Just let me eat my damn AERO ……

I am in my room this evening trying to finish some work.

The evening has already a bit edgy, and the kids have been screaming and fighting with the dog.  Popcorn and apples were involved.

I have a lot to finish and just want to go to bed.  The sooner this lot can be packed away, the sooner I can eat my 100grams of AERO dark and drink my LARGE CUP of Earl Grey tea.

I have been thinking about this all day, this is my moment – my sublime moment.  It is almost within my reach —- if the kids would just go to sleep.

Isabelle is in bed, and she is screaming.  I am trying to ignore her, but she is going on like a lunatic.

We had a disagreement about bedtime. I wanted her in her bed with the lights off.  She wanted to lie on my bed and scream at me to change the channel to ceebeebies.

I won that round {because I SAID SO}, and put her in her bed.

She disagreed with my decision. SHE REALLY DISAGREED!

I throw door open and say WHAT!!! with a certain mix of frustration and exasperation.

Isabelle is lying there pointing to her general groin area – the universal sign for needing to go to the bathroom.  For goodness sake, just get up and go to the bathroom – she is big enough to get out of bed and open the door.  Why lie there and scream like a banshee, for goodness sake!

I hold out my hand and we walk to the bathroom.  Isabelle is so damn cute, I do struggle to remain upset with her, but I am slightly less than happy.

We walk in to the bathroom, I slip and whack my toe against the tiled corner of the shower stall, and nearly fall on my arse.  My catlike skills were the only thing to save me from going arse over tit on the bathroom floor.

Isabelle slips and falls and smacks her head against the edge of the toilet.  Her catlike skills have not been fully developed.

I am effing and blinding and on the verge of a crying jag – toe whacking is really sore stuff. Isabelle is screaming again/still and pointing to her head with large crocodile tears are running down her face.

In amongst all of this mayhem I hear Georgia’s voice: “The dog wee’d on the floor, and I wiped it up, so it was slippery….” did you fall?

I love kids bedtime. Remind me to kick the damn dog.

FAN.FRIKN.TASTIC!

Saturday morning adventures …. and mishaps

Saturday mornings with kids are filled with soft lighting, pillow fights, children presented breakfast to their parents as they wake up from a good sleep, everyone happy, shiny and just happy to be alive.

Well that is what the print media or ad campaigns will have us believe <<the image above is in no way an indication of how my family looks when it greets the big bad world in the mornings>>

The reality in my house bears a stark contrast to this rather “fantastic” image I have always held on to.

This morning Kennith left early for a cycle.  I think he was up at about 5 or 6 – it did not really matter as Isabelle had woken up at 3am and thrown up in her bed, so we brought her to ours.  She continued to do a few more hurls.  We then tried to turn the light off curl up and get a few hours more sleep.

Cuddling sleeping children is always a bit wholesome.  Cuddling sleeping children and sleeping deeply do not always go hand in hand.

So not much in the way of sleep between 3 and 5 or 6.  Georgia then woke up and came to get into the bed.  We attempted to lie there and few more minutes.  I put on CBeebies and thought I could squeeze another hour of me lying there and them watching television.

Ah, the fantasies that we all make ourselves believe.

But that fantasy came to a screeching halt when Isabelle threw up all over the bed, her doggie and herself.  Isabelle then screamed hysterically as she wanted to cuddle her dog to make her feel better, but that was tricky as doggy was covered in globules of vomit.

She screamed as a pulled all the bed linen off, and tried to put her doggie in the washing machine.

In the end I had to run a little dog bath in the basin, and hand wash her dog as if it was alive (keeping its head about water, talking to it, soothing it..) all while Isabelle stood next to me crying with snot running onto her top lip.

I thought I would finish it off by cleaning up the dog poo – it appears my dog has a runny tummy …. again!

Nothing says runny tummy and you really are having a crap morning, than the moment that you try to pick up dog shit and it flicks itself up and lands on your upper arm.  Then you start to dry heave. Your child starts to cry because they want you to come and get their doggy off the line as it is hung up by its ears and she wants it now, and then you heave some more as you realise the shit might have flicked in to your hair.

I do love Saturday mornings – thank fk there is only one Saturday a week, I may not be able to deal with more than that.

The dog that got away ….

Dogs, kids, paintings, lavender – all falls into a similiar category for me “Project!”

Once I decide on a course of action, I make a list, tick off what needs to be done, and it is on like Donkey Kong!

I started the year not wanting a dog.  I sort of warmed to it in the middle of the year.  We dog-sat Satan’s dog mid-year.

I decided I was happy never having a dog in my home. I rethought the thought.  I researched.  I mused.  I sat and day-dreamed.  I obsessed.  I decided I was very keen on a French Bulldog or a Boston Terrier.  Or one of each. Or two of each  <<ssshhh don’t tell Kennith>>

I saw some lovely French Bulldogs. I gasped and sighed.  I will have to wait for the next litter to be considered.

I started chatting to breeders about Boston Terriers.  There was nothing available until next year.  I met a breeder who had a litter.  We spoke.  We emailed.  I named him Dexter.

I was very excited.  Money changed hands. Promises were made. I bought a puppy bed and some puppy food.

The “relationship” went sour.  My money was returned.  I mourn the “loss” of Dexter.

I am back on a waiting lists.

This year will not be “The Year of the Dog” in our house. Kennith suggests we pop down to the local rescue society and pick a dog up.  I have said no, I feel strongly that I want a specific breed from a specific breeder.

Kennith shrugs. I appear resolute.  We do not talk about “getting a dog” to the kids, we talk in code “when will the package arrive?”

So, no dog this year.  I am very disappointed about the nearly-our-dog-Dexter, but I will just need to wait it out like a patient potential dog owner.

I have started internet dating … and I think I have met someone ….

It’s been more than a year since we had a dog in our house.

I have never been dogless.  I have been legless, motherless, and sometimes senseless, but I have always had a dog.

We babysat a dog earlier this year.

I really would like to tell you it was a good experience. I really would.

I got very angry that a family had probably had this dog, and given it no discipline.  They decided to move (probably to get away from the dog).  The dog then got passed along to a variety of people, but the dog really was too much dog for anyone.

I really want to find those original owners and make them listen to Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you” on a loop so their ear drums bleed.

I felt so bad for this dog.  I called a dog behaviorist and thought I would take it on the chin and keep the stupid and annoying dog and train her.

I have never met a dog I hated. I hated this dog.  Like day-dream-about-hate.

Towards the end of our “dog-sitting” time, I started wondering if I could kill the dog myself.  I also thought that maybe I could just leave the gate open and the dog could just run away.

I blame the original owners who did not love this dog enough to teach it manners.  They in theory should be found and slapped.  Hard.  With a spade.

Basically they metered out a death sentence for Maya.  And they made me totally shift my thinking regarding ever taking in a “rescue dog” (hate mail email address is along the side, feel free to drop me any hate mail you would like, really!)

In the end, the dog was poisoned.  Not by me, but clearly by someone who had slightly less patience than me, and maybe needed a bit more medication.

So that was my experience with a dog this year.

It jaded me to “thinking” about getting a new do in our house.  I really was not up for it.

I thought about a dog a few months back, but was not ready.  Flash backs of the black-bitch-from-hell kept playing through the VCR in my head.

A few weeks ago, I thought I might be.  Maybe it was a hormonal imbalance, maybe I missed a pill that day.  Who knows.

I started looking around and looking at what I wanted in a breed, and one thing led to another.

I decided that I wanted a French Bulldog or a Boston Terrier.  Then I realised I loved both breeds and I want both.

Recently online I met Declan.  I call him Dexter.  I love the sound of Dexter.

I sometimes say his name out loud in the middle of the day, to no one in particular.

I find Dexter very handsome and he makes me smile and giggle a bit.

I get excited every time I get an email from his mom.  I am quite “in love” with Dexter, but I am trying to act more aloof than I feel.

He comes with his own bowl, lead and collar.

I must confess I am quite smitten.  The only problem with internet dating is that you really do not know who you are talking to.

Dexter could be a 6-year-old Maltese Poodle, with bad breath and a hernia, masquerading as a Boston Terrier!   He could be.

I need to meet Dexter at the airport on the morning of the 18 November …… he comes with a box, as all good dates should.

His mom has asked me to deposit a large wad of money before she sends him, which makes me suspicious that our relationship is not founded on true love.  It has made our relationship a bit less “magical” than it was before.

I am still meeting him at the airport on the 18 November!

French Bulldogs …. I want I want I want … please may I have?

We went to view this litter of 9 French Bulldog puppies on Sunday morning.

We took Connor with us, and left the two girls at home.

It would have been totally chaotic with all three kids and nine puppies we were not allowed to touch.

I would have been so busy slapping little hands that I would not have had a chance just to sit in the drool and grunts that are French Bulldogs.

Oh my giddy aunt, my heart skipped a beat.  I gasped what I saw this lot.  I do think puppies are cuter than children … they just are ….

I like puppies as much as the next person, but freak, there were nine little monkeys here and I could so easily have snatched one and put him in my camera bag.

The mother was Hannah, but what was even more divine is that there was a puppy from her first litter, and she was a brindle bitch and just under 18 months – she was absolutely divine.

The litter is 4 weeks old.  The viewing is so that we could be introduced to the breeder and they could make a decision we were special enough to take home one of these special puppies in about 6 weeks.

It was a bit like going to a popularity contest with a few dozen people and not sure exactly what the criteria was for the selection.  But still hoping that what ever it was you got chose.

You want to be polite to the other people there viewing, but you realise they are direct competition.

Just like that.

I have to go so I can stare at my cell phone and wait for it to ring!!  Breeder please call me and tell me I can choose a puppy …. please call ….. please call

More photos can be viewed through this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/celestebarlow/