I am sitting on the loveseat in the living room, my laptop on top of my lap (how novel is that concept). Rosie and Ruby have commandeered the sofa. Rosie is a happy curly-furred ball of
rescue-dog-finally-feels-at-home bliss. Ruby is sitting on top of the couch, watching our for pirates, or Visigoths, or Viking Bersekers or whoever-else-she-in-her-strange-doggie-mind thinks might be prowling around the neighborhood ready to sack the house. There are probably a billion things I could (should) be doing right now (washing sheets comes to mind) that would be more productive than this, but this is my preferred state of being. Honestly, and I mean no disrespect to my fellow humans, given the choice between hanging out with a couple of people or a couple of dogs, I would pick the dogs every time. I would almost happily go live in a cave in the woods with a pack of dogs, except for the fact that I don't do well without things like indoor plumbing and chocolate smoothies from Starbucks.
We're up to three dogs now.
I will pause and let you ponder what crack I must be smoking.
I think it's due to a psychological condition called Holy-%^&!-My-Child-Is-Going-To-Start-Kindergarten-And-Look-How-Much-Free-Time-And-Quiet-Time-I'll-Have-Let's-Bring-Something-In-The-House-That-Will-Fight-And-Shed-And-Bark-And-Otherwise-Keep-Me-From-Ever-Having-A-Moment's-Peace.
We brought Ruby home the summer before Sam started Kindergarten. Now John is starting Kindergarten, and here we go again. I couldn't help falling in love with a Shih-tzu/Poodle mix with a bad attitude, who was adopted and returned to the shelter 6 times before I got her. Her shelter name (but I prefer to think of it as her "street name") was Pandora--for good reason. Ever try to rehabilitate a fear biting shelter dog with resource guarding issues/crate rage/and a mortal hatred of doors, scissors, and flea preventative medication? Yeah. Me neither. Ever try to live in a house with three female dogs, who all have sharp teeth and want to be top dog? Yeah, that was new too. The last couple of months have been interesting to say the very least. I *think* we've turned a corner though. Rosie is doing much better now that she knows she will get actual pieces of sliced turkey or ground beef if she goes in her crate. And crate training has made all the difference between Brittany Loses Her Mind Completely and Brittany Goes Skipping Through The House With Cartoon Bluebirds On Her Shoulders.
So here we are. The boys are in the kitchen, helping themselves to breakfast. They are discussing Star Wars with each other. We are long past liking trains here at Chez Vandeputte. I look at the picture of the two of them sitting in the dog crate together and realize neither boy could fit in the crate anymore. They are so big. More than once a day I look at my children and think to myself, "Who ARE you and where are my smaller children that look like you, but who are not into things like light saber battles and The Deadliest Catch?"
Last year I felt like we were in a sort-of state of transition. All the truly baby/toddler stuff was out of our lives. John was potty trained and semi-rational in public. But the boys still played with trains, and watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Diego and Busy Town Mysteries without calling them "baby shows". The first time John uttered the words "baby show" to me (a few weeks ago)--it was like a knife through my heart. The line was drawn in the sand. It's the Big Boys All The Time Show now, folks. I can't even tell you the last time my boys looked at their train set. If you know my boys at all, it's like standing on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon, the gulf between THEN and NOW is so large.
Don't get me wrong. I like NOW a lot. The boys are fun and interesting, and usually I can take them out of the house without too much crazy boy drama. We all had a fantastic time this spring at Disney World together, and I'm looking forward to them getting ever-older so we can go on even more adventures as a family. (I desperately want to take them to London) But I can't help but feel like I've been catapulted a little too fast into the future. I don't think I realized that we were in another transition period until we were out of it.
As a mom, that puts me in a weird, almost constant state of disorientation.
So I sit here with the dogs, and wonder what to do next.
There is so much reorganizing and purging and sh!t-getting-together that I need to do--I'm exhausted just thinking about it. And personally, when all that is done, if there's ever a moment when I have five minutes to myself when my own to-do list doesn't come crashing down on my head, I'd like to finish my novel, and promote to Senior Director with thirty-one, and finally get the chance to go poke around the Schenectady Historical Society and research Scotia and the history of my new neighborhood. I always feel like I'm constantly battling between wanting to do those other things and then being sidelined by grocery lists, scrubbing the toilet, and finding missing shoes (seriously there are only so many places a shoe can be... why can I always *only* find one shoe?).
So on a rainy day like today, I sit on the couch and do none of it. I write a blog instead. And then I go wash the sheets. And while I wait for the sheets to finish, I sit with the dogs.