dialogueing for the diagnostically opposed

- have you seen my wallet?

- no.

- but i had it in one of the bags when i brought in the stuff from the supermarket- which YOU unpacked.

- who puts their wallet in a shopping bag?

- well what did you do with it when you put away the food?

- i don't know, i don't remember seeing it (WHO puts their wallet in a shopping bag?)

- you must have thrown it away.

- why would i throw your wallet away? (WHY would you put your wallet in a shopping bag?)

[much rifling through the rubbish bin]

- it might behoove you to identify one location for your sunglasses/watch/wallet/keys, besides the roof of the car/anywhere the labrador's jaws can reach/ in the pocket of something that goes into the laundry bin and subsequently the washing machine...

- ha! i found it. you did throw it out with the bags.

- WHO PUTS THEIR WALLET IN A SHOPPING BAG?

- this is why you shouldn't be so obsessed with tidying.

- (...!...).

butter wouldn't melt...

should harvesting a new life ever become something for my uterus to while away the time with, then any finished product would be better off coming out, and remain looking like, one of the residents of fraggle rock. clearly anything cute and fuzzy wuzzy stands absolutely no chance of not being raised under the tenets of a 'getting away with murder' school of parenting.

it would appear that axel is the neighborhood's very own count of monte cristo. apparently the little fellow has been working on a fence demolition project, between taking naps and chasing the other dog around the back garden. this weekend a phone call came from the after hours answering service. typically these are of the "my tooth hurts, it's been that way for three weeks, but now it really hurts" to "i was flossing and got a really bad smell and taste in my mouth- like dog shit" variety. this most recent 'emergency' fell into the "your dog is on the neighbour's porch" category.

axel has a thing for the crazy cat lady, more so, because she has a thing for cats; all of them. this is evidenced by a 24 hour stray kittie kibble buffet on her back deck, which just happens to be diagonally opposite a couple of loose, corner fence posts and a ravenous labrador.

family therapy

when the vet, the janitor, and the old lady in the car park at the post office all suggest outside intervention, i rapidly shift through the abbreviated five "i am not a crappy parent/am i a crappy parent?/i am just an unlucky parent who picked the wrong runt" stages.

completing a psychiatric intake on an identified problem child, will reveal who's in charge pretty quickly; the electronic treatment plan pre-populates with the focus on supernanny's primary adversaries; mumzy and papa.

the denial tree trickles down from: what? there is nothing wrong with my dog, and therefore my puppy rearing skills, to; he's a puppy, this is how they're supposed to act, to; my parents spoiled me, it's all i know, and therefore, their fault, to; ok, ok, i'm completely inadequate as a parental figure to an animal that leads blind people around wal-mart on saturday mornings, so just go ahead and book a double neutering.

i have no doubt that there are $1,500 tempurapedic doggie beds covered in monogrammed, triple digit thread count, but they don't come in a queen, with hot and cold running humans eager to prepare their breakfast at 4am. soon we will be getting phone calls from mall security that axel has been caught shoplifting musical kong's, and stuffing $60 retractable leashes under those giant ears.

and so the two, two-legged mammals are off to obediance school for some short term, intensive group behavior modification skills training, because thus far the humanistic 'he's-a-labrador-which-is-the-4-legged-intelligence-equivalent-of-a-dolphin-so-he-knows-how-to-pee-outside-and-only-chew-on-rope-and-any-shoes-that-don't-belong-to-me' approach has not worked.



(the other names on the sign up sheet were; "fluffy", "twinkle", and "baby").

just say NO!

i have become the wal-mart mother- despite years of counseling multi-generations of babymomma's, and other ancillary aunties and grandmommas, on the detrimental effects that screaming redirects across the room has on the nurturing and attachment styles of their hyperactive hellians. and while "time-out" is a well researched and peer reviewed method (except when you leave things like rubbish bins full of banana peels, soggy coffee filters and egg cartons in the designated "naughty space") smacks, wooden spoons, shaming, and threats of "don't make me put my laptop down and come in there", tend to be the default technique.



of course until evolution kicks it up a notch and rielly and axel either develop opposable thumbs or the 'bewitched nose twitch', their toys and remains of the granola box will be dutifully tidied up, while they take a well earned, cute looking recovery nap.

if you're not careful, you'll go blind

i don't have to see my final result to know that i failed the exam. on the brighter side, at least it was neither a "first response" nor a "congratulations, you're not pregnant, but here's the real reason why you're feeling a bit off down there" type of test. the overwhelming sense of failure at not being able to read the "easy" letter is worse than letting the bank teller see you are unable to identify which cluster of digits on your cheque is your bank account number. fortunately, much like a chlamydia-free diagnosis, the silver lining is that i am not yet destined for old lady bi-focals.

as far as my traumatic childhood experiences can be stretched to excuse the chronic avoidance, visits to the optician are staggered on much the same schedule as pelvic exams and equally pointier and scrapier dental probes.

after a series of puffs of air, flashes of traffic lights, and photos taken of the back of my ocular cavity that looked like red water balloons, the final diagnosis was that i had almost reached the glass ceiling of visual deterioration. the prescription had gone up to: "you are like a bat in the daylight that has had vaseline smeared across it's corneas". followed by an equally miserable treatment plan: "please walk this way to consult with our frame expert who will then set you up with a super cute, and super over priced pair of glasses (with anti-reflective, UV protectants that the people at NASA use), and for an additional $149.99 we can shrink the thick as watermelon skin lenses into svelte little onion peels".

he did mention that due to my level of myopia, annual visits would be reccomended as i was at a higher risk for something with far too many syllables for me to remember later and obsessivley google.

at least i already have the yellow dog, which will be great if i'm ever trying to hunt down a tampon under the ottoman.

crotchless

spending a little more money, on a little less knicker (and therefore a little more chafing), makes as much financial sense as opening a starbucks next to the mormon tabernacle in salt lake city.

i recently encountered a problem that plagues scores of elite athletes; a hole in my running shorts' internal liner (with the exception of the seams that hold the leg openings together). as i don't run far, or fast, enough to set the moisture wicking gusset on fire, and the last gynecologist appointment didn't indicate that my ovaries had started producing acid, i assumed that they must have become tangled up in a heating element (why not?), in the dryer-- despite the fact that they hadn't been washed/dried, but worn twice already this week (no additional ventilation had been noted during either excursion).

"come and look at what reilly (the dog) just threw up". sadly, this is a very effective way to get me to stop blog/read/text-ing and come hither. it looked like a polka dotted puke log. like my black and pink spotty knickers. except stomach acid coloured.

it would appear that the 10 minutes it takes to shower, apres-run, when my sweaty clothes sit on the floor (i wear knickers under all athletic wear, with the exception of anything swimming related), that the sweat 'n smegma buffet opens for 'all you can eat'.

my differential diagnosis is canine pica with fetishistic features, and a rule out on passive-aggressive retaliation based on the dearth of diced onion/grated courgette/chicken breasts/pot roasts dropped on the floor during mealtime food prep.

circle of insanity

i learned a new dance today. fortunately, the choreography isn't too complicated.

to remedy an ice-cream brain freeze; press your thumb onto the roof of your mouth. to divert from the inter-oral pressure, you then stub your right toe. to distract from the metatarsal "ow-ies", flick your ear. to ignore that pain, give yourself a papercut between your thumb and forefinger.

pretty soon you've forgotten about your headache and are ready for another scoop of pralines and cream.

(and look like you just had a handful of electrically charged thumb tacks dumped down your shorts).

little love bites

i really should know better than to bend over in a low cut blouse to give an excitable 3 year old a growling bear hug right before he heads off to lunch. apparently he thought my chest was a good place to take a bite out of.

he left teeth marks on my skin-- and there really isn't an awful lot of subcutaneous cleavage fat to clamp down on.

cause and effect

learning outcomes ideally begins in childhood, where natural consequences are opportunities to think about the should's and should nots. a great teaching tool is to practice if/then scenarios.

~if you* board any aeroplane, anywhere in the world, then you will always be seated next to the person with a screaming infant. this parent will also be unfamiliar with antiperspirant products, or 'head and shoulders'.

~if you dont shave your legs for 3 days, and wear your holiest, tattiest knickers, you are guaranteed some action past second base.

~if you don't wash your car for several months, then farmers will begin blaming you for their dessicated crops.

~if you eat cheese before you go to bed, then you will have nightmares (according to some mothers).

~if you change a little boy's wet nappie, then he will still have some residual pee left over to spray you in the face with.

~if you hide behind the winter coats at target to silent fart, then every salesperson in the building will make a beeline to ask if you "need assistance".



*the choice of the pronoun "you", versus "i" was very deliberate and intentional.