On the list of things that I love, these two moppets fall right below Blaine and right above Girl Scout cookies. They are my dogs: Peanut and Sydney. They were my babies before I had babies, and I love them to bits. Which is why they are still alive this afternoon.
Because in the wee hours of the morning, we awoke to the sound of Peanut retching in the dining room. “Oh boy,” I thought as I grabbed the flashlight and jumped out of bed, “she’s gonna barf.” And she did. Which added to the 15 other piles of nastiness that she had already left as little presents all over the newly-carpeted room. (Coming from both ends, mind you.) Gasp.
In hindsight, it’s all my fault. I should never have let them in the backyard after the kids had dumped cloud dough (made from flour and oil) all over the backyard in a frenzy of fun times yesterday. And then we probably shouldn’t have shut them in last night…even though it’s protocol since they bark at squirrels late into the night.
Shampooing the carpet at 8:00 in the morning with a rented machine that is roughly the size of my dorm room refrigerator was not that bad, actually. It was kind of rewarding – the kind of reward that you get when something is really dirty, you clean it, and you feel gratified with your efforts.
It’s amazing to me what being a parent / homeowner / adult means: complaining is fruitless, action is quicker, and life goes on. If I would have told my younger self that I would literally have touched poo twice in one day before lunch (Blaine had quite the diaper bomb, too), my younger self would have put her hands over her ears and shrieked, “la la la la la! I can’t hear you!” But as a friend of mine recently reminded me, adulthood is the price we pay for having the authority to buy whatever kind of ice cream we want at the store…and eat it for dinner if we so please.