Oh to be a working (puppy) mom … 

I’ve been doing some side work from home lately. It’s been nice, the kids are away for summer and my only home responsibility is our new puppy, Charlie. Today I had a huge project and a deadline.

I started on my work early; I forced the dogs out of bed and outside so as not to be interrupted for at least a little while. All was going well until about an hour ago …

It’s been 12 hours since I opened my laptop and began my project. It’s finished but so is my brain. I’m basically numb in the noggin.

In my infinite wisdom I pulled back my chair in triumph only to knock over a very large, very full potted plant. It didn’t seem too bad considering someone forgot to water it. Just loose dry dirt in a heap. I got the broom and started to sweep. While I was basically just moving potting soil around (to make it look like nothing happened) I noticed it was probably time to just turn on the robotic vacuum.

Yes. The easy way out.

And so I did.

I tapped the clean button with my toe and it sprang to life with a little tune. In no time all this will be a memory, I thought to myself. My work was done, the floors would be cleaned up and I could set about convincing the wife to pick up take out on her way home.

I checked Charlie before sitting back down, and sure enough he was being a little saint. Just chewing a plastic tire on the dog bed. Good boy.

I went back to browsing the online menu selection while the whirl of the robot vacuum made it’s way around the furniture picking up dog food pieces, dirt and pet hair, plus any random stuff we kicked under the tables.

Just as I paid for the food and text the info to the wife I heard the strangest noise, like the robot vacuum was in some sort of trouble. I peeked around the sofa to see indeed, there was trouble.

Charlie, sweet Charlie, had taken every last toy from his plastic toy crate and made a rug of ropes and balls and mangled stuffed toys. They covered the entire floor. All I could see was chew toys and squeakers. It looked like a bomb went off in a Petco.

My poor roomba had been surrounded and dare I say it, sabatoged. In the chaos it had sucked up a half unstuffed panda and a rope string. Poor thing was desperately trying to fight it’s way out of the toy mob alive.

I jumped in like a true hero and pulled the toys off the spinning bar. I tossed everything back into the puppy toy box and set the vacuum back on it’s way. Charlie just looked at me from his dog bed like he had no idea how any of that happened.

Anyone who says puppies are easier than kids is welcome to come puppy sit anytime. I’m almost positive the kids were easier toddlers and one of them once buttered a long haired cat.

Nope. I’m not kidding.

I’ll save that story for another time.

For now if you are also a new puppy mom or dad or grandma or whatever you should probably invest in a crate. Also a crate bed for your little terror. Check out some reviews here: Dog product picker they have some cool ideas for keeping the doggos comfy AND their toys safe from the vacuum.

Spring cleaning the closets

It’s that time of year again. We dig out the prior seasons clothing, sort totes to see what still fits and what’s still fashionable.

Unimagetil about 2 1/2 years ago I did this task twice a year all by myself. I would go from bedroom to bedroom and organize with carefully color coded totes. It took me about a day and that includes the inevitable laundry. That was when I had time for simple pleasures, like bubble baths and pedicures. Times have changed.

Life circumstances the last 2 years or so what they were, the kids would sort of help the last few change outs. This was done with minimal supervision and it seemed like they had a good handle on keeping organized and tidy. I didn’t check on them. It was after all probably fine.

This year I decided they could do it themselves entirely. A preteen boy and a young teen girl, I could trust them with this responsibility. cause I’m tired. and lazy.

The kids are surely old enough to do this all by themselves, right? Wrong. So wrong.

I came home to begin my weekend on the couch; I was going to watch a movie or a Netflix marathon or something on the DVR. Or maybe all that. I’ve had a long week and I earned this weekend. I had all night free and popcorn ready for poppin.

Then it started.

The endless arm loads of clothing being dumped around me. Then they started with the questions …

Daughter: “What about clothes I don’t want?”
Me: grumbling, pausing the TV but not making eye contact … “Just sort them and I’ll figure it out.”

Son: “What about this?” holding a shirt some random kid probably left here months ago.
Me: “Really? Put it in the pile. I’ll sort it out.”

I’m gonna take my chances anyway.

This went on for what seemed like forever. Then they disappeared leaving me with more clothes than a Goodwill grand opening.

Then I noticed the smell. Not the buttery goodness of a fresh Orville Redenbacher. No. More like one of the dogs passed gas while barfing up a dead thing they unburied and then ate. Not that my dogs would do such things. Hopefully.
I don’t know where the stench was coming from but it was gross.

I sighed heavily without breathing in too much of the toxic air and set to sorting. No way could I continue ignoring the mess. I carefully inspected the clothing and made my selections. One pile for eBay, one for donating and one for the trash.

I found one of my cardigans, a single shoe, a dried up leaf and 2 mini bounce balls. I also found some tiny sizes they clearly missed in the prior seasons closet clean outs. I don’t care how good of a job they claim they did, I know nobody in this house has worn Iron Man under-roos since kindergarten. Lucky for me one pair of jeans had 42 cents in the pocket. Even luckier? Nothing dead.


I think maybe I will go back to cleaning their closets myself. Even if it means I never, ever get time to just watch TV without multi-tasking again.