Damn Gem marks a decade

I was 30 years old and just married when we brought home Boston, our yellow lab. Goddamn, we loved that dog. He was big, independent, and athletic – “a real dog’s dog,” a trainer once told me. One evening, when he was 8 years old, he climbed up into my lap, which was unusual. Normally he rested on my feet. On this night, he repeatedly wedged his head beneath my hands, only resting after my arms had encircled his torsoRead more

Vacation Odyssey V: The (long long long long) Road Home

When we left Cape Cod, we drove to Northampton, Massachusetts, to visit one of my oldest, dearest friends. We stay in touch via email, but we hadn’t seen each other in years. She had never met the Tyrant! What? Everyone should meet the Tyrant, and watch her dance inappropriately to that new Robin Thicke song, which is my new go-to tune for feeling all BOO-yah. Have you seen the video? Wowser. It makes me feel warm and cozy inside, andRead more

Vacation Odyssey, Part IV: A boy and a rooster.

Yesterday, as I hung some clean laundry up on the clothesline, the rooster started pecking at my foot. (Pause. Reread previous sentence. Yeah, that’s right. I was using CLOTHESPINS and everything.) Rooster Boy – you may recall he was injured by a weasel – has been semi-domesticated. The Farmer rocks him to sleep at night, and he spends his days strutting around the yard. So I was surprised when he dug his sharp beak into my foot, and I reachedRead more

Buddy crosses the line. GIN to the rescue.

Buddy the Wonder Dog and I had been been really bonding what with him thinking I’m God and all. But then last weekend he BROKE MY FUCKING FINGER. Bastard. BROKEN. Pedigreed, expensive, canine bastard. Sunday was scheduled to be a banner day for the My Left Hook entourage. We headed south to visit BFF and her family, which had been a therapist-ordered necessity after the therapist asked me about my closest friend and I burst into tears because I MISSRead more

Dead fish, birthday dogs, and steady husbands.

Hello Kitty the fish is dead. LONG LIVE HELLO KITTY. Because I did the old switcheroo yesterday while the Tyrant was at school. Listen, I know it’s important for kids to learn about death and everything. But if your kid’s Betta fish suffocates to death in a soup of its own feces so toxic that pieces of its fins had started disintegrating, you should spare your kid the facts of life for just a little bit longer. This scenario mayRead more

The Attachment Disorder, Part Whatever

Part I   Part II  Part III   Part IV   Part V   Part VI Part VII Part VIII Somehow the art therapist is opening up the Pterodactyl like a flower. Or maybe like a shaken can of soda. His feelings have been stuck, gummed up in his brain, I guess, and we’ve only had basic knowledge of what’s propelling his emotions. He’s like a caveman. I know when he’s angry – holes in the wall, hair-pulling. I know when he’s frustrated – the SCREECHING. SadnessRead more

Parenting-induced PTSD and polar bears

Ever since I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of living with the Pterodactyl, we’ve tried to limit the amount of time I have to deal with him alone. So when Hot Firefighter Husband’s work schedule gets all whack, I call in the A-team Sitter to assist in self-preservation. The A-team Sitter is NOT the one who let the dogs eat each other’s crap inside the house while she snoozed on the couch. Still, glitches have ensued.Read more

The glass is half-empty. It’s just a fact.

“I’m fat,” I told Hot Firefighter Husband. “I feel fat. And out of shape.” “You’re not fat,” he droned. “You’re in great shape.” He doesn’t say those phrases so much as he emits them like Pavlovian responses. That’s how often we’ve had the exact same discussion. “But also?” I continued. “I feel guilty for worrying about being fat when I know that I’m not really fat and that it’s not really something I should be focused on. I mean, it’sRead more

Buddy the Plunder Dog and a gluten update

Buddy the Plunder Wonder Dog is so smart he knows how to open toy chests. That’s not bragging – it’s just an annoying fact. Bright side: our stuffed animal population is finally dwindling, and all of our throw blankets have fringe. WINNING! But not really. Buddy is not working out the way I planned. #fuckyouifyousayitoldyouso  In hindsight, it might have been unrealistic to think I could buy a puppy and train him to become an autism assistance dog for myRead more

Buddy avoids gluten in his clothes

Yesterday morning as I packed lunches, I heard a giant KERFLOFF sound. I investigated. Buddy the Wonder Dog had thrown up three entire socks, each twisted up neatly in heavy braids of bile and slobber. None of the socks matched, so now I’m three pairs down. #fuckingdogsarecolorblind Afterwards, he looked at me with his ears cocked, head tilted, tongue wagging – like, THAT’S DONE! WHEW! LET’S GO PLAY! Bastard. Fortunately, the socks were free of both dairy and gluten, soRead more