Not Quite as Planned

On the Sunday afternoon I had planned to be on the slopes of Mt. Snow in Vermont (or at least warming myself and my injured knee/ankle/what have you in the lodge), I am, instead, at my laptop, with a dog at my slippered feet. And I'm tired of working. That picture, mixed with a couple of movies and cold walks in the park, has consitituted my weekend. An intermediate deadline on Monday preceeds a week of tradeshows in my ill-fitting, though tailored, Company Shirts. Several deadlines are sprinkled through the week of boothsitting, including one at school, which I haven't yet attempted to begin.

The dog, Mosotos, is adorable and mostly well-behaved, but the transition to the new food has not been an easy one. He has been plauged, and thus plaguing us, with the most heinous farts in history for the past two days. I think this is his way of paying us back for giving him his anti-fungal and anti-bacterial ear and eye drops. He has two sets. And also, four sets of pills. Antihistamines, antibiotics. He hides under the dining room table. My mom can't hear my voice without laughing. I'm sitting at my desk, a can of Febreze Air Effects by one hand, a slobbery squeak toy by the other.

The Boy, after his third trip to Home Depot of the weekend, is out in the cold, building a yard on our cement rectangle. A retaining wall for Mosotos.

I'm somebody's mommy, using the word poop in public and writing about farts. Welcome, I have a feeling it's only the beginning.