Sometimes, people write to me and say, “Kris, I want to live in your head for just one day, even though it would be super-cramped in there, because of the total fucking awesomeness!”
That is not an exact quote, but I am gifted at reading between the lines of people’s bitchy emails concerning various things I have promised to do and have apparently (again) allowed to go undone.
Anyway . . .
So today, I present a simple 30-point list, which, if followed and re-enacted carefully, will allow you to get inside my head as it existed this morning.
1) Allow the girls to do papier mache in the back yard because you are an awesome mom who likes to inspire creativity and because you don’t mind an occasional mess as long as it does not come in the house and sprinkle glitter all over the fucking place and by the way Martha Stewart brand glitter is so finely ground and fabulous that it is impossible to vacuum up and so your house is still all glittery from fucking Christmas but that is neither here nor there . . . Papier mache in the back yard because you are awesome!
2) Allow the girls to each mix her own enormous bowl of glue mixture (equal parts flour and water) because god forbid they should cooperate on anything, and you are not in the mood to listen to the two of them bitch about who is using more than her fair share of the glue.
3) Loosely supervise papier mache’ing of two balloons. The following loving motherly words are suggested but not required, “You are killing me here! It’s glue and newspaper! What is so hard about that? Slap it on the balloon and call it a day! Geez.”
4) Upon papier mache completion, leave all project materials on the patio table because the balloons can dry overnight and the goop-filled bowls can be dealt with after dinner.
5) After dinner, forget about the craft mess in the back yard and toss the smaller badly behaved dog outside because he will not stay the fuck out of the dishwasher as you rinse the dishes.
6) Fail to recognize the two sharp staccato sounds that immediately follow.
7) Have your attention drawn by the incoherent heartbroken screams of your daughters to the fact that the smaller badly behaved dog has popped both papier mache balloons and eaten the contents of one of the bowls of flour glue.
8) Comfort children. Clean up mess. Promise children they can do more papier mache the next day. Promise them you will fill their mini-piñatas with candy if they will only stop whining and yelling at you because how in the world is any of this your fault, anyway?
9) Stare incredulously at your smaller badly behaved dog, who looks as though he has swallowed a cantaloupe.
10) Put the smaller badly behaved dog to bed in his crate that evening without too much concern. He still looks grievously round-bellied, but it serves him right. Stupid dog.
11) Go to bed and sleep the dreamless sleep of the stupid.
12) Wake to silence and know immediately that something is wrong. The smaller badly behaved dog always barks in the morning. Always.
13) Realize husband has left for the day without addressing whatever problem this silence heralds and hate him a little bit. Make plans to not have sex with said husband anytime soon.
14) Pull on your robe and head downstairs to check on the dogs.
15) Open the door and have the well-behaved Labrador race past you, cowering in terror and the belief that you will somehow find a way to blame her for what has happened.
16) Stare into hell. Search for a phrase to adequately describe the horror that confronts you. Settle on the image of the smaller badly behaved dog having pulled the pin on a hand grenade of shit.
17) Stare at the silent smaller badly behaved dog, who has pushed his shit-covered blanket to the side so that he might more ecstatically prance and frolic in the puddles of excrement.
18) Carry the entire shitty dog/blanket/crate combo into the back yard and release the poo-footed demon.
19) Chase the poo-footed demon around the back yard so that his poo-clad feet are rinsed by the wet grass.
20) When questioned by your wide-eyed daughters, re-tie your robe’s belt (which has come undone in the chase), and explain that sometimes you feel the need for a little pre-breakfast backyard boob flashing.
21) Hose off the smaller badly behaved dog. Dry the smaller badly behaved dog.
22) Toss the smaller badly behaved dog and the well-behaved Labrador in the back yard as you get the children organized and off to school.
23) Pour yourself a cup of coffee.
24) Stare out the window and see the smaller badly behaved dog eating grass, which will make him barf.
25 ) Turn your head and see that the Labrador has squeezed herself halfway into the smaller dog’s crate so that she might more easily lick up the poo-puddles.
26) Gag.
27) Watch as the smaller badly behaved dog takes exception to this territorial aggression and chases the Labrador away from the filthy crate.
28) Sip your coffee and wonder again (and for the billionth time) why you own dogs.
29) Watch resignedly as the smaller dog climbs into his crate and rolls happily in what is left of the liquid shit.
Really.
You know you want to be me.
This afternoon?
30) Papier mache.
Fuck.
Gross, blech, nasty! I have owned dogs, so I know EXACTLY what you mean. Though I must say, initially I thought the story was going to go a different way when the dog went out. Like maybe the paper mache was still wet. And the dog was going to be covered in that instead. So glad I kept reading so I could feel the urge to barf. ;)
I am so very happy to have managed to share my morning’s joy!
Up to and including the urge to barf.
Gag.
Sigh.
Me
I think hand grenade of shit just became my favorite new saying.
I know!
I like that as well.
Thank you!
One critical aspect of dog ownership is to always leave dogs with digestive issues OUTSIDE. Once my husband neglected to do this, and I wound up steam-cleaning the poop out of the carpet of the entire downstairs while six months pregnant. I didn’t kill him, but I maintain that if I had no jury would have convicted me.
Momo -
Yes, I know.
But if I leave the smaller dog outside, he will bark nonstop.
All fucking night long.
That’s not really an option.
And he does sleep in a crate . . . how much damage could he do, right?
ACK!
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Whenever there is quiet you always know trouble is brewing. . .
That applies to dogs as well as children.
I would bet you a dollar that Mark knew what was going on in that room.
He opened the door, seen what had happened and said to himself, “Oh no. Not it.”
And promptly left.
Yep, that’s exactly what happened.
Hee hee!
Stasha -
I actually spoke to Mark just as I was hitting “publish,” and he claims that he did not open the door to the laundry room.
That because all was quiet, he just ignored the dogs.
Mark is a fucking liar.
He so is.
Kris
I call bullshit on Mark.
You know he had to wonder why the dog was being so quiet.
He opened that door.
He so did.
I so called dogshit on Mark.
He giggled.
HE GIGGLED.
I am going to kick his ass.
I would just tell him, in my best Soup Nazi voice, “No sex for you!”
He will admit to the error of his ways.
He so could have at least WARNED you about the mess behind the door. That way you could have had a cup of coffee before all the fun began.
Stasha -
I will break him.
I so will.
Sassy husband with hand.
Me
Been there. Sort of
Puked the whole time. Its one of those fml kind of days all over.
I told you that for the longest time, I misunderstood FML, right?
I first saw it on Twitter . . . all these women bitching about terrible things in their lives and then closing with FML.
Which I understood to mean “female,” as though they were somehow blaming all of their problems on being female.
I thought Twitter was filled with a bunch of lame-ass whiny fucking women.
And then someone explained.
Not “female.”
FML = Fuck my life.
Ooooooh.
That’s different.
Never mind.
me
and also I don’t believe in withholding sex because that punishes me too.there are other ways…oh yes.
Agreed.
What I actually meant was a hold on a specific activity.
But that seemed more information than this post required.
So I went with sex generally.
But in my mind, I was specific and acronymed.
Ahem.
Kris
Ok papier mache? very fun, super messy, and I’m sorry your girls can’t entirely work together with it.
The dog? eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww!!! groty! I am so sorry! I definitely had a feeling he was going to eat the glue mix though.
Glitter? once a friend’s dad somehow got glitter on his face–possibly helping with an art project, but I think it may actually have been some kind of glitter makeup– and even though he scrubbed it off, at the right angle, you can apparently still see a sparkle of glitter. yay for art! Not so much yay for little dogs getting in on it.
Papier mache is way fun!
The girls have made masks and small pinatas in the past . . . without the help of the dog.
Sigh.
And glitter make-up is the worst! That stuff never comes off.
Ask Kallan.
Ask our smaller badly behaved dog.
Really.
Ooooo sparkly child and sparkly dog! They can be like superheros! Or Christmas ornaments? hee hee
Kallan insisted that Jack had requested glittered eyelashes.
Snort!
Wow I wish I had your life!! Dog shit mornings sound so awesome!!
*giggles the evil giggle of a pet less household*
Hmmmph.
I will never understand why anyone owns dogs except as service animals. Those Nave Seals dogs with fucking TITANIUM fangs? That is the awesome.
Be lucky you don’t have a cat, too. If you had a cat, they would be eating cat shit out of the litter box.
And later your kids would be like, “Oh look the doggy is kissing me!”
And even when they’re not rolling around and eating the shit of other creatures, dogs still stink anyway.
They better save you from an earthquake or a fire or something so you can feel it’s all worth it.
Michael -
Really? You are going to mention Navy Seal dogs with titanium fangs and then not provide a link? DAMN YOU!
We used to have cats. We have bad experiences with cats.
Our experiences with dogs are fabulous by comparison, which should give you a frame of reference for the suckage that was cats.
My dogs are useless.
But Jack (the smaller badly behaved dog) is so fucking cute and snuggly!
I love him!
I am all dysfunctional and forgiving where he is concerned.
Did I mention how cute he is?
Hush.
Me
You can’t make this shit up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83-SZNnXPF0
Of course your dogs are cute. I’m just a grump. :)
I took no offense . . . but my dog is soooo cute.
You would not believe.
Swoon!
As for the video?
THAT IS INSANE.
INSANE.
Also?
Just so you know I am not insane?
The Labrador?
Less cute.
hahaha…so damn funny…yeah, i don’t need to be in your head. It’s so fucking similar to mine it makes me nervous…but i have XANAX so not to worry
i hate dog shit. my dog eats my cats litter box. it’s like a little ecosystem
Lynn -
You are on Xanax?
I WIN!
Or wait . . . perhaps you win.
Is it lovely on Xanax?
Hmmmm.
Me
Remind me exactly why it is you keep the little dog? I suspect that whatever you say, the real reason is that you’re working out some kind of karma with it. I think you’d better pay more attention to the karma…
Jack is sooooo cute.
So cute and so snuggly and he loves me.
I know I have mentioned this before.
Karma?
What karma?
Hush.
Cute & snuggly & he loves you? Must have been an old boyfriend from the 17th century. Eeewww, that’s icky.
Would just like to point out that this icky image springs from YOUR imagination, not mine.
You are a loon.
poo-footed demon. DYING!
btw? so glad i don’t have dogs.
Yay for death by giggling!
Dogs are occasionally quite horrific.
Bullet nicely dodged, you.
Or rather . . . grenade nicely dodged.
Hee hee!
I love the P!nk reference in your tags. Oh, and the post was very good. Now I know that I will not be getting dogs. Ever. No matter how much the kid whines.
Roxanne -
You will so get a dog. Just don’t get a Lakeland Terrier. They are hell-spawned demons.
Pretty sure.
Cute as the dickens, though.
Sigh.
My kids sometimes launch grenades of shit!
Great post!
Thank you, lovely you.
There was no way for me to work in the Jersey Shore definition of “grenade,” but it makes me giggle.
Do you know what I am talking about?
Older boy told me the other day that he “really, really, really, really does want to have a pet dog.” Big brown sad, pleading eyes and all.
I thought to myself – maybe a dog isn’t such a bad idea. I think we could handle a dog.
No fucking way in hell are we getting a dog.
No fucking way.
Not a fucking chance ever in life.
I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to shit grenades. A policy that is already being tested by 2 boys and a leaky cat.
No fucking way are we getting a dog.
Nope.
PS The papier mache spelling issue annoys me, too.
Rebecca -
Everyone in our neighborhood has dogs.
Everyone.
All of their dogs are, for for the most part, AWESOME.
Even our Labrador (who has issues) is mostly fabulous.
Jack is a special kind of hell.
Sigh.
Lakeland Terrier . . . make a note.
Kris
Yes, but even your mostly fabulous Labrador laps up poop puddles.
I just don’t know if I can handle that.
I lost almost all respect for my older, prissy lady-cat when she started eating the leaky cat’s vomit.
And we have a gecko that eats crickets and blue worms.
I thought I was an animal person. I’m not so sure anymore.
It’s true.
Pets, as cute as they are, are really sort of awful up close and personal.
Yeah.
Think I shat myself laughing so hard.
DAMMIT!
Bwahahahaha!
Happy sighs.
I love you.