Are you a Member of the Sisterhood?

My friend, Tess Grant, and I recently realized we have a sisterhood.  We would prefer that it was the "Sisterhood of the Bestselling Novel." Instead we are members of the "Sisterhood of the Bum." This is a much larger group.  Anyone with children in diapers or potty training, or new puppies or aging household pets may be a member.

To see if you are a member of the Sisterhood, study the list below.

You might be a member of the Sisterhood of the Bum, if...

- You wash your hands with Lysol.

- You've considered buying stock in Brawny and having it delivered to your house by the pallet.

- You've interrupted preparing for or eating a meal to clean up a mess.

- Paper towel, Lysol, and carpet cleaner are always within arm's reach.

- You've discovered messes in the middle of the night... with your bare feet.

- You don't go to the bathroom yourself because you are tired of being in the bathroom and/or don't want to wash your hands again.

- You associate the smell of carpet cleaner with excrement.

- You've spent so much time encouraging your toddler to pee, that you have to go yourself.

- You never throw about Wal-mart bags because you use them to contain the soiled paper towels, etc.  And you frequently run out.

- You've spent more time than you want to admit thinking about how to get a urine sample from your child, and then how to transport it to the doctor's office. (Hint: Dr's office has collection kits for the second part of this. Good luck getting your kid to pee in them.)

If you answered "Yes," "Been there, done that," or "Just this morning" to more than one of these, welcome to the Sisterhood.

(Sorry, there are no benefits to membership. I am told the children eventually are potty trained, but so far it seems a vicious rumor.)

If you aren’t sure if you qualify, check out Tess Grant’s blog for more stipulations. 

Jaden's attempt at exercise

During one of our recent thunderstorms, I was running on the treadmill.  I briefly contemplated what I should do should the power go out.  I supposed I would catch myself on the bar and it wouldn't be too disastrous.

I set up my laptop to watch Bones - my treat for running - and plugged my headphones in.  With the noise of the treadmill and my focus on the show, I couldn't hear the thunder or anything else. A couple miles in, something weird happened.

Something hit my feet.  I looked down and our fifty-pound beagle Jaden had jumped on the treadmill.  During electrical storms, he tries to get as close to his most respected adult as he can.  He once tried to climb a stepladder to get to my father-in-law.

Jaden isn't terribly fit and couldn't keep up with my pokey pace.  He flew off the end of the treadmill and into the wall behind me.  But that didn't deter him. He jumped on again, practically knocking me over, with the same result for him. A couple more attempts, but no success.

He will have to find another way to get his cardio in.

Bailey ate it!

Dogs generally have some pretty gross habits.  Like licking themselves and snacking on things they shouldn't. Our beagles are no exception to this.

My son greeted me this morning as I got out of the shower, exclaiming "Bailey ate my poop!"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but assumed the message was garbled as only a three year old can do, and he meant that Bailey had found some treasures in the back yard.  Or that the dog had ripped up a diaper again. (Then I wondered how quickly I could write a Craigslist ad.)

My son repeated his exclamation and I asked if Bailey was outside.  "No," he said. "He ate my poop out of my potty!"

Sure, enough, I checked the potty and that was definitely the case.  I'll leave it to your imagination to figure out how I could tell this.

We finally get my son to start pooping in the potty and the dog eats the evidence. Go figure.

Beagle Puppies

In all the puppy care and selecting a puppy books, there is one piece of advice they always leave out.

Don't go and look at puppies unless you plan to bring one home.

This should be emblazoned on every other page of any book about Beagles.

Our first Beagle was high energy and needy.  He quickly made himself the ruler of our domain and whined to go out several times a night.  Once out and he found the right spot, he would pace repeatedly back and forth before squatting to do his thing. This could take twenty minutes. If a car, pedestrian, or rain drop passed anywhere in his range of vision during this part of the ritual, he would have to start again.  Did I mention we lived in Seattle and it rains a lot?

We should have known better with the second one.  Just don't go and look.  He was at a shelter and only six weeks old when we first saw him.  He was so rolypoly, his legs looked shorter than his belly.  Once we got him home, we discovered that he was afraid of almost everything. A stuffed bear on the couch had him backing out of the room.  A plastic bag in the yard and he'd forget to do his business.  Then there were thunderstorms. His paranoia of those has grown worse.  Heavy rain and he paces the house whimpering.  Thunder within a hundred miles and he tries to crawl in your lap no matter where you are, couch, ladder or toilet.  An actual thunderstorm at our house and he will claw through doors seeking protection.

I suppose knowing these things wouldn't have changed our decision to take either dog home.

But I won't ever look at Beagle puppies again.