryanne does, then you should be warned that this does not mean its 10 minutes of your kids rolling around with a pup, you take the pup back and everyone has their puppy fix. I quickly learned this as I, like a sucker, said, "Sure."

She escorted us to a little concrete room with one chair in it. The room was designed to make you feel bad about any living thing who had to permanently reside in this drab, dreary, depressing place. The volunteer told us the dog's name was "Maggie" and before she could get any further Roo exclaimed confidently that we would change her name because we already had a Baby Maggie. Taken back by her sweetness and affinity for Maggie DeBacker, I didn't even notice how Roo had already decided we would be taking this dog home. Roo, you are so smooth. I am not only impressed but threatened.

We played with the pup for almost 30 minutes all while the volunteer "interviewed" me. I explained to her that I wasn't really in the market for a dog, that my husband didn't like "little" dogs and that he wasn't even in town to run the decision by. She then proceeded to tell me about the "hold" policy...

It was time to take Puppy Maggie back to her kennel and the volunteer knew she had me right where she wanted me when I told her that I couldn't be the one to take the puppy back, it would just make me too sad. Sucker.

Cleverly I had taken pictures of the kids playing with the dog and texted one to Jeff. Not expecting him to have cell coverage well past the time the HS closed I sent him a picture of the puppy on Samuel's lap and wrote, "We have something to ask you." He surprisingly responded in minutes with, "What kind is it?" Here is the transcript of our texting...

J: Little. Chiuaua? Pomeranian? Terrier? Full blood mutt.
HJ: Absolutely not. No way. Don't get the kids' hopes up.
J: Too late.
HJ: Jen...
J: She is really sweet. Samuel is crazy about her. I think it would be good for them.
HJ: No response.
J: Kids need a dog.
JH: You hate dogs.
J: Not this one. We have a hold on her until 7 tomorrow. You can think about it.
HJ: The kids like her? Even Roo?
J: Love her.
HJ: How much?
J: What? You're cutting out.
HJ: How much is she?
J: I'm surprised you have coverage. Did you have fun?
HJ: How long is the hold?
J: Until 7 tomorrow. There is a 30 day return policy.
HJ: Go get her.

This is how the Henderson family makes decisions. Half-assed. This is what I love about us.

Before we left we sent him a video of the kids going bonkers because Daddy had said yes.

The rest is history. Now we have a sweet, sweet puppy named Casey (after the Beavers baseball coach who lead the team to back to back College World Series wins) and why I have a discussion happening AT THIS VERY MOMENT on my Facebook Wall about dog's anal sacks. In addition, I dress her in cute little outfits and carry her in a dog purse while shopping at Target. I am totally all Paris Hilton about this dog. For the record, I still hate all other dogs though and Christy Lowry your video of Ditka pulling out your daughter's tooth almost made me vomit. I did find it highly entertaining though which eventually won out over it's vomit factor.

Wow, that took a long time. Now I'm too tired to write about how I got a Smart Phone and how I love it even more than my stainless steel dishwasher, which up until I got the Smart Phone, was my favorite thing in the whole wide world. I named my Smart Phone Lola.

Of course I did.

J-Bang out.