My day of adventure (or why my Mom’s dog is still with us)

Today was what I like to call “A Day and a Half”.  It started out like they all do lately, with my 4 a.m. wake up call from my darling 4 month old, Hadley, who was ready for her bottle.  I stumbled to the kitchen to make it where I had just been a mere 3 hours 45 minutes before.  Stumbled back to bed and proceeded to feed her.  And fell asleep only to be awakened by a shrill scream from Hadley announcing the bottle was now empty and notifying me to remove it from her mouth immediately!  I then held her upright the magic number of minutes (twenty) that you are supposed to to prevent gas (liars!).  After that, I attempted for the next hour to put her back in her crib beside our bed.  This was met by sheer combativeness from Hadley who has  long ago decided that I, in fact, make a much more comfortable sleeping arrangement. And out of the LONG running fear that I will “squish” her in my sleep I put on yet another episode of the Big Bang Theory and watched that in lieu of sleep (because who really NEEDS sleep anyway?) At 7 a.m. my house comes alive!  Well, rather my very loud and annoyingly cheerful husband Shannon wakes up and forcibly starts our day. Our 8 year old son Cameron groggily wanders to our bathroom to miss the toilet by mere inches and then wanders aimlessly around the bathroom until my husband aims him towards the shower.  Where upon entering he stands there, still asleep, as the water runs over him.  This is sheer skill that he has learned from watching me, as I have been known to complete many morning tasks while still fully asleep.  Finally, after realizing that he is upright, my son completes the shower portion of the day and runs to my bed wrapped in a towel and burrows under the covers with his eyes still shut.  It’s awe inspiring really.  At this point my husband is jabbering from the kitchen about lunch selections.  The conversation this morning went like this:

Shannon: “Hey Brandy!”

Me: “What?”

Shannon: “Ask him if he wants grapes or a peach in his lunch.”

Me to Cameron:” Cameron… Cameron… Cameron…”

Cameron: “Whaa?”

Me: “Do you want grapes or a peach for lunch?”

Cameron: “Huh?”

Me: ” He wants grapes!”

In the kitchen, my husband has now started the musical portion of the morning.  I can hear him way to happily singing such hits as “Where is the lunch box” and “I think the cat threw up”.  These are different everyday, so I can’t be sure that this was today’s selection, but it doesn’t really matter as he quickly moves on to the fashion part of the morning.

Shannon: “Does this shirt match these shorts?”

Me: “No”

Shannon: “What’s wrong with it?  Is this black or navy?  I think it’s black.  It’s black isn’t it?”

Me: “No, they are navy”

Shannon: “But, do they match this shirt?”

Me: “yes” even though they don’t I have to give up at this moment, because as much as I love fashion, I no longer care.

Then Cameron, who is still sleeping has to be almost completely dressed by Shannon, who often muses that he will have to room with Cameron when he heads off to Texas A&M University in the future, because Cameron is “just not a morning person.” No kidding.   Hadley, has been alertly watching this entire morning go down, presumably making mental notes for the future, turns to me and rips off my glasses and throws them.  Now, some of you may doubt that a four moth old would be able to muster such a feat, but let me assure you that it has happened a lot this week as I have been forced to wear my glasses (prescription: era 1994) because of allergies.  I presume she hates them as much as I do, and already as more fashion sense then most babies and doesn’t think I should be wearing them anymore.  I search blindly (literally) for the glasses over the edge of the bed while holding her precariously with one arm.  She trills in delight at this dangerous game.  And, as soon as they are back on my face, lunges for them yet again.  “No!” I say to her and she sticks out her bottom lip defensively and turns her attention on the cat.  Poor cat.  Lucky, (very appropriately named) sees her and stops in her tracks as she was making her way to lie on my chest (no longer wondering why my chest hurts in the morning).  Hadley lunges in her direction presumably to suck on her ears or pull them off (you can’t really be sure these days what she is going to do).  Lucky turns and runs away, not comforted by the fact that Hadley can’t yet chase her.

Now, Shannon is at the garage door yelling for Cameron to go to school.  Cameron does not even stir until I push him out of bed with my foot.  He then magically awakens and kisses me and says “I love you, mama! You’re the BEST Mama in the WHOLE WORLD!!.” I swear he really does say this every day, even though it’s highly debatable. And, off he runs to the car.  Hadley sizes me up and starts to cry.  I know this game well.  She wants to see if I’ll get up and make another bottle even though she couldn’t possibly be hungry again yet.  She wins.  I present her with the bottle and she eagerly sucks down about a quarter of an ounce and then, smiles with the bottle still in her mouth, and pushes it away.  Oh, what fun games we play!!  I change her diaper while singing the “Stinky Baby” song I made up.  She laughs, which at this point is just a happy but shrill squeak  and, even though it’s ear splitting I love to hear it.  Upon returning from morning car line Shannon comes to take Hadley from me so that I can get a little more sleep.  And sleep I do!

Around ten, when B. Ellen opens, my girls start their morning attack on my cell phone.  Texts fly in alerting me to new arrivals and website additions that they are making.  I don’t even hear the first three since I have cleverly figured out how to put texts on vibrate mode.  By the forth though I realize that they do indeed mean business and seek out the phone buried in the bed.  Text 1 was from Hunter (another annoyingly cheerful morning person) who informs me that she has adjusted stock quantities on the website already this morning.  The. whole. website.  Overachiever.  I smile and am really pleased.  Then next three texts are from Brooke, (not a morning person) and they range  from letting me know that Ugg loungewear has arrived with no invoice to wondering if I’m still alive.  I think I am.  I stumble to my office (or Mama-Cave) and proceed to try and login to Ugg’s retailer portal to download said invoice.  In error I have left my cell phone in the bedroom, so I am repeatedly informed that my phone is ringing by Shannon who is gearing up for the Alabama game by soaking in everything on ESPN, Fox Sports and Facebook that refers to Johnny Manziel.  I lazily turn on facetime on my computer and call Brooke.  I get a look at myself on the screen: red eyed, in my formula stained night gown and hold up some paper work in front of the camera so I can’t be seen.  She doesn’t answer.  I try Hunter. No answer.  Thankfully, I spy my Ipad on the desk and text Brooke.  She informs me that my Mother is trying to reach me, and that she already got the prices for the Ugg invoice.  I head for my phone and see four missed calls complete with messages from my Mother.  Message one states that her dog is about to die!  So I call her and abandon the other messages (still unheard, but I bet increasingly frantic.)  She is freaking out.  Widdle her beloved 15 year old maltese is”staring off into space”.  Well, crap.  Then I remember why she is urgently calling me and not rushing to our hometown vet.  She is in town and staying with my sister who is 36 1/2 weeks pregnant with her first child.  “I need you to come and take us to a vet.” she informs me.  Yay!  I love that dog, but man my bed is screaming my name.  I concur and go and dress and head out the door to the sound of my husband asking if I want to take the baby with me. Uh, no.  On my way down the hell that used to be Spring Cypress rd. I realize that my sister’s car should be there because she is on bed rest and wonder again why I am heading to what is sure to be a fun filled day.  I call and ask and am informed that my mother doesn’t know where she is, but “she’s not in her bed”.  She is in fact at her store ordering Free People for next Spring (against Dr’s orders) and is blissfully unaware of the ticking bomb that is our mother.

I arrive at my sister’s house to discover a bored looking Widdle who looks up at me as if to say “wow.”  I can only imagine what her morning has been like.  She doesn’t really seem “near death” to me, but how do I know?  My sister is now on the couch with her hands wrapped with huge ice packs because of pregnancy induced carpel tunnel.  “Well, let’s go.” I say to my mother realizing that we are very likely still heading to the vet.  My sister hops up and goes along, rebelliously ignoring dr’s orders once again.  We head to the vet without an appointment, and upon arriving I fill out all the paper work and inform the tech of “the situation”.  Widdle did have 6 teeth extracted a couple of days ago, so I assume she is in pain and think she might benefit in more ways then one from some drugs.  We get in right away miraculously and a wonderful vet tech accesses the aforementioned “situation”.  Widdle proceeds to try to bite her with her remaining teeth.  After a two hour visit which I will sum up to spare you, the Vet (who is a red head named Ginger…can’t make this stuff up) thinks Widdle needs drugs.  I insist the tech give her the first dose.  The tech cheerfully agrees because she is a “master” at pill giving, and has NEVER failed.  Way to jinx yourself.  Tech 0 Widdle 8.  No matter how many attempts were made to force Widdle to take the pills, they were spit back out.  My mother attempted once and Widdle successfully made her bleed for her trouble. My sister merely took one step towards her and she growled ominously.  I attempted myself three times with no fight from Widdle, but was also unsuccessful.  It was then decided that we needed the medicine in liquid form.  Good Call.

After we have a new liquid form in our possession we are on the way out the door.  My sister informs us that she is starving, so we head to Double Dave’s Pizzaworks (An Aggie owned company that makes the amazing pep’roni rolls) to get to go.  I call Shannon, who informs me that he is sitting in car line and can not talk on the phone.  I quickly inform him of the Pizza Roll plan, and he informs me that he doesn’t want that, and that I should text him and let him know what else they have as none of us know.  After ordering everyone elses food I search the menu for something my husband might eat and order him a steak sandwich.  Then I ask if they will bring our order out to the car, and since they are nice Aggie boys they say of course ma’am.  (MA’AM!).  I bring out drinks for my mom and sister and myself in Double Dave’s Aggie collectible cups and another Styrofoam one for my mom since the collectible cups don’t have lids and she has been know to spill.  We sit together sucking down our sodas and recount the vet visit.  (Ginger!) I get a text from Shannon informing me that he wants the Maneater pizza.  I call him and try to tell him that he is going to have a sandwich.  This falls on deaf ears.  Oh well, happy husband, happy life.  I go back in and order him the pizza.  After getting back in the car,  my sister squeaks from the back seat  because the baby has decided to kick and punch at the same time, and I turn too fast and knock the styrofoam cup upside down into my purse.  Awesome.  Brand new Consuela Roxy tote now full of Dr. Pepper.  As I am pouring my purse out in the parking lot, soda along with change, a tampon, and various receipts spill out.  Almost on the nice, surprised  Aggie boy delivering our order to our car.  I apologize and take the food from him and let him know we are leaving before we embarrass someone. Too late.

After delivering them home, carrying in their food, taking the dogs out to pee and visiting the baby’s nursery to inspect the new additions and reassure my mom that Widdle is not drinking too much water, I finally head home.  I immediately go back to bed.  Best. Day . Ever.



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