It's Gotten Dark

It's nearing the end of September and I should have expected it. But I'm surprised by how dark it's gotten.

Also, it's Monday.

But I'm going to blame everything on how dark it's gotten.

It's why I needed to leave the door open to get dressed this morning and it shone on A's face in bed and he yelled at me and I yelled back and said his sleeping schedule was dysfunctional.

And the kids were still eating breakfast after I'd unloaded the dishwasher, made beds, made lunches, made eggs, tidied, got dressed (and yelled at) and I was mad.

And when I got to work, my Chair was in early and wanted to have a conversation with me. And the thing she wanted to talk about was awkward at first and then painful (for me).

And I worked obsessively in my windowless office for eight hours. About four hours in, I realized I was wearing blue paisley and gray, which is alright in theory, but was awful in the light.

Things got better once I got to the gas station: (a) made it just before the needle turned to empty (b) a red car pulled up beside me (c) the driver waved at me (d) after one too many seconds, I realized it was Big A (e) ended up smiling back at him (f) he pumped my gas (g) gave me a hug (h) I told him about my horrible work conversation (i) got hugged again (j) He took the grocery list off me.

And I got to go home and wheedle I-had-a-bad-day hugs from kids.

And they ate grilled cheese their dad made.

And I was excused from the "Poo-lympics" (picking up all the doggie poop in the grass).

I still have to work every waking minute on the thing my Chair talked about for the foreseeable future.

Unless there's an apocalypse.
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Nuts

The oldest one is playing 

(saxophone) at an away game.

the littler ones spend the day 

jabbering, "joking," 

jabbering some more, 

making up crazy games, 

(one of which requires us 

to draw someone she's thinking of).

When I tell him, At smirks and asks,

"Do you appreciate me now?"

Always do; always have.

Always will.

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Perspective

These two--together all day

playing, arguing in whispers, 

feeding, walking the puppy,

assembling their own lunches, 

making time for me to work 

in my corner of the room.

Sometimes, I take pictures on my phone.

(But they all face the same way.)

SO Big!

The "Babies" are getting taller...

One month ago...

Tongues out!

Scout 1

this puppy is a god

kind and calm

only love

waits for our return

then happy riots

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Points of the Day

My arms reach across the city
the season of flying
the body travels

Water is a ghost, is everywhere
says the cloud always distant
or dying tragically

The puppy's sighs in the dark
like restless, sweaty prayers
hypnotized and alive

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The fitness bandwagon...

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When you're a star, the wars never end (something like that)

Three light sabers...

Tales

I've been gone.
Sorry.
These days turn
churn and hurry.

Mornings burn
through fog
stumbling out to pee
(Scout, not me)

Breakfast is just
Cheerios, eggs, vitamin pills
and still takes two kids a total of 80+ minutes to eat
the puppy hoovers everything that's dropped
but eats nothing from his untouched bowl
I give him treats so he can keep growing

I know I'm an irresponsible "dog caregiver."
(It doesn't help anything that I've taken to referring to myself as "mama.")

I steal glimpses of the city as I drop the kids off
I wear my work clothes as a harness
so I'll get to work
(and leave the puppy in his little gated room for at least a few hours)

all alone :/.
And it's not really a room,
just the entryway,
but it's bright and airy,
and nicer than a crate.

And every time I get home he's quiet and fast asleep
but skooched as close
as he can to the gate
and the latch where my hand lingered last* (pictorial footnote below)

He doesn't like his leash and is constantly trying to bite through it
so he mostly runs around without one
so when we're outside I'm doing a lot of puppy carrying
--away from the mellow (bigger) dogs across the street
(who are the enemy--at least according to our young whippersnapper)
and also, he likes to run into the river.
We need a fence to keep him safe
and more cash to make that happen.

I thought Scout was going to sleep by himself at night
so I could get some time when I wasn't being constantly adored me time
yet he ends up in our bedroom every night
because he just sleeps better that way
(otherwise, he feels abandoned?
or may be he's afraid of the dark?)

TL; DR: The puppy's kind of taking over my life

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* pictorial footnote

I took this picture through the front door

--and perhaps that explains the beautifully surreal reflection on the closet door.

On the third day of puppy...

There was a lot of this

and this

and this

and then antibiotics for bronchitis from the Pet E.R.

(Where embarrassingly for both of us, a student who hadn't turned in her draft of the term paper yet works on the weekends--it felt like weird professor stalkery--Where *is* your paper? *When* will you turn in in?)
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Puppy Love

I have Scout the puppy on the brain.

All day, conversations about the SCOTUS decision on marriage equality sounded like "Scout's decision." (Scout is a big advocate of unconditional and unrestrained love.)

Also, I realized today that a few weeks ago I posted a link to an article on Scott Prouty, the Romney 47% videographer (awesome transcript at Shakespeare's Sister), and referred to him as SCOUT Prouty. (I hope Scott won't mind--he shouldn't; Scout doesn't hate anyone, especially people who work hard--you should see how hard he wags his stubby little tail in the video.)

The thing is, we don't even get to meet Scout for two more weeks. (At likes to point out that I have a major case of Internet-fueled love for my surrogate-birthed puppy baby.)

Pictures!

Scout doing his best impression of a potato (at two weeks):

And such a serious fellow today (six weeks):

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Scout

In order to further test my sanity, we're considering on a waitlist for a puppy.  S/he will be named "Scout." (More n. than v. That is to say, more To Kill a Mockingbird than scouting.)

We're already playacting all the silly stuff that Scout will do and panting down the phone pretending to be Scout. No prizes for guessing who the silly beings truly are.

Zadie Smith reverberates in my brain:

It should be noted that an equally dangerous joy, for many people, is the dog or the cat, relationships with animals being in some sense intensified by guaranteed finitude. You hope to leave this world before your child. You are quite certain your dog will leave before you do. Joy is such a human madness.

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