I’m so tired I want to puke. My head is throbbing. My eyes are stinging. I’m covered in dried sweat from busting my ass all day, yet I lack the energy required to stand up long enough to take a shower. Today, I scrubbed carpets, floors, did many loads of laundry, and took many, many strolls around the neighborhood. And here’s why:
That little fleabag is our new puppy, Logan. Yeah, yeah, he’s cute. And let me tell you, he’s lucky he is. We got him from a family that couldn’t keep him- just last Sunday. Since losing our 12 year old dog a few months ago, my husband has been on my ass to get a new puppy. And I said no-many, many times. Until my husband came across this little guy-he really fell in love with him and really wanted to bring him home. I resisted. But when he kinda started begging, I completely caved. Mike really doesn’t ask for much-so I said yes. However, the previous owners had assured us this little guy was housebroken. Dirty. Effing. Liars. He’s not even close. We’re at square one, and I’m finding it difficult to give my two kids and a pooping/peeing puppy all the attention they need. Needless to say, I’m stretched a bit thin these days. I know it will get better and we just have to work at it, but I just wasn’t expecting to be cleaning so much pee and poop. I’m surrounded by it. Going from poopy diapers to a pile of poop on my carpet is not my idea of a pleasant day. So as we speak, I’m having a glass of Prosecco while the puppy (Logan-a name given to him by the dirty effing liars) is loudly snoring on my legs. But the kids adore him (when he’s not chewing their toys with his crazy sharp teeth) and that’s enough for me.
I’m working on finding a summer sleep-away camp for him. Is there such a thing? If not, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more Prosecco. Have a great weekend; I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll be doing.