Friday, October 30, 2015

Bitch be cool.

Hi. In case you didn't get the memo, I'm a hot mess lately. This is a recurring theme: Exhausted. Stressed. Maxed out. Just plain done. Blah blah blah. I know I sound like a broken record. There's just So. Much. Stuff. I used to be really good at handling my (and everyone else's) shit and suffering in silence while managing to keep it together. But "juggling" has simply become "dropping all of the balls," or, some days, just "drowning in the ball pit."

Awesomely apropos mug from Hot Mess Mom. 
One unpleasant side effect of being stressed the F*CK out is forgetting things all the time. My kid called me "Dorie" this morning!!! But the Mackenzie Nunchuck Cheeseman that *I* know DOES NOT FORGET THINGS. So now, not only do I forget them, I fret about the forgotten things like Rain Man worrying over Judge Wapner for the next 7 hours or 7 days, or, I don't know, possibly 7 years, I'll have to get back to you on that. Meanwhile, HOW did this happen to me?!? I am NOT this person! (Or am I?! I forget ;))

DM: Baby, it's just a checkbook. You have more checks. It's not a big deal.
ME: I KNOW I have more checks. That is not the point. The POINT is I am not the type of person who misplaces a checkbook. Or a spare key. Or a photo album. Or the perfect card I've been saving 9 months for this exact occasion. Or, *gulp,* the roll of masking tape that held 5 years of my kids' measurements from the old house that is irreplaceable, and, just... GONE. Waaaaaa.

OH WAIT. I forgot (shocker) to tell you about the infamous Columbus Day Incident of 2015.

So. Jack didn't have school on Columbus day. Even though Colby, DM and I didn't have the day off, we decided to play hooky and go to Disneyland. We surprised the kids and hooked a left onto the 5 north instead of taking them to school Monday morning. They loved it, and there are few places in the world I would rather be than Disneyland.

But. Jack came home after school on Tuesday and said, "My teacher asked me why I wasn't at school yesterday." BECAUSE HE DIDN'T ACTUALLY HAVE THE DAY OFF and we all just ditched work and school for no reason. (Well, no reason except MICKEY MOUSE, which is an excused absence as far as I'm concerned ;))

How have I fallen so far???

Feta says, "Bitch, be cool. Seriously, woman. Pull yourself together."
One silver lining to my slow spiral into insanity (or, if you prefer the proper medical terminology, "Motherhood,") is that my husband is finally getting a little taste of what it's like to be married to himself. (And I've become a little more sympathetic to his schtick, which I refer to in shorthand as "Huh?" :))

DM: "Did 'we' buy my cousin a wedding present?" "Did 'we' get my dad a birthday card?" "Did 'we' schedule the kids' dentist appointments, or purchase and launder clothes that actually fit our children who grew 3 inches since Tuesday, or call an electrician, or arrange a meeting with a contractor for that one hour we have free in the next calendar year?"

Nope. Nope. Aaaaaand no. And PS, where are my goddamn keys?!?

All of this is a roundabout way of saying I have yet to write that "real" blog post I've been meaning to do. Someday. Maybe ;)

Don't worry about me. I've got this under control. Butterfingers may cause diabetes and liver disease but they are gluten free, bitches!
Anyway. Happy Friday, Friends. Good luck juggling yer balls. I say leave that to the clowns ;)

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Nacho Cheese

You know that feeling where you “should” be done having kids but you don’t really want to be done having kids? That “maybe just one more” feeling? Well, I don't get that feeling. Except when it comes to tacos, pizza, garlic bread, and ice cream sandwiches. Aaaaand… puppies.

See, I’ve been trying to convince Daddy Mack that we should get another dog.

Here’s a little backstory. I LOVE dogs. I've always had a dog in my life. I come from a long line of dog-lovers. We were always a one-dog family, except for this short period where we had two - Madeline and Pepper - and it was a total shit-show so we pawned Pepper off on a family friend. Since then, I always just assumed I’d be a one-dog kind of gal.

I bought Blue in college. (Gasp. Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone. This was before I was a humane society volunteer and had been inculcated with an attendant distaste for dog breeders.) Blue was my girl. My one and only. We went through thick and thin (literally and figuratively) together.

Ownership of one dog didn’t stop me from looking for more, though. And getting dangerously close to adopting another a couple of times. It usually went something like this: Friend/family/coworker: “This dog needs a home, can anyone take it?” Me: “I can!” Later, to DM: “It’s cool if we get another dog, right?” DM: “Um, no.” Me: “Shit.”

Still, I could never actually pull the trigger for the 13 years we had Blue. This was mostly because she thought she was a furry human and did not enjoy the company of other canines. We were actually pretty seriously looking for another dog to adopt when Blue passed away last year. I stopped the search for a short while, but a couple of months later I was back on the hunt. DM had extracted one promise from me: This dog had to be a “real dog" (not a spastic cat-like little furball as Blue the Pomeranian had been).

Enter Feta. She is adorable. And sweet. (As long as you are one of the 4 people in our family. Otherwise she is a shifty growly thing with a special talent for scaring the bajesus out of delivery and service people.) She's our protector. She is smart and loyal. She is 100% "real dog." And maybe for this reason, she didn’t really fill the hole left by Blue. She carved out her own, new space in our family. She plays fetch and runs like the wind and hurdles ocean waves and cacti. She curls her big warm body up on our feet and follows us around thwapping us with her tail and presses her heft against us any chance she gets. But she is a big, hard ball of energy. There is no fluff there. She’s not going to cuddle on your lap or snuggle on your pillow. She can, however, give you this look and melt your heart:

Funnily enough, Colby, who had known Blue for the shortest amount of time, seemed to miss her the most when she was gone. She cried for Blue at night, and tearfully informed anyone she met "My dog got dead and went to Heavens.” I think her missing little fuzzy old Blue really stood out in contrast to Feta's hulking presence. This new dog was bigger than Colby, and frequently stepped on her and/or knocked her over with her lumbering Lenny-like love. It was so extreme that DM started campaigning for a bunny for C. I researched hutches and had a short-list of names for pairs: Paisley and Argyle, or Fern and Myrtle. But then my sister reminded me about that time in college (pre-Blue) when we bought a bunny from a pet store – gasp again – and then GASP for real because my face swelled shut and I couldn’t breathe. So, ix-nay on the unny-bay.

ANYWAY. I’ve been passively looking for Pomeranians ever since. And by “passively” I mean, searching PetFinder for pom-mixes almost daily, and actually submitting adoption applications several times. But it never worked out. UNTIL... last week, the day before we were scheduled to move to our new house. A friend of a friend had bought a Pomeranian off a sketchy breeder on Craiglist, and got it home only to realize her existing dog did NOT like Pomeranians. This friend knew I had a special place in my heart for homeless dogs in general and Pomeranians in particular. In other words, I had “sucker” written all over me. And it was black, just like Blue. I mean c'mon! I was in love. New puppy at the same time as major life upheaval? BRING IT ON. Now all I had to do was convince DM.

Strangely, DM was less than enthused with the prospect. Actually he said “There is absolutely no fucking way in hell.” I agreed that bringing the puppy home the weekend we were physically moving was not realistic, so, in my magical line of thinking, I decided that if the dog was still available a week later, that was basically a sure-fire sign that God wanted me to have it. And, apparently, He did. Who am I to argue with the will of God, people? (And yes, I am indirectly supporting skeevy Craislist puppy peddlers. So sue me, Sarah Maclachlan. At least I didn't clone it.)

I enlisted the kids’ help in my full-court puppy-press. We all spent seven days cajoling DM. At one point Jack asked who was winning the argument about the new dog. DM said, “I don’t know, who do you think?” Jack replied, “Mommy, because she uses more words and bigger words." Ha! He said "Mommy has 25 points and you only have 10.” Ladies and gentlemen, we have a WINNER. Okay, so, I didn’t so much “win” as my opponent waved the white flag in resignation, acknowledging his inevitable defeat. Details, details.

And so, without further ado, I would like to introduce you to: Nacho.
Our realtor just came over and saw this and asked, "What in the hell is that?... No. Seriously. Is it a dog or a cat?"
By the way, if you are actually, literally, losing your mind, are you aware of this fact? Just curious. I have been accused of being a nut ball many a time, but this most recent decision of mine was, apparently, the craziest one yet, if the opinion of every single person I know counts for anything ;)

PS, I came downstairs last night looking for the pup (my faithful steed Feta was already upstairs with me), and found her asleep on DM's back as he was lying on the ground working on his computer. “What?” he shrugged. “She feels… familiar. I already know this dog.”

PPS, Colby has never loved anything or anybody so much in her entire life. She is obsessed with her "Pomeration," "and that's for true." <3 And Feta is welcoming the change with a sense of love, bossiness, and reluctant acceptance befitting big sisterhood. 
Welcome to Chez Crazy, Nacho Cheese.