It’s Friday—how is it already Friday again?—and I find myself, as always, with my hands full dealing with the dogs. Morning is full-on energy time for the puppy, and she’s in that stage where she wants to chew on EVERYTHING. She does not discriminate. Kong bone? Great. Stuffed squirrel? Fabulous. Chair leg? Yummy. My foot? Even better. I have only been up a couple of hours, but I know I’ve said NO about eight hundred times. And counting. It’s always like this when they’re little, though, and I know it. It also doesn’t last all that long. But sheesh. I’m exhausted, and it’s not even ten yet.
At least I’m not writing right now. When Monkey was little, I was trying to finish a book, a task hard enough on its own, made even more difficult by the fact that everytime I got settled in at the computer and into some kind of groove, I heard either a yelp or some suspicious sounding trotting around (i.e. looking for a nice spot to pee, maybe?) that demanded my attention. I kept having to stop, run downstairs, remove him from whatever he was gnawing on (couch, chair, wall, whatever) before I could get back to work. By the time my husband returned home, I was always frazzled and indignant. “I bet Stephen King doesn’t work under these conditions!” I yelled at him one day. He agreed, this was probably true, and
Oh, my God. I just glanced over and saw her chewing on the door hinge of the back door. How can that even be something you’d want to do? I have no idea. Make that eight hundred and ONE nos. Man.
Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Oh, right, Stephen King, puppies…oh, who knows where I was going with that. But you get the point. The upshot is that I know six months from now, things will have settled down and I’ll look back at the pictures of her now, when she’s so little, and feel all wistful and mushy. I’ll forget about the messes in the house, and the door hinges, and getting up at two a.m. every night to go out in the hot dark, only to have her sit down and yawn at me and do nothing. Becuase this is just what happens. And it’s all good, in the end.
Also good, at least according to the reviews I’ve read this morning, are the two big movies opening this weekend, Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and The Wedding Crashers. Now, it’s a given I’ll see The Wedding Crashers, it just looks like something I’ll love, but the Tim Burton remake I wasn’t so sure about. I LOVE the original, with Gene Wilder: it’s a huge memory of my childhood. And frankly, I think Johnny Depp looks a little scary, and odd (and the voice is kind of Michael Jackson-ish, isn’t it?). But visually, like most Tim Burton stuff, it looks amazing. So I may have to go. It’s nice, after so many weekends of nothing I want to see, to have two prospects. Plus, I am long overdue for popcorn. Not to mention a break from this routine, and
Oops. Better go. She’s pulling up the rug. Say it with me: Coco, NO!