Marley My Love

I would like to introduce to you a lovely being. Someone who has more brain power than my daughter did for the entire first year of her life. When they designed this piece of flair they had our dog, Marley, in mind. That's just how brillant she is.

This morning, I asked Marley if she would be a doll and write a guest post for me. You know, telling her view on the dark side of Aurora. Naturally, she jumped at the chance.

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Dear Humans,

Can someone please tell me what the eff has happened to my life?

I used to be honored around these parts. I was revered. I was living the good life. Then you brought home that...that, thing. Life has never been the same since.

Tell me, was I not good enough? Did I not jump high enough when I was catching the Frisbee? I think I can rule that out. I've seen that thing attempt to catch, and she has hands. It's laughable, really. Did I not provide you with enough entertainment when it was time to perform tricks? I could have learned to pirouette, I'm sure of it.

But no, you went ahead and brought that thing home. I live here too, you know! I have a voice. I thought life was fine just the way it was.

Just think back to the good old days for a moment. Ah, those were the days. Remember when we would all go out for happy hour? Now, the best I get is Yappy Hour at the SPCA, where, lets face it, you're likely just checking out the drop off policy.

I used to look good, back then. I had regular spa appointments. I'd come home feeling refreshed, smelling good, and with a new toy to boot. Now? Seriously? Look at me.

Do you see what you allow me to look like? Do you see my fur? It hasn't seen professional clippers in years. I do not appreciate the home cuts. Check out my color! I'm supposed to be white and black, not a dingy shade of ecru. And don't even get me started on that heart stuck to my paw. I heard you people laughing about it. I am not a joke! Do not laugh at my misfortune. To top it off, you didn't even remove it for another day or so. Shame on you. You would never allow that thing to go out looking like that.

Now let's discuss the matter of sleeping arrangements. I hear you tell that thing, "Everyone sleeps in their own bed." Well...where's my bed?

Why must I always be forced to share?

I've decided it's time my voice be heard! I will no longer tolerate a subpar standard of living! I expect the same rights as that thing. I am 11 years old, I demand respect, damn it!

I demand more walks, more long hikes, and more dog park time. Some prison inmates see more fresh air than me.

I demand to be talked to respectfully.

Stop yelling at me to get out of the kitchen. I'm just trying to help, the more crumbs I eat the less you have to vacuum.

Stop yelling at me to hurry when I'm outside. I'm old, I don't move as quickly as I used to. The sooner you accept it, the better off things will be.

Stop yelling at me to get out of the way. That thing scares me shitless! Surely, she's out to get me. I spend the majority of her waking hours terrified. Two inches from your feet is the safest place in the house. Sorry for the inconvenience, but remember, you were the one who wanted her.

I do not think I'm asking for much. I only want what I used to have. I know you love me, now it's time you remembered how to show it.

Lots of kisses,

Marley

P.S. I heard you the other day when you were discussing getting another dog. I'm not stupid. I don't need a playmate, I'm 11. I know you're just shopping in advance for my replacement. Real classy.

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Dear Marley,

Touché.

Love,

Your Human Mother

P.S.

I allow K to go out looking like this regularly.

And she gets home cuts, too. Just saying.

Sleepless in Baltimore

I have a simple request. I really don't think I'm asking for much. I'm not attempting to end world hunger or find alternative energy sources. I'm not even asking for the mail to be delivered earlier and the recycling to be picked up later. I just want to sleep.

I want just one full night of uninterrupted sleep. The kind of sleep you wake up from feeling rested.

I haven't had an amazingly full night of sleep since...I dunno, approximately April 2008. Really, my ob/gyn should have forewarned me. I think that should be part of the standard prenatal advice.

"Now make sure you take your vitamins, lay off the raw oysters, and kiss the dream of sleeping good, ever again, good-bye."

It's my entire household's fault that I don't sleep the recommended amount. 

Let's start with the biggest culprit, K. She's been ruining my chances at a good night sleep since before she was even born. Everyone warns new mothers. Sleep when the baby sleeps, they say. But they forget to mention the millions of reasons toddlers, and then preschoolers, still wake up entirely too much during the night. The excuses K gives when she wanders into my bedroom at odd hours of the night are endless. "I had a bad dream. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry. My tummy hurts. Moo Moo woke me up. I'm wet. Papa woke me up. I threw up." It goes on and on. Every now again, she wakes up about 2am, thinks it's morning, turns her light on and starts playing. I can guarantee that will never happen to me. I will never confuse 2am for 7am. In a desperate attempt to sleep, I taught her a phrase. "When the sun is up, the K is up. When the sun is down, the K is down." I'm not sure it's working, but she seems to enjoy saying it.

Moving right along, my dear husband. He snores. Let me say that again for extra emphasis. HE SNORES! Not every single night. But when does, it's loud. Like, pillow over my head, fingers in my ears, I can still hear it, loud. It's a source of contention in my house. I guess, you could say, I'm not the nicest when I attempt to rouse him. In my defense, I always try once nicely...a gentle touch on the shoulder, hey babe you're snoring. It never works. I'm forced to go to extremes. After all, if he's sleeping I should be allowed to, too. I have shoved, pushed with my foot (I just can't bring myself to write that I've kicked my husband. It sounds awful,) held his nose closed (my personal fav, his most detested,) and I have hit. I'm not proud. I'm not an abusive wife. I just want to sleep.

Next up in the plan to never let me sleep good, the animals. Marley licks her bed. It's like nails on a chalkboard. I can not sleep with that noise. Speaking of nails, when she paces from room to room, it's done with a click click click of her toenails on the hardwood floors. And every single night, Moo decides to pick a fight with Ellie. Literally. Every single night. Have you heard cats fighting? It's a wretched sound.

And now, my contribution to my sleep problems. I'm a light sleeper. Everything wakes me up. If K, still sleeping, cries out from a dream, I wake up. If she rolls over and bumps the rails of her bed, I wake up. If hubby comes to bed after watching a late game, I hear him on the steps. And now, I'm so conditioned, my internal clock wakes me up every few hours, you know, just incase.

I'm not sure how to solve my problem. A bottle of Tylenol PM? Maybe a separate wing of the house just for me? Or it's possible, I have to accept that this is just one of those joys of motherhood everyone is always talking about.

Nine Lives

So it's official. My cat, Ellie, is not dead. And it appears, she's not dying anytime soon either. Obviously, this is good news, unless you're not a cat lover like a certain member of my house. I think he-who-will-not-be-named actually did a vet bill price comparison to determine which would have been cheaper, getting Ellie well or getting her cremated. Thankfully, today she's well on her way to being healthy.  

This is Ellie...sleeping in my ficus tree. There will be dirt on my floor when she's done napping.


















Last Saturday, things took a very peculiar turn for Ellie. Peculiar in the sense that my husband and I were convinced she was dying. It happened suddenly. One second she was relatively normal, the next she was spinning in circles.

I wanted to blog about it during the calamity, but just couldn't bring myself to do it for fear she was actually going to die. I had to wait it out. I knew I couldn't write an honest portrayal of the events. I would have given a skewed depiction of what really happened, to protect her memory...you know, in case she died.

But, she didn't die. So here's the truth. Ellie was possessed. She could only go left. For a full 72 hours she was capable of doing two things, spinning in a tight circle to the left or hugging the wall heading left. For 72 hours she was like an ant, on a mission. She had no say in her mission, it just had to be done. She had to walk, she couldn't stop. She was not capable of stopping. The most bizarre thing to watch. She would spin and spin and spin...always to the left, mind you. And when she finally was able to walk herself out of the spin, the mission was not complete. She had to keep walking, to the left, against the wall, at all cost. No matter what was in the way, she had to persevere. In 72 hours, she successfully got herself stuck behind a bookshelf, in a dollhouse, in between the hot furnace pipes, behind a radiator, behind the fridge, and in countless corners. If it hadn't been so all consuming, it would have been hysterical. Like YouTube funny.

$290 later, a vet confirmed she wasn't possessed after all. She also didn't have a brain tumor or lesion, like all my intelligent internet research had determined. Instead, she had a double ear infection. Boring.

**Disclaimer: He-who-will-not-be-named does in fact love my cats. He does not really wish them dead, at least I don't think he does. And I thank him very much for taking poor Ellie to the vet.