peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

Wednesdays are reserved for my honey.

Last Wednesday evening, we zoomed down the freeway. I was driving and he sat in the passenger seat. Roxanne by The Police was blaring.

It was an unusually warm October evening and the windows were half-down. The breeze made us smile. The moon was magical, lighting our way.

I reached out and held his hand. He looked back at me lovingly, knowingly. We didn’t need to say anything.

We were looking forward to our adventure ahead and were prepared, with drinks and snacks packed.

We pulled up and parked. We walked, side-by-side.

Dog obedience class.

Every Wednesday is date night with Otis.

If you have seen the movie Marley and Me, then you already know my Labrador puppy Otis, who just turned six months old. One word sums him up: zest.

Otis eats with zest. A bowl of food is gone in 5 seconds flat.

He drinks with zest. He slurps and then water drips down his chin.

He loves with zest. Always ready for a hug and cuddle (and maybe some accidental French kissing).

He snatches sandwiches with zest. One turn of the head and your turkey sandwich is gone.

He sleeps with zest. Stretched out, paws and belly in the air.

He shreds cardboard boxes with zest.

He digs large holes in the yard with zest.

He is lovable and a pain in the ass and playful and sweet and naughty. And he is already part of our family.

Here are pictures of him at the beginning of Summer and on his half-year birthday.

Otis at nine weeks.

Otis at six months.

Happy six-month birthday, you crazy-awesome big boy!

My Labrador is a genius. I need one of those bumper stickers that says “My dog is an honor roll student.”

I mean, he rings a bell whenever he wants to go out. And whenever he wants to come in.

In other words, that’s a lot of ringing.

I am expecting Otis to learn Carol of the Bells–my favorite Christmas song–in time for the Holidays.

Meet Otis. The newest member of our family.

I love my dog…but…I don’t love my dog’s butt.

Her butt has the worst timing. She loves to poop while on our walk. Even if she has spent the whole day in the back yard–with a plethora of grass–she’ll save it. Like a present.

Aw, you shouldn’t have…it’s not my birthday, dawg!

A public poop requires you to:

• Stop (unless it’s a poop while walking, requiring you to backtrack)
• Sometimes wait…and wait
• Bend over
• Put your hand in a plastic bag
• Pick up the steamy pile
• Oh yeah, and carry it several blocks home, feeling a teensy bit degraded

It’s amusing to watch other dog owners clean up these presents in public. They get this weird expression on their face, as in “WHY ME?!” And then sheepishly pick it up and walk with the bag in-hand. I have a secret little chuckle as I watch someone carrying that bag. Because everyone knows precisely what’s inside.

But that chuckle quickly fades when we embark on our next walk.

You know when you and a friend laugh so hard? So hard that you are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. And it is really hard to breathe? And you have to bend over so you can get some air in?

Too bad that doesn’t happen to me that much. I love to laugh like that. I chuckle. I giggle. I laugh. I LOL. But I don’t laugh-so-hard-you-can’t-breath laugh that much.

Here is a little, tiny real-life laugh-so-hard-you-can’t-breath story my husband and I experienced not too long ago.

One day, my oldest son was sick. He was burning up with fever. Rifling through our first aid tub, my husband and I found Bandaids, ointment, Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, cotton balls. Where the hell was the thermometer?? We needed it pronto.

Digging, digging, we finally found it. Under all the supplies.

And then we saw that on the thermometer—written with a skinny Sharpie marker—was the word…DOG.

Enough said.

Sarophilus harrisii. That’s Tasmanian devil to you. “The Tasmanian devil is capable of surprising speed and endurance, and can climb trees and swim across rivers.”

We have been Tasmanian devils these past two months since school started in September. Today is the first Saturday in eight weeks where we have no soccer games or football games to shuttle the kids to, coach, or support. My husband and my conversations on Friday night have gone something like this:

“OK, let’s take two cars. You take X and I’ll take Y. Then Z can get a ride with W. Then you can watch X’s game and I’ll watch Y, but I’ll need to leave early so that I can go to Z’s game. So can you pick up Y and go to W’s game and I’ll pick up X?”

I am not complaining. Just a little sleepy.

My husband and I signed our kids up for sports and we support them 100%. The parents that do over complain about “I am so busy…”

Two words for you: buck up. Make it work. Parenting is busy. We know this. Our rule is that each child has one activity at a time. And that is enough.

I have also come to the realization that with three kids–and it’s been a little tough to accept–well, you just can’t attend every game, every Saturday. Especially when games are scheduled at the same time. And they are across town from each other. I have learned that you can’t feel guilty about it. Tasmanian devils have not been cloned yet. Until then, I am fortunate that my husband and I can split up on Saturday mornings to root on and support someone. And we have wonderful grandparents that live nearby and who make good cheerleaders too. It’s a good idea to become friends with other parents on your child’s team because we were also blessed with the magic of carpooling.

Fortunately, we Tasmanian devils are fast and have good endurance. And like all Tasmanian devils, we need a rest. So, finally. A sleep-in Saturday. Or so I thought.

Too bad we decided to feed our dog, Lucy, an abundance of turkey leftovers last night. So at 7:00 a.m. this morning, I awoke to a whining dog begging me to let her out. Because she had a case of the runs.

Did you know that falling apples pose dangers to napping dogs?

So, here’s how. We have a dog named Lucy. She likes to sleep on her big, fluffy Costco dog bed right off the kitchen, next to the counter. Our family is usually in the kitchen, so this is a great place for Lucy to be part of the family. She is right in the middle of the action. Yet, the location of her dog bed might be too close to the action. Let me explain.

We keep a big bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. It’s always filled with apples. Every time we walk over to eat an apple-a-day, Lucy tenses up, looking worried.

She is anticipating the apple that just might fall on her head. This has happened. A few times.

Do you see the fear in her sweet little face? Don’t worry, no animals were harmed in this photo shoot (Lucy hates having her picture taken).

I think it’s time to move the bowl of fruit. Especially because it’s apple season.