My brother went to Florida for a week and the kids insisted on doggysitting his old brown lab, Fenway. She was so good. She vacuumed my car for me and the kids were obsessed with taking care of her. I actually started warming up to the idea of a dog in our future. That was until Rocky suddenly developed a dog allergy and broke out in hives that Benadryl could not subside and we earned ourselves a midnight trip to the ER. You know where you don’t wanna be on Sunday night after three massive chocolate chip cookies and a homemade cosmo? The ER. It’s gross and filled with germs and crying/angry/sad people. I had big plans for my morale and energy this week. Not anymore.
(Some kind of segway…)
I am still always shocked at how different kids who came out of the same vagina can be. Especially when I look at Rex and Rocky—both dudes, both tall, both mine, but so, so different. We have a CD someone gave us years ago of random kid songs, and Rex used to listen to it all the time. On the cd’s version of “She’ll be comin’ round the mountain” there is a weird verse at the end, ”…she will kill the old red rooster when she comes”. Very dark for a cute children’s song, and ever since Rex was tiny he would immediately yell during that part “Mom! Turn it off! I don’t like this part, it’s too sad!” Like—no matter what he was preoccupied with during the car ride, when that part of the song came on he clued-in, heard it, got sad, and made me change it. Now, we haven’t listened to the CD in almost a year, but last week I put it on, and sure enough, same Rex reaction. “Mom! Turn this one off, please!” Sensitive little fucker. Fast forward to this weekend—I take Rocky to run some errands. We hop in the car, just the two of us, and from the backseat he yells, “Hey, Mom! Can you put on that song about the dead chicken? I love it.” And that, my friends, about sums it all up.
But anyway, Bizzy has a mullet. And she likes it. I put her in these adorable little pigtails and she looks me dead in the eyes and pulls the elastics out. And I’m just like, “Okay girl, but don’t go bitching at me in twenty years when you look back at these pics.” Like, ‘Mom, how did you let me look like this?!’ Uhhhh, nope. I thought you looked like a lost pigeon lady and you wouldn’t let me help you. So, future Bizzy, this one’s on YOU.