That is how much of a loss I'm at today.
It started yesterday, as I finished up my last post, Buddy yells down from upstairs "We're washing the dog!"
Bug has been wanting to wash the new foster dog since he came here, even though he got a bath the day he arrived, even though he's the cleanest thing in our house, she has been bugging me to "take him a bath". She's good at bugging me about stuff, hence her nickname.....Bug.
So I go upstairs. The door to Buddy's room is closed. I open it, and see what the next 20 minutes of my life are going to involve.
The dog in question, a 65 pound Basset Hound puppy, is laying on the floor happily chewing up a wooden train track. He is wet, from the top of his head down to his tail. Bug is holding a 409 bottle that has been rinsed and filled with water. It is used to squirt this dog in the face when he barks at the cats. Now it has been turned into his shower.
Buddy is holding the foaming hand soap pump, busy pumping out more foamy soap onto the dog's back. They rub it in, look up at me and smile. "We're washing the dog."
Somewhere in the back of my head, a small hammer comes out of a dark, dark place. This hammer pounds on my optic nerves, my precious last few nerves, causing my eyes to twitch.
I take the track away from the dog, and lead him into the bathroom, snatching the water bottle and the soap as I go. I turn on the water and heave the dog into the tub. Thankfully he's a sweet lug, and a rather dim bulb, I was done rinsing him before he realized he was getting a bath. I towel him off a bit and send him on his way.
Bug yells out as he passes, "hey, he's wet!"
I don't even want to get into today. Because today started at 2am, when PeeCircles howled in his kennel. I let him out to go potty, then I had to pee. Damn dog is contagious.
Then I couldn't get back to sleep. The other dog, the dog that used to be so horrible, who is now considered "good" was fast asleep. I can't get to sleep anymore without listening to her obsessively-compulsively lick her feet.
Too late to take Nyquil or Xanax. Too early to get up and do anything. argh! I lay there and listen to my husband snore. I hear strange noises. Could be the cat, or could be the evil clown that lives under my bed. I know he's there. He's been under every bed I've ever slept in since I was a child. Yup, can't sleep. He knows I'm awake................
Sleep finally came around 3. Then I overslept, getting into the shower, with Buddy trailing me, at 7:15.
Out of the shower and getting dressed at 7:35, had to wake up Bug. Might as well just set about to defy the laws of thermodynamics, it will take about the same amount of time. Threats are made, tears are shed, but she eventually moves because I resort to Hagatha, my old British Nanny alter ego. With a voice that can curl hair, I rail at her to get moving, or she'll be walking to school.
Her bowl of Cookie Crisp takes 30 minutes to eat. Then she has 10 minutes to brush her teeth, pee, wash her hand, brush her hair, pull it up, clean her glasses, get dressed and put on her backpack.
Oh wait, she has 10 minutes to pee, I do the rest for her.
I drag her out the door and she hops on the bus.
The kids play downstairs for about 20 minutes before they start going in and out of the dog door. Here is my stroke of genius.
Hey kids, wanna paint the swingset? and the house? and the deck?
I hand them clean paint rollers and a few old paint brushes. I fill a bucket with water, hand them some sponges and discover what will become nearly TWO HOURS to do my data entry. This is unprecedented. How fortunate that the weather was nice and everyone was agreeable.
This will never, ever, happen again.
I fed them lunch, and then had enough time to shampoo the carpets upstairs, while simultaneously doing laundry, and dishes, and work the data entry job. Clearly the parenting fairy sprinkled me in my sleep, as I was efficient and fun today.
Then I found the dog outside with one of my sandals, a day after he destroyed one of my Crocs sandals. Three hours later, he finished the job. I bought these sandals five years ago at Wal-Mart. They have served me well, and even though the sole of the left one was cracked, there were still decent and comfortable to wear. Until Mandiblor stole the right one, and ate the back off of it.
Tomorrow is trash day, so I suppose I'll have to give two pairs of shoes to Waste Management. I suppose I could set them out on the curb tonight, so a garbage picker can come along and give them new life, but somehow I feel that is along the lines of abuse of a corpse. My shoes deserve a proper burial. In a landfill somewhere, with dirty diapers and used motor oil. Perhaps they'll be fortunate enough to fall in next to some Twinkies, and be preserved forever......
One day, a paleontologist will be looking the the fossilized remains of our landfills and assume that our species died out starving to death, trying to eat our shoes as mysterious alien spongiform beings petrified within our bodies, preserving our shoe leather for all eternity. (I really need to get to bed)
Our old storm door was out on the curb this morning. Around noon, a beat up blue Ford pickup showed up, and the storm door went to its new home. I hope it serves them well, with it's rusted out exterior and tattered screen.
Buddy's room still smells like dog pee. That is for another post, but yes, we have issues in that department. Even after I scrubbed it with the carpet cleaner, it smells of urine. And I wanted this damn dog.
I really wish that wooden floors would fall out of the sky, land in my driveway and Paul Sorvino would come to my door wearing a tool belt and a wife beater. Super G will be working on it (the floors part, not the Paul Sorvino part.) But that would be a cool birthday present, for both of us. I'll get the floors, and he won't have to install them! A win/win proposition if I ever heard one. I'll have to call up Paul's agent, see if he's available.