Untethered Typings

Today was fairly nuts - not scary or health-threatending or anything truly nuts like that - but it rendered me mostly exhausted and bewildered and out of any “parenting - yay!” juice I might otherwise have. The morning brought a grocery trip for a week for a bunch of people with three kids in tow. Usually I have the luxury of only taking one kid (the eager one) on my weekly grocery trip. Today I had the “luxury” of making it more of a family affair. So much so that a man, who had been eyeing up our cacophonous procession from the other end of the aisle as we approached each other, uttered mostly under his breath as we finally passed: “Oh…you’ve got your hands full. Jeezus.” Then later that day, vaccinations for Anna. She has decided she does not like needles since the last nurse who gave her a needle told her to hold very still because we didn’t want the needle breaking off in her arm because of any squirming. Evidence of this dislike: near wall-shaking howling and screaming for a ...

I’ve recently discovered something about my relationship with this middle-aged girl: Somehow, after almost eight years of ownership, I have become mildly allergic to my beagle. I’m pretty quick, so it only took three good instances of me sitting on the “dog’s” ( shudder ) chair and cozying up with the blanket she artfully arranges for herself each day on said chair ( shudder turning to eyes-rolling-with-nostrils-flared ) and then feeling the urge to repeatedly rub my eyes and verily shaking the house with my sneezes to sleuthily cement that conclusion. I did say my beagle, didn’t I? Well, let me tell you, if you happen to be one of the few to whom I have not yet relayed this key info: I did not choose her. She was my birthday present. Tiny and adorable and the best birthday present a husband who always wanted a beagle could give. She is Beatrice: affectionate, smart, bossy, slothful. And mostly a pain in my ass. Maybe it’s my kind-of rural upbringing at play but, wh...