Saturday, November 21, 2009

Talking Dirty

I’m at Ulta buying products to make my oldest daughter a blonde instead of a green. She’s green from chlorine, not from birth, just in case that was confusing. Anyway, I’m at Ulta and it’s going on my 3rd day of not showering. I’ve just come from the gym where I did, indeed, sweat and where I did not, in fact, shower. I have time constraints, you know, most of which involve nursing. So in an effort to be as productive as possible, I carted the little man to the beauty shop without first cleansing my stinky body. I look like it’s my 3rd day without showering. I smell like it. And I’m starting to itch. I’m just one sniff away from being mistaken for homeless.
There I am, in my glory, and a woman says to me, “Excuse me, do you work here?”
Blink blink.
Me? You’re seriously talking to me? First, do you see me in all black? Second, do you smell me? Third, does my face look like it’s seen makeup in the past year? Fourth, unless Ulta has begun a “Take Your Infant To Work” program, then, no, I don’t work there. The ladies behind the counter all cringed and saw their prestige plummet when they turned, en mass, and saw that I had been mistaken for one of them.
Poor woman. She’s probably at home right now, blogging about how foolish she felt asking a homeless chick if she worked for Ulta. Obviously I was there begging for handouts.
Just so you know, I fully intend to shower today. Sometime. Probably when I’m done with this blog. Or, when the 10 year old gets home and can hold the baby. Or after the kids go to bed and the husband can hold the baby. I really don’t think I can stand my filthy self another day.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Being a Pet Person

What to do about the dog?
Last week, she dug under the fence (such a pretty new fence) and ran away. She runs away a lot. It wasn’t the brightest thing to do when she was young: now that she’s deaf, blind, and forgetful, it’s a really, really stupid thing to do. Seriously, what does she think she’ll gain by the outing? This last time, she got thorns imbedded in her paws that required a vet, antibiotics, and pain killers. Ahh, that’s the goal. Pain killers. Hmmm, time for me to think about running away from home.
Now that she’s back (no thanks to me because I wasn’t looking for her), she’s in worse shape than ever. She spent 20 minutes circling the couch. Round and round and round. We thought she might try attacking it, but she never did. It could be that she just didn’t know she was going around in circles. Maybe every time she made it around to the front of the couch, she thought, “Oh, look, the front! That’s new!” Or, maybe she thought she was half way to China when she finally made her way to a different part of the room. It’s like a doggie vacation without having to get into a kennel.
This morning, she pooped all over my daughter’s pink floor mat. And then she smeared the poop, just in case she’d missed something. Perhaps she was offended by the color pink. Maybe she thought it would be a nice distraction from the child’s homework. Or maybe she was sharing.
She can’t make it up the stairs without taking a break. On each step. She makes it down, but usually only by hurtling herself from the top and bouncing down. Hal tries to create nice, cushioned beds for her, but she ends up sleeping on our shoes, on books or on the cold bathroom floor. Last night, I found her asleep with her butt on the floor and her head on top of the 2-foot-high garbage can. She can’t find her food and water, even though they’ve been in the exact same spot for 2 years. We can’t pet her because she’s so jumpy and her skin hurts so much from the cysts that she doesn’t like to be touched. It hurts her teeth to eat, it hurts her legs to walk, it hurts her body to stand up. In short, she’s failing and it’s about time to put her down.
But here’s the hard question. When? Do we do it now, while she’s still got some life in her but she’s pretty miserable? Or, do we wait like they did for my Mom’s dog? Her dog had lost all body functions and was slowly disintegrating from the inside out. At what point is it the kinder, more gentler thing to help the dog “pass over to the other side?”
I’m looking for your opinion. Oh, and if you want a 17 year old dog, we’ve got one you can have.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

An Argument For Euthanasia

The four year old wants to go to McDonald’s. She always wants to go to McDonald’s and I always (almost) say ‘no.’ Of course, I have to say ‘no’ about 70,000 times because when I say ‘no’ she hears ‘ask me again, please.’ So our conversations about not going to McDonald’s last for hours on end. Literally.
I decided to try a new tack. Instead of my standard ‘no because McDonald’s will eat away your insides and destroy your mental abilities and make you fat and ugly and smelly and I love you too much to let that happen while you’re four,’ I tried the ‘we don’t always get everything we want and this is one of those times’ avenue. In my most sympathetic voice, I explained that sometimes we go out to eat and sometimes we don’t and this was a case where we were not going out to eat.
She said, “When I’m a mom can I?”
“Sure, when you’re a mom, you can go out to eat whenever you want.”
In an excited voice, “When you die I can!”
“Uh, yah.”
Thoughtfully, “Maybe Dad will take us.”
Okay, in three sentences, the child managed to come up with three different scenarios that get rid of me, the Fun Destroyer, in order to do what she REALLY wants to do, which is, apparently, eat junk food and play on bacteria-infested plastic structures. Too bad I don’t drink, because after conversations like that, I think I’d really like some vodka.