Happy Monday!!

Or something like that.... My parents and grandparents aren't coming this weekend anymore (Poppy has a bum knee, say a prayer for him) so I started off my day by emailing my manager that I don't need to take any vacation on 3/14. 3/14? I emailed back saying apparently I think it's March and by 3/14 I mean 5/14... Uh, Mondays.

Anyway....

My Dad was in town on business so he treated me to a nice dinner at a not so local establishment that was basically Chattanooga in Tennessee (for my TN readers, I was back at Top of the Dock... only with a bigger pseudo dinner area/dancing area). Dinner cost $20. Not exactly the meal I thought I would get... but enjoyable none the less.

So, let's see-- If you've known me for any amount of time, you've probably heard me say "I'm never having children". I'll share two incidents in my life that go for and against this:

For: The trip to the psychic I had a few years ago. Yep. The psychic. I totally want to believe everything she said (because, she told me I was getting married), but I also totally don't want to believe everything she said (four kids- one set of twins). The psychic told me other things, like I would move south (and where did I end up? Chattanooga....) and that I would live by water (after the first apartment situation, I ended up with a new apartment within a day. Once I finally got my furniture in and looked out my bedroom window, what did I have a view of? The Tennessee River.). I want another trip to another psychic to see what matches up and what doesn't. I wish I could locate my original email to the girls detailing the psychic predictions to see what else has proven accurate.

Against: Murphy. Murphy was my dog for a week. He was a handsome husky mix that I met at the animal shelter and pretty much fell in love with... immediately. My mother told me I could get him and so I did. I became a mom to a 40 lb husky. Murphy, as most shelter dogs probably are, was a bit skiddish and afraid of everything. Including steps. And I lived on the third floor. Did I mention he was 40lbs? To say getting up the stairs was an... "event".. is an understatement. Then there was the entire bathroom situation. I had this dog for 2 days before he went to the bathroom. For the 2 days he didn't go to the bathroom, I cried nonstop about my defective dog and I pretty much stopped eating. Thankfully, I was going to Pittsburgh for the weekend and my family was going to help me.

The day I was leaving for PA, I had to go into the office- I figured it was only 4 hours, and Murphy could stay in his cage for a while. False. That dog broke out of his cage and took a giant and super disgusting poop in my loft. The smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. Oh, and the cage was ruined. I start crying and cleaning up dog poop and calling my parents and just about ready to kill myself. I gave Murphy dinner, loaded him into the car and start driving.

I was really nervous for Murphy to do another gross BM in my car so I stopped frequently on the drive, but this dog never went to the bathroom.... 7 hours. He didn't go at the hotel. He didn't go the next morning. He kept eating and drinking. But, he did not go to the bathroom. The remaining 5 hours to Pittsburgh he didn't go to the bathroom. I cried the ENTIRE drive.

My parents greeted me and we put Murphy in the backyard and he peed- I was such a proud mother. I cried again. My family tried to soothe me, but I was generally inconsolable. Murphy still hadn't pooped, and he didn't love me like Moses (family dog) loved me. Tears, tears, tears.

My sister convinced me that Murphy could stay home with the rest of the family and we should go out and enjoy the Saturday night. Ok, I said - I could use a night away from the dog. I shower and start to fix my hair and I hear my sister go "Aww, Murphy! Come here... Aww... OH MY GOD! MURPHY!" Panic.

What did Murphy do, you ask? Well after a minute or two of stunned silence from Allie (which is rare) she said "He ate a sock.". Excuse me? "He had it in his mouth. He swallowed it. It's gone. He ate a sock!".

So, now, my entire family is at the top of the steps with Murphy in the middle just staring at him asking "What do you mean 'He ate a sock'!?!".

More tears.

We call a neighbor who is thankfully a vet tech and she starts giving us instructions that start off with "Get some hydrogen peroxide and a turkey baster....". What? Turkey baster? Not happening.

Hyperventilating. Tears. Shock. Tears.

Me and my dad take Murphy to the Vet ER (which is a surprisingly bumping place on a Saturday evening) and hand Murphy over to the techs. Hours later, our neighbor/vet tech appears with a huge smile on her face.... "Well, we induced vomiting, and.. there were... two socks."

That damn dog ate a sock when he broke out of his cage (thus the no pooping) on top of the sock Allie witnessed. I tried to laugh at this, but I was still a little emotionally distraught. We take Murphy home, $300+ later, and tell everyone "Pick your socks up off the floor!!!!!!".

Sunday night rolls around and I'm slowly calming down and I hear my mother coming up the stairs... "Hi Murphy... Murphy? What do you have? DROP IT! Murphy!!" Yep. He did it again. This time I don't cry. I look at him, look at my parents, and say "Put him down, I can't take it anymore".

Now, don't get all bent out of shape, we didn't put him down (although, at that point, I honestly think I would have)... we went back to the turkey baster/hydrogen peroxide method (NOTE: do not try this at home without explicit instructions from your neighboring vet tech!) It took a few attempts, and my grandma was called up to console me while I sob outside, and finally we get Murphy to vomit. Did he swallow a sock, you ask? No. He swallowed a full butt underpant. Inbelievable.

That night the email went out to every single person I know "Do you want a sweet husky that is the most handsome dog you've ever seen?" and I looked at my parents and said "That's it, you're never getting grandchildren from me."

The Murphy incident was the most high impact of the two, so I've stuck with "no children" for a while now. That is.. until... this morning.

Yesterday was Mother's Day and when I came into the office today I asked a woman in my aisle how her Mother's day was. Usually, I wouldn't do this- I mean, you never know who lost a child or hates their child or whatever. So, unless they've explicitly mentioned their children around me, well, I think it's best not to assume. But, today, I assumed. I only assumed because I know she is married and she has pictures of her family all over the place and framed photos of children.

When I asked her how her Mother's day was she told me about how her husband made her a card from the dog and signed it with a paw print. She also told me how her dog sent her flowers. Then she said she didn't get the gifts from the dog until after she returned from reading to inmates in the local prison. I guess the photos of children either 1) came in the photo when she bought them from Kohl's or 2) are nieces and nephews. Either way...

Never have I ever been more certain that I need to have children. Not immediately- actually, another 10 years would be great... but, I'll need to get them at some point. I can't bare to spend my Mother's Day in prison or get a fake card from my dog (everyone knows dogs can't go into the post office).

Note: We did find Murphy a good home. I cried when I gave him away and told them that he really is a good, sweet dog.

Update: He still eats socks.