Dog injured and on "be still" medicine.
Road trip to Wisconsin, via Columbus, for niece's graduation. Twenty-five hours of within 72 hours. The other 47 hours spent in front of a computer Photoshopping ten years off of all the relatives in the graduation photos. I can still feel my hips spread from that seat feast.
I returned from the trip and sat at the table, in a fog. The phone rang and I heard my eight year old daughter say, "Yeah I like my life! I mean, there are sleepovers, the trampoline, my yard, my dog. I like to plant flowers and there is playing and my mom and dad and sisters and friends..."
It was nothing short of excellent to hear her say that. But what prompted the kid on the other end of the line to ask the questions in the first place: "Are you happy? Do you know what happiness is?" Anyway, sleepovers and puppies, at any age, is a good answer.
2. Having a transcendentally happy white retriever, on the other hand, is weird. So big, so hairy, so witless and goofy, so spring-up-in-the-air energetic, and so white she looks like the perfect dog companion for Space Ghost, but big white hairy Pyranees-type dogs are usually humorless thugs, leash-walked around the city bearing a "Get out of my way before I stomp on you," attitude. Her energy is sufferable in the house only if she gets in two or three miles of grossly inadequate duck hunting and fishing a day (if only she had opposable thumbs or an understanding that, no - the animals do not want to play with her). So regardless of weather or schedule, she must get out and usually it is to Rumsey Field, as I did on Friday.
I rounded the park lake, and walked by a group of teenagers with down syndrome. The kids saw the dog and wanted to know about her. London went up to the last kid along the water and stopped. The boy took her head in his hands, then slowly worked his way down to massage her massively thick neck. London's entire back-side wagged. The boy lifted his head and smiled to the sky, then closed his eyes and kept rubbing the dog. If I had a puppy in my pocket, it would have been his. Heck, I walked away from the kids wanting to give each one a puppy. I was proud of my dog for giving some stranger such joy.
Best dog. Best dog ever.
I walked another five minutes up out of the park feeling the bright moment of the day, when I spotted my car with a window smashed mostly into disappearance. I didn't usually leave a purse in the car, but I was multi-tasking that day. It was gone
Stupid dog I have to walk. Stupidier me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
3. Mood ring after-purchase talk of eight-year-old: "I wonder what mood I'm in." At least now the ring will let her know. I should wear a mood amulet, as a warning sign for others.
4. Posh, called to tell me she had finally had enough nerve to say hi to one of the guys in her NYU summer program accounting class. His response, "You must have some kind of networking scheme going on to go from FIT to join us here at NYU."
Yeah, cause he just proved what an Einstein he is. Smooth. I'm thinking of suggesting to her that she gather what resume insight she could from the comment and then screw his best friend. Ok, maybe I should keep that to myself.
What's it called when you're not the cool mom, something way more dangerous?