Hubris

A woman was moving to another state with her husband and two children and 15,000 pounds of stuff.

Oh, come on, the woman said. This is my eleventh move in 18 years, my twenty-first move of my life, and that doesn't even count the usual college moves, and moves from one house to another in the same town. I've moved overseas a couple of times, I've moved with a baby, a toddler, with a baby and and toddler. Moving to Ohio? Come on, challenge me.

Okay, the universe said, and added a puppy.

What's so hard about a puppy? The woman said. I've had puppies before. Bring it on.

Okay, the universe said. It will be a puppy so small that it's dangerous for her to take any stairs or jump off any furniture in the house, so the simple act of going from the kitchen down two stairs to the family room and out the door to go potty will require airlifting. Every. Single. Time.

Okay, said the woman.

The puppy will have diarrhea. You won't know why. You'll take her to the vet and put medicine in her food and try a new kind of food and take her outside more or less constantly because that's how often she poos.

Um, all right, said the woman.

Of course allowing her to spend any time on carpet will be quickly nixed, so you'll have to rig a sophisticated network of boxes in every doorway (3) going into the kitchen to keep her in the kitchen. Then you will have to stay in the kitchen with her so she doesn't get lonely. You will shuffle heavy boxes across the house to the kitchen floor for this purpose. This will work reasonably well until your six-year-old strolls through and does not, cannot, remember to replace the kitchen door boxes.

Hmm, said the woman.

You won't be able to leave the dog outside alone, even though you have a fenced yard, because this sweet little puppy will be teething, and will eat everything she sees. This includes sticks, which the vet specifically warns you against. $60 in appropriate dog toys will be no match for the lure of a really good stick, which will be prolific in your new yard. You will put the kids on the job to watch the puppy and play with her while you unpack a box. This works for a little while. Not long enough to get to the bottom of the box.

Uhhh, said the woman.

The diarrhea won't stop at night, naturally, so the puppy will wake you at 2:30, and again at 4:30, and then she'll pretty much be up for the day around 6.

Uncle, said the woman.


Okay, seriously, it's been challenging. Or it was challenging, when she was still this new puppy that somehow became a part of the move-in. But now, 10 days later, the puppy is Lacey, this wonderful, loving, playful, adorable little friend. I'm smitten. You can tell she's going to be a great dog. My kids have fallen in love with her. They've figured out games to play with her, they've lost their fear of somehow hurting her or not carrying her right, and we've all fallen into a rhythm together that mostly works. And, mercifully, she sleeps a lot, as puppies do. Much gets done when the puppy sleeps. Not unlike the old days of scurrying around when the babies finally fell asleep. Actually, I've been in a time machine in many ways--more on that in another post.

The boxes aren't done, but they're pretty close. I've been cooking, because I love, love, love my kitchen, it's such an inviting place to be, and I'm there anyway, hanging out with Lacey. My kids are doing great. There are some very nice neighbor families and neighbor kids. My husband is back to work and he already loves his job. I'm doing well. I'm lonely for my friends (you know who you are!) but I'm okay. I'm losing the feeling that I'm actually on a very odd vacation in someone else's house, a vacation featuring heavy lifting and dog feces, and I'll be going home (or waking up?) any time now. It is slowly becoming my house. It's good to blog again. Love to all!