Sometimes you can skate through life with just an apple.
And when it's a shit day, you don a helmet, get a hug from your Mom...
and then dump all the water out of the dog bowl.
Sometimes you can skate through life with just an apple.
And when it's a shit day, you don a helmet, get a hug from your Mom...
and then dump all the water out of the dog bowl.
Sawyer loves gardening, and tonight he decided to enjoy the sprinkler...
Until he didn't. Whoops.
I love every second with our son, and I store away every emotion I feel being with him. It's like an extra hug around my heart. Right now, given the latest actions from a small group of Nazis who have penises so minute in size only their mother could love 'em, he brings joy that wipes their pledged hate away. His curiosity, love, laughter, craziness, and cries, all which occurred in this sequence of events with the sprinkler this evening, are a true testament that love (and hopefully prosecution) will conquer. 😛
Look to your children, your pets, your significant others, your family, and your friends. Breathe in the love that they have for you, and you for them. Oh! And don't forget to punch the Nazis. They don't deserve (nor do they welcome!) our love. Those bastards...
I was, and still am, astonished at the number of individuals I personally know who voted for Trump (who will forever in my blog be referred to as Fucknut). Prior to the election, I would ask, "How and why would you vote for a racist, misogynistic, homophobic, greedy person? Do you support those beliefs?" The responses I got was, "He's not racist;" or "He's not homophobic;" and "You won't lose your rights." I was personally offended and scared.
Now I might not have lost my American rights yet because I'm white, but others have, and even more people have lost their lives all because you voted to put the hateful Fucknut and his goons into the White House. So, I now ask, do you have voter's remorse? Do you still support Fucknut as the leader of the UNITED States of America? Do you like being associated with Fucknut as a racist, mysogynistic, homophobic and greedy individual? Were you this hateful of diversity and women before he became the President and you feel it's okay to continue to publicly announce it and show your hate just because he condones it? Or do you perhaps have the inner strength and love to admit your shame for voting for Fucknut and being blinded by your own greed and hate?
Are you scared yet? I sure as hell am.
The Wobblers are at it again folks! They had a request for the Director of the Daycare, so they decided to make their request known via letter...
From the Desk of…
(The Littlest Hoodlums)
August 9, 2017
First and foremost, it is with great pleasure that we would like to thank you for bringing us together. Your daycare has been the starting point for the “LPE Moms” text chain that has brought many “dings” into our lives, along with Wobbler gatherings, rants, laughs, and memories. We have become such a tight group that we have decided to make a request (and yes, we know that this is not our first one). We would like to request that our recently named Toddlers remain blessed with the name Wobblers. We would like our Wobblers to remain as Wobblers preferably until the age of 18 years, however we know you only have control over this until they leave LPE.
We understand that you will need to have another name for the new group that was suppose to be called the Wobblers, and we would love to throw out some ideas. We have included potential group names below. These are offered to you free of charge. 😜
Please let us know your thoughts in-person or via Brightwheel. Thank you again for keeping our kids happy and safe!!!
The Wobblers' Mothers
Woah-Woahs Wibblers Pre-T or NQTs (Not Quite Toddlers)
Drunken Sailors Ramblers Teeters or Totters
Here is the Director's Response...
I have read your request to remain the “Wobblers”.
Who is the leader of this “Wobbler Group”?
It could be Teagan because she is always greeting me with a smile and a wave
hoping to get something. ….
It could be Sawyer who is always ready for a fast escape and can help show them the
It could be Henry who seems to always want a “Taco” and maybe will bribe me with
It could be Jax who seems to always chase me down with a push toy…..
It could be Emmy with all her sly dance moves and shimmy on into my office….
It could be Gracie who is the Momma Bear of the group….
It could be Emma who is the musician will organize a march right out of the
classroom with her drumming skills…..
It could be Seb who is now a “Big Kid” who will lead the way for a name change later
It could be Dakota who seems to be taking the Lawyer route in life and making sure
that I am doing my job by watching my every move in the classroom…….
It could be Elizabeth who is quiet one and can organize a surprise attack on the
It could Colm who is bribing me with snuggles while I read my favorite book to
Although you are Toddlers, I think we can meet you half way to your demand. I will
have you named as the Toddlers but always refer this class as the Honorary
Wobbler Class. I in exchange will make sure that their entire career here at LPE will
call them the Wobblers. I am not sure how they might feel being referred to as
“Wobblers” when they are really Preschoolers/Jr. Kindergarteners. I might have
mass mutiny and demand another name change but for now I will refer to you as
(One of my favorite books to read to the kids is Click, Clack, Moo Cows that Type by
Doreen Cronin. I instantly thought of this book when I read the letter).
We absolutely loved the Director's response. Her individual notes regarding each Wobbler was a testament to how much she cares for each of our kids. And we get to keep the Wobbler title for our littlest hoodlums!! This just goes to show that clear communication, topped with a bit of humor and a bunch of cute Wobblers, is how life in general should be tackled. Now...if only the idiots in the White House could learn from our Wobblers...
If you're a parent, at multiple points during parenthood, you have, and will continue to, experience your child falling asleep in the car. In order to not disturb the sleeping dragon, you stay in the car until he or she wakes up all droopy-eyed and peaceful, happily ready to face the next hour of the day...hopefully. Our son fell asleep Saturday after a trip to the Farmer's Market, so Dana remained in the car with him while I went inside to make breakfast for my niece.
I was in a loving mood, and given how horrible cold waffles taste, I decided to take Dana a waffle to eat in the car. She got a kick out of it AND the next day made me coffee and brought it to me in bed without me even asking!!! If it was the holiday season, I would have thought it was a Christmas or Chanukah miracle...but it's not, and now I need to figure out how to keep this going. I love being woken up with a hot mug of coffee and our son's smile as he tries to drink it before I do.
If you have any ideas, please share them with me in the comments section below. I want this to become a weekend ritual!!
Sawyer's Aunt Laura came over last night to visit. She had returned home the night before from being gone for a week, and had shown up with a ball for Sawyer. He loves it! It's not his first ball, but he definitely treated it like it was.
After playing in the kitchen with it for a bit he bit into it (he thinks he's a dog like his brother Lincoln), and carried it into our bedroom. Laura followed, along with our voiced reminders, "Sawyer, you're not a dog." I stood in the doorway while Laura stood by our bed getting a kick out of Sawyer marching and dancing on our bed, babbling away and holding the ball up to Laura and the sun god as a "thank you." He's pretty good about knowing where the edges of the bed are, but last night he was thrilled to the point that his inner warning-signal was turned off, and he high-stepped it right off the side of the bed and hit the floor head first. Oye.
Laura picked him up and handed him to me. Dana came in and we both comforted him. I asked him the same question I ask clients: "Can you please point to the spot that hurts the most?" He paused and pushed himself away from my chest, so I set him down. He walked back to the side of the bed he had fallen from, and then he laid down on his side exactly in the spot he had just fallen. Yep! He showed me the spot that hurt him the most--the spot on the ground where he had fallen.
He's been giving us signals here-and-there these past few months that he's going to be a good smart ass, but that one, at 15 months, is definitely the one that has taken the cake so far. We need to be on our toes with this one!
A wicked day that ran the gamut of emotions. Every appointment with clients went wonderfully, and I was blessed with 90 minutes of free time to get some work done with a much-needed cup of coffee at the NVRC--happy! Unfortunately, mid-morning one of the gym members was unnecessarily rude to another member. I addressed it professionally and politely. He ignored me, turned his back, so I walked around and said, "Sir, what's wrong?" He looked at me, and shushed me...then kept doing his exercise. He has a reputation for being rude to other members, to me, to my clients, and for some odd reason, lacks the capability to share weight machines when he is lifting. I walked back to my client, and then requested one of the managers from the front desk to come to the back. I informed her as to what happened, and asked her to address it with the Director of the gym. I felt horrible for everyone who had to witness the tantrum that man threw, and for the other member who he addressed rudely. I also had to calm down because I was upset and angry. I was at work, so I had to handle the situation differently than I would have if it had happened...say on the sidewalk. On a sidewalk I would gladly have told him to stop behaving like an asshole. Unfortunately, I was at work. Ah well...
After that wonderful incident, life continued beautifully with clients, and following work Dana met up with me to run errands before we went to pick our son up at daycare. We arrived, and on our way to his room, two teachers burst out of one of the rooms screaming for help. My initial thought was, "Is someone attacking them?" (I was probably still running on a bit of anger from the earlier incident and was ready to...well...act accordingly.) That split second question was answered when I saw the baby in one of their arms. "Shit. It's a kid." I sprinted, caught the fact that she wasn't breathing and was unresponsive, and began back blows just in case she had food stuck in her airway. Three good back blows, and I heard, and felt, a physical reaction. I don't know if she ever had something stuck in her airway, or if it just caused her to start breathing (you have to smack hard on back blows, so I apologize now if she has a bruise on her back from me). I flipped her back over, looked, listened, and felt to see if there was movement. She started with agonal gasps, but her eyes were responsive. I held her, bounced her, and just waited to see if normal breathing would return. It felt like a bit of time, but I knew it was only a few seconds. She just needed a jump start...a good slap on the back. I was thankful that I didn't need to start chest compressions.
I took her outside because I needed to continue to hear her breathing (other babies were crying), and because I wanted to check to see if her pupils would react to light. They did. That was another relief. Her mother arrived shortly thereafter, and the paramedics and fire fighters weren't too far behind. I handed her off, gave info on what happened, and then walked into our son's classroom where he was with my wife. (One of his classmates was going bonkers over the lights on the ambulance and fire engine. Very cute.) So, there was some excitement, fear, and weirdly sadness that I got to experience after I thought my day was over. Dana says that she was proud of me, and that she doesn't worry if anything goes wrong with our son while I'm around because I'll handle it well. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. (Question: Does anyone remember reading the Warm Fuzzy, Cold Prickly book when they were young? I wonder if my parents still own that book...it would be a great book to sneakily give to that rude gym member.)
Arriving home finally, after eating dinner with my family, catching our son emptying the recycling bag and trying to drink from an empty beer can, I realized something. Hateful, angry, greedy pricks do not matter, nor do they deserve our energy. The children--they deserve our love, presence, and energy. They matter. Cheers to you kids! Especially you Son.
Now I'm going to bed, because I had one hell of an emotional day.
Sawyer's daycare is trying to expand, and in order to do that they need to get a Use Permit approved. We, the parents, have been asked to write letters to the city planning commission letting them know how imperative it is that our child is attending a "safe, high-quality, and loving child care setting," and why they should approve the daycare's request to expand. We have also been told that they'd love us even more if we could attend the city planning commission meeting to show support. The meeting is tomorrow night, and I hope to attend. I'm going to hold up this picture of our son and say, "Would you want this child running amuck in your neighborhood provoking your children to join his gang of mischief-causing Wobblers? No!! You'd rather have him and the other Wobblers contained in the excellent neighborhood childcare setting that would like approval of a Use Permit in order to expand. Their expansion will help get more ruffian Wobblers off our neighborhood streets and into the contained Wobbler ranks. Give 'em the Use Permit!"
Of course, what I won't mention is how the expansion would allow all of the Wobblers to stay together in the same class, instead of being split up. 😉 Another thing I would like to find out in this meeting is who we have to bribe in order to get a permit so we can add onto our house sometime in the next decade. Kids need their own bathroom! Especially when they start to hit puberty.
Sawyer’s classroom at daycare is referred to as the Wobbler Room. The kids in this room are at the developmental stage where crawling is their preferred method of self-transport; they are eating solids—actual food we can recognize; and climbing is becoming a past-time, along with standing, exploration of their surroundings, and escape from the classroom is attempted daily. Walking will soon be checked off their physical development list, and once that is their consistent mode of transport, the kid is bumped up to the Toddler Room. The Toddler Room is where they stay until they reach 2 years old, when they then start pre-school.
Two of our son’s classmates were bumped up within the last few weeks, and neither is happy. Every time I see them in their new room they are crying and begging to return to the Wobbler Room. One kid was sending SOS smoke signals somehow with the bottle warmer and a bib—smart girl! I get it though. In the Toddler Room you are down to one scheduled nap per day; you are discouraged from drinking a bottle; the kids are all nice, but they do move faster; and there’s a rumor going around the Wobbler’s Room that they have no method for heating up food in that classroom. Sawyer is pissed—he loves eating leftovers for lunch, especially vegetarian Tikka Masala.
The Wobblers hear their friends’ pleas, and a few of them know that they are next on the list to move up (literally, and figuratively)...Sawyer being one of them. Before the other two moved up, Sawyer would be caught dancing on the table in front of his peers in the Wobbler Room (I told him to save all the dollar bills for college). Since those two classmates moved up and you can hear their miserable cries, Sawyer is no longer dancing on the table, and he and his remaining classmates are doing their best to stay as Wobblers. At home, Sawyer walks (he still crawls when he wants to pick up speed), he hikes in the mountains with us, climbs mini boulders, dances and gardens. At night he foam rolls in order to maintain flexibility. One of his other Wobblers has some major dancing skills as well; a few have started walking; and one kid solves the Rubik’s Cube before lunch every day. They are moving and grooving!
Now, in order to not become a Toddler, the Wobblers are on strike and faking physical regression whenever the Daycare Director is present. A few were walking in the classroom chasing a ball, and as soon as the Director walked into the room they all flopped to the floor on their backs with all four limbs wiggling in the air, as if they are beetles stuck on their backs. Sawyer only dances on the table at home now not bringing home ANY money for college, and sadly, the Rubik’s cube is left unsolved, just hanging out in the corner of the Wobbler Room.
Every morning starts with the Wobblers making sure each of them has returned, and each day ends with them promising each other that they’ll return as a Wobbler, not as a Toddler. It’s amazing the camaraderie these Wobblers have, but they have also been together since 6 months of age and have months of friendship developed over numerous bottles under their beltless diapers. I know to not put anything past them!
In March we swung by to visit our friends. They had just given birth to their first child, an adorable baby boy, a month earlier. When we pulled up into their driveway we noticed an additional Tesla, which is a car Dana has her eye on when her current lease is up. (I keep saying "no" to that dream because of how fast she drives.) After our hugs, hellos, and coos over the baby, and them commenting on how much Sawyer had grown since they last saw him, we asked why the second Tesla.
Dana: How come you have a second Tesla? Is that a rental?
Friend: That's my wife's 'push' gift.
Dana and I: WOW!!!
Dana looking at me: How come I didn't get a Tesla as a 'push' gift?
Me: Because you didn't 'push.' You had a c-section.
(I got punched in the arm by my wife for that one.)
Our son reached 12 months of age at the end of April. That's right folks! We have kept him alive for 365 days on this earth, i.e., he has survived having us as his mothers for 1 year, and on his birthday we celebrated that he is a healthy and happy boy...unless he's hungry, sleepy, or sick--then he's unhappy for a brief bit. Hey. Nobody's perfect.
Three days after his birthday we were at his pediatrician's office for his one year wellness check-up. Lots of questions, lots of answers, measurements, a few escapes out of the exam room by our son, vaccines, and 1/2 a PB&J sandwich later, we somehow get on the topic of his sleep. Quick background here: from 8 weeks until 8 months our son slept through the night in his own crib. Then object permanence set in, and when he would wake up in the middle of the night he would no longer fall back asleep because he remembered that we were somewhere nearby. So with a map, GPS unit, night vision goggles, and a good cry, he locates us from the depths of our dreams and determinedly pulls us into his room. If it's early in the night, we rock him back to sleep and then we go back to sleep. If it's within a couple of hours of when we need to wake up for work, it's a lot easier for all of us to just bring him back into our bed and we all fall asleep quickly for a short bit before the damn alarms start beeping.
Yes, I know. According to some of you excellent parents whose children never wake up in the middle of the night because you did exactly as the sleep training books suggested, we shouldn't do that. I have even been told, "You will regret that." Thank you. Now shut up and let me get back to my story. We told the pediatrician all of this, and he understood. He's a parent. He did ask us if we were referring to any of the sleep training methods, and we told him we had. Dana informed him that I can not handle the "cry it out" method. I confirmed this because I do not think that there is enough antidepressants and alcohol in the world to help me recover from the feeling that I am hurting and abandoning our son by doing this. And yes, I am in therapy for this. Moving on...
I then suggested a better sleep training method that I thought would work very well with our son, and all other babies:
Allow me to explain...actually, Andrea Ruygt is such a kickass illustrator, that I'll let her explain it:
Now, just so some of you wankers know, we did not actually do this for our son in order to help him sleep through the night in his own crib. We are not that desperate yet. It's also illegal, which is why there is no actual picture.
Our son's doctor laughed at my idea, but did point out that whisky can get to be expensive. I then realized that we would need to actually have a hamster in a cage to take the bottle from, but Dana turned that idea down immediately. She hates rodents. Probably a good thing because the hamster would then become dehydrated.
So, it looks like if we actually try the "cry it out" method I will be walking the streets with Lincoln until I receive a text from Dana letting me know that it's ok to come back home. Until we get to that point, I'm fine with how we handle his wake-ups in the middle of the night. I leave the house for work before Dana and Sawyer are awake in the morning, and it's very cute to see them both lying in the same sleeping position in bed. It brings a smile to my face, which is a great way to start the day.
We received a text message from the daycare Director yesterday:
Director: Just a FYI your little man was playing in the playhouse and a little friend shut the door on his finger. He is good just wanted to let you guys know.
-->Immediately, when I read this text, my first thought was, "Oh no! How bad is it?" Then I was thinking..."Nah, it can't be too bad with a plastic playhouse." I then read between the lines and noticed how they referred to the injuring party member as "a little friend" instead of naming the child. This is smart, because the parents are then unable to retaliate by ostracizing the child, slashing the child's parents' tires, teaching their own kid how to bully that child and offer paybacks...things like that. An eye for an eye...a finger for a finger...
Me: Ok. How is his finger?
Director: Sorry about the delayed response. Yes it is fine a little cut but they put a band aid on it.
-->When Dana brought Sawyer home after daycare I greeted him in the usual way by smothering him with kisses and hugs, asking him how his day went, and then checked on his finger, which was a little swollen with a cut from being pinched in the door. I asked Dana what happened to the band aid (I was a little excited to buy him boxes of cartoon band aids for his finger if he showed interest in the band aids). She said she had thrown it away because he kept removing it to eat it. I then asked her if they gave her anymore information regarding the incident, and she said no. I'm starting to think that my wife doesn't gather information very well. From here on out, I will do all of the questioning.
It's not a lot of fun when your child gets hurt, especially when it happens on your watch, but when it happens at daycare, school, the grandparents' house, etc., then it's extremely frustrating. You immediately ask for video evidence of the event. When they claim that they do not have it, then you start to drill the adult who was present (or so they say) with questions to find out all the information you need in order to satisfy you on whether or not it truly was an accident, or if someone is to blame for their negligence/fucking stupidity, lack of caring for your child that they said they truly love but apparently don't and therefore you know that you will no longer allow that person to spend any time with your child, or if it was an intended hateful act. Luckily, this was just an accident. Besides, we love his daycare, and we know that all of the teachers, instructors, the director, and parents have the best intentions for all of the children. We know this because of how much we pay monthly for him to attend this daycare. 😐
This morning I decided to have a bit of fun with the director, so I sent another text to her regarding Sawyer's finger injury yesterday:
Me: Sawyer's finger last night was a little sore. I showed him a lineup of his fellow students' pics and asked him to point to which classmate shut his finger in the door. Unfortunately, it's his pointer finger that is injured, so he was unable to identify the culprit. His classmate seems to have gotten away with this! Poor Sawyer...he kept mumbling last night in his sleep over not being able to ever play a stringed instrument, any major ball sports, or even being able to learn how to count to 10...
Director: Ohhh dear... as a parent of several musical children playing instruments I assure you that I will have him playing his instrument in no time (I have accidentally squished many fingers but I am quick at repairing them)... in fact I think my middle child broke her toe on the door once but with the encouragement of "nothing's wrong, keep moving we are going to be late" paid off! She plays lacrosse now and college is helping pay for her lacrosse talents to play for them...
In fact we are working on our drumming as we speak!
Sawyer definitely loves drumming! Either that, or he just likes to hit things.
I was picking Sawyer up from daycare the other day, and I remembered that I needed to tell them that he might be missing a few days from daycare starting next week. His teacher asked if we were going out of town, and I said, "No. I wish. I told him this morning that he has to start working part-time next week to help cover his expenses." "Oh really? Where will he be working?" I had to admit that he didn't have a job lined up yet. So, being the caring parent that I am, I asked Sawyer where he wanted to start working next week. He mentioned working at Whole Foods. I thought it was a great idea, until I realized that he would probably eat all the groceries before he finished bagging them for the shoppers to take home. His teacher agreed with me because she knows how much he loves to eat.
The three of us put our heads together to figure out where he would work. Twenty seconds later, when we couldn't come up with anything, I put the idea out there that he might have to start working a corner. He would be cute wearing his t-shirt, jeans, sunglasses and little shoes. It dawned on me that he would need some education though, so I asked his teacher if she would please explain STDs to him before he starts working a corner next week. She laughed, and luckily agreed. I don't know if she realizes what she's agreed to yet, and perhaps I should clarify how much knowledge she has in teaching the transmission of STDs to small children, but I'm just going to have to trust her. After all, the Director of the daycare has promised that she has hired the most qualified teachers for the daycare, and so far she has fulfilled that promise.
P.S. Oh, and for those of you who find this offensive, THIS IS A JOKE! Yes, this was a conversation I had with his teacher at daycare, but NO, we would never encourage him to work a corner for money prior to the age of 18 years, nor after. Look at him. HE'S ADORABLE!! Besides, according to my friend Joel, nepotism begins at home, so we know that Grandpa has something planned for him.
Lincoln and Sawyer absolutely love each other, but as all sibling relationships go, there can be trying times. At least once each week Lincoln still gives us the questioning look, "He's still here?" He typically gives us that look after Sawyer has been following him all over the house for a few minutes and just won't give him any peace. But in Sawyer's defense, Lincoln doesn't give him any peace whenever he's eating, so Sawyer claims that they are even. I personally think that both of them do a marvelous job teasing the other into full meltdown mode at times.
For example, when one has a bone, and the other one wants his bone, but the former refuses to share with the latter, crying occurs. If one is enjoying a cupcake, then teases the other with a chance to lick his fingers full of icing, but quickly puts them in his own mouth while giving his brother a reminder look that he is on a diet and that the icing would go straight to his hips, the look of despair WE get forces us to give the other bites of our cupcakes. Did you follow all of that?
Then there are the times when they lick each other incessantly, share bites of food, stuffed animals, clumps of dirt and worms from our garden, and equal love for steak and shrimp forcing us to realize how expensive BOTH of our children are. I mean, seriously...how does anyone afford to have kids these days?
I know that these two will always look out for each other, but perhaps Lincoln is keeping an eye on Sawyer just a bit more right now. As long as one of them can afford to support us in our old age (which will be starting next month), all of this craziness will be worth it.
P.S. I would also like to extend a "WTF?" to our oldest child, Lincoln, for teaching Sawyer how to beg for food. Thanks a lot.
I was home sick today, and even though I did rest, I accomplished a lot. I organized paperwork, went through our bookshelves looking for books to donate, did laundry...whatever my symptoms allowed me to do. Dana finally noticed some of the things I did right when I was crawling into bed.
Dana: You washed the sheets and stacked the pillows so nicely to make them look taller! That's very cute honey. Thank you.
Me: Well, I wanted to show you how great I would be as a stay-at-home wife...while Sawyer is in daycare.
Dana: Oh! So I'll just come home from work to you in an apron (I interject and tell her, "Just an apron, no other clothes."), dinner is ready, the kids are in bed, and when I sit down you immediately light a cigar for me?
Me: Why do we now have cancer?
Looks like I'll be returning to work just to insure my wife doesn't start a nasty smoking habit.
It's a Tuesday folks, and I spend all day replying "FMIT!" (Fuck Me It's Tuesday) with a grin on my face to whoever asks, "Hi! How are you today?"
You might think Mondays suck, and sure, waking up early after two days of sleeping in is rough, but then that day keeps flowing with the help of coffee. Tuesdays...Tuesdays are a whole 'nother animal. It's even harder to wake up because you're tired from waking up early on Monday. It's also the LONGEST day of the work week...I swear...and the busiest. Tuesday is not half-way through the week like hump-day Wednesday, and Thursday is the nice day just before Friday, AKA "the home-stretch." It's just a Tuesday damnit.
In my next life I will schedule Tuesdays as one of my days off, along with Saturday and Sunday. A four-day work week is the way to go.
Until then, just being home with the family is my recovery from EVERY work day.
As a married couple, bedtime conversations aren't the most exciting...What time will you be home from work tomorrow? How was your day? Any chance we can afford to quit both of our jobs and sleep in tomorrow?
Now, as parents, I don't know if our bedtime conversations are much more exiting. For example, tonight's conversation:
Dana: I have my wax tomorrow, so I need you to pick Sawyer up from daycare.
Me: Well I have a client from 3-4PM, and another client from 5-6PM, so I can pick him up between those clients and you can meet me at the gym to pick him up before I start the 5PM client.
Dana: Oh honey!
Me: What? What time is your wax?
Me: Well, can't you take him with you to your wax?
Dana: No. He doesn't exactly sit still these days.
Me: It'll be fine. Just play airplane with him while you're getting your wax.
I thought my idea was brilliant, but she wasn't too thrilled. I don't understand why though. She's in the same position for her wax that you are when you play airplane with him.
Unfortunately yesterday was a shit day for everyone in our family, but you know that already because this letter is being read to you by a volunteer at the animal shelter where you are being held for a 10-day quarantine. You might have forgotten this already, but yesterday you bit our mailman in the ass while we were out on a walk with Sawyer. Yes, I understand that the mailman walked closely by the stroller and you felt the need to look after Sawyer by swiftly moving around the front side of the stroller to bite the mailman just as a warning that he got too close. However, not only did your nibble of the mailman get you (and us) into trouble, your leash also had wrapped around the stroller and pulled it over into the cement wall...with your baby brother in it. This was why I couldn't stop you from biting the mailman and preventing this whole fiasco from occurring. Don't worry, Sawyer is ok. The stroller protected him when you and I failed to, and your bite on the mailman isn't too bad either. No stitches, nor a new pair of pants are needed. You pretty much just bruised his ass. (Just in case you were worried, I took a picture of his ass cheek to show you...and in case we need it as evidence in court.) Because of your poor reaction, this is why you are in doggie jail.
Let me restart this letter to you by letting you know that we miss you terribly. The house is just not the same without your furry, four-legged, loving and barking presence. Every time I walk by the couch, I look for you. Every time Sawyer drops food all over him, his high chair, and the floor, I look for you (by the way, our floors and your baby brother currently have a shit ton of food all over them, and you've only been gone for 24 hours!). Every time I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I expect you to follow me out of the bedroom and whine in the kitchen for your breakfast. I was up three times last night between Sawyer's coughing and my bladder, and I looked for you each time to be on my heels. Hmmm...perhaps I should make an appointment with a urologist. We miss you terribly! You are our oldest child, and we can't stand not having you here.
Last night, after two margaritas, two glasses of wine, and a double espresso, I was able to come up with a plan for how we are going to break you out of doggie jail. Yes, you did something wrong, but let's face it, you won't remember what you did wrong three hours after the incident, and since you're up to date on your rabies vaccination, and the mailman DID walk on the other side of the stroller too close (I still hold him a bit responsible), I understand that you felt that you were protecting Sawyer while he was in the stroller, and so I want to protect you from the emotional hell you are going through right now. Besides, my own therapy is expensive, so I can only dream of how expensive therapy for you would be. That's just something we can't afford right now, so ask Grandpa for money at Christmas to put towards your therapy.
Okay, moving on to the plan...
Yesterday I sent one of your blankets and two of your suckies (owl and pig) with you to provide comfort, but later this afternoon we are going to bring you one of your doggie beds. I will be hiding in this doggie bed, i.e., your doggie bed will be a Trojan horse. Come to think of it...this might be the first horse ever in doggie jail...hmmm. After I am snuck into your indoor-outdoor jail cell (which I hear is larger than our house), at midnight tonight I will break you and every dog out of the doggie jail, and we will run north along the river trail, through downtown, and eventually end up in Yountville to hide out in the outdoor eating space at Ad Hoc. No one will see us there because we will easily blend in with the out-of-towers who are there on a daily basis praising Thomas Keller's geniusness and food. It's a brilliant plan, and we'll all eat well while we are hiding out.
If this plan fails, it will be on me. You're already in jail and can not be held accountable for tonight's jail break. We could always blame your baby brother. After all, he's not even a year yet, so as a minor he can get away with anything right now.
We miss you, and I hope to see you in a few hours. Get your rest now, because we'll be running tonight to Yountville.
Your Crazy Mother
P.S. Let's do our best to not nibble any more postal workers or ANYONE for that matter unless we are being physically attacked by someone. Then you can go hog wild on their ass, and you'll get all the bacon you want afterwards.
Sometimes, after a shit of a day, the only reprieve you can get is via bubbles.
May you find bubbles on rough days...unless you support the orange shit in the White House. For you, I hope you are buried by bubbles and your own shit.