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How Dogs Make Dumplings

2009 December 24
by Pamela

From what I know as a parent, there are three kinds of silence: the silence when the house is empty; this is the best kind because, duh, there are no kids and that is a welcome thing from time to time. The second kind of silence happens when your kids are asleep. This is also a good silence, but there is a little bit of…”if”… to it. The quiet is great, but we are always wondering whether the kids are about to wake up because someone yawned next door. The third kind of silence, the deadly one, is the quiet that should not be. You know, the kind before all craziness and idiocy breaks out. The kids are cranky and trying to maul each other and then suddenly… silence. You know you should be worried, but hey LOOK! Rachel Ray is making scalloped potatoes with bacon. MMM, bacon, I can smell it off the television, amazing!! Why didn’t I ever think to put 10 lbs. of bacon and cheese in my potatoes? And then you come out of your bacon-induced stupor and realize it’s way too quiet.

And the mishaps ensue.

So that’s how it all began. I invited an old friend and her kids over to our house for a playdate. I’d like to say that I’m not the kind of person that gets nervous about having people over, but I’m not that kind of person. I’m the woman who always worries about every bit of dust, every stain, and the fact that our towels don’t match in the kitchen. Yes, hello! That’s me. So I have the house in reasonable order before they arrive. It’s not perfect, but she has small kids so she understands. I hope. 20 minutes before she arrives and I’m tidying up dinner dishes.

And there is silence. The third kind.

I go into the hallway and this is what I see.

Yes, that would be Bisquick. All over the hallway. With my two children who were CLEAN. In my hallway that was CLEAN. So I do what any loving mother would do: I freak out. The stupid long-term, non-paying dog sitting gig called Sam starts licking the Bisquick as if her life depended on it. Since she ate my brand new lipstick on this very same rug a few hours before, I consider her small act penance; at least she’s doing something helpful for once.

So I gate the girls in the family room and start furiously vacuuming the floor, all the while praying fervently that Christy will be late. The dog continues to eat Bisquick like it’s a contest so I shoo her out.

Then – of course there has to be a Then – Mary Claire screams “MOM, Zoey is throwing up on the Christmas Tree’s blanket and Sam’s eating it!” The cat, the only cat in the history of the world who is lactose-intolerant, got into someone’s chicken paprikash from dinner and threw it all up. On the tree skirt. So I stop the vacuuming and grab the tree skirt,¬†wondering where my brain was on¬†the day I ever thought it was a good idea to have pets. Or kids for that matter. The skirt goes into the wash and I grab a bucket to start scrubbing the carpet. After it’s haphazardly finished I go into the hallway.

Funny thing about Bisquick you might not know: When mixed with dog saliva, it turns into hard little dumplings that stick to your floor like cement, even when company is on its way. True. So I scrub like Cinderella and get them all off, except for the Bisquick/Dog spit that is seemingly plastered to my carpet FOR.EV.ER. I change the girls who look, well you saw how they looked, and voila, thank you God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, in walks our company.

Welcome to our life.

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