Luckily, I have a sense of humor about most things. So, once I wash the orange juice off my leg, I will regale you with tales of my adventures the past 26 hours.
Ok, all better.
Wednesday 7:30 a.m. Molly, the dog, watches Emily carefully as she gets ready for school. She knows she's supposed to be tied out when the kids leave, but she says nothing. She follows Emily around, cleverly playing the part of the loyal pup. She knows that Emily will be momentarily distracted by the shininess of the mirror next to the door. She plans her escape. The very second Emily opens the door, Molly, who outweighs her human by about 10 pounds, bolts out the door. Because there's kids! and bikes! and cars! and tree cutters! and old men taking out the trash! AND EVERYONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH ME!
Cut to Crystal, in her pajamas and flip flops, standing on the sidewalk yelling at Emily to "justgotoschool! I'll get the dog! Stop worrying! And why aren't you wearing your new shoes?!"
And getting yelled at by an old man because "I'd really prefer she be on a leash." This is where I wish I had my friend, Ken's quick wit. (This was his response in a similar story: That happened to me over in Missouri. One of my dogs got loose and I got the "DOGS ARE SUPPOSE TO BE ON A LEASH" lecture from him. I said..."umm we always keep him on a leash...do you really think my fat ass is running up and down the street for the fun of it? Now why don't you shut the f$%k up and help me catch him?" <---true story. ) I just said, "Well, it's not like we let her out on purpose." And watching some jackwagon actually try to RUN. HER. DOWN.
7:50 a.m. I finally coax her to the van. I grab her by the collar to lead her in the house and then have visions of her slipping out of it. So, I pick her up. Have I mentioned that she weighs about 80 pounds? And she's an 11 month old lab mix? Who thinks she's a 6 week old puppy? The tree cutter guy shared his amusement with me. "You must be really mad. That's a big dog."
To demonstrate her remorse, Molly climbed onto my bed and chewed up Greg's hat while I was getting Sophia about of the van.
2:00 p.m-ish A friend texts me and asks for the address of a place. I respond and type the numbers wrong - totally understandable because it's a phone thing. The story comes 2 hours later when I'm using that same text message to (have Sydney) enter that address into, Dave, the GPS, and while I had realized that I messed up the numbers (and had corrected them at the time) I had the street name wrong. Dave kept telling me there was no such street and I was insistent that there was. For at least five minutes. Guess what? Barker and Banker? Not the same street.
3:40 p.m."Was that the Arcola exit?" I was supposed to stop to pick up one of Sydney's teammates. It's not like it was the first time. And for those of you not familiar with my landscape, let me explain the desolation. It's not like there are 3 or 4 exits in a row and I got the wrong one. Oh, no. I drove right past the first exit in ten miles and the only exit for over 20 miles. I think I was still ranting to Sydney about the dog.
Thursday 6:30 a.m. My alarm goes off. I've been asleep off and on for about 4 hours. (Lack of sleep is likely the biggest part of my problem, but well...) Anyway, I walk through the living room to Cody's room to get him up for driver's ed. On my way back, I step on something sharp. But all I see is fuzzy stuff. The dog has eaten the cord to the Bissell sweeper. Well, I hope she didn't actually eat it, because, that's gonna hurt. But she shredded it. As I'm noticing all of the sharp things on the floor (that wire is dangerous!) I'm wondering HOW does that not hurt her mouth? So, at 7 a.m. I'm vacuuming with the vacuum that still has a cord. (Remember how I hated my old neighbors? I"m sure our new child-free, young neighbors just loooove us. lol)
8 a.m. Sophia wants apples and yogurt. I think it's probably best if I don't handle a knife, so I get her a fruit and walnut salad and an orange juice from Mc Donalds. Remember the orange juice?