Anyway, we had to go to W*lmart on the way home and the first thing we see as we pull into the parking lot is a van with puppies in the back. The girls ask if we can go over there "just to look." Crap. "Fine," I say, "But we're not getting one, so don't even ask me." They didn't ask, which was awesome. They just played with the puppies and giggled like little girls do, and looked so precious you could puke. The perfect, fun ending to a perfect, fun day with my girls.
Ten minutes later...
I'm telling the puppy lady that I have to run into the store to get a few things and I'll get cash while I'm in there (for the deposit on the puppy I'm buying, of course) if she'll wait for me. The puppy lady agrees to wait and to hold the puppy I wanted (the only female) even though the people who were there right before me were interested in the same one. Gosh, the puppy lady sure is nice. I have absolutely no qualms about handing over my
She's adorable (the puppy, not the puppy lady. I'm sure the puppy lady is a lovely woman, though. You don't need teeth to be lovely). She's a little Boxer (again, we are referring to the puppy). The girls are THRILLED and I am the King of the World... for the moment.
I don't know how this happened. I really don't. What was I thinking? All I know is that I was the "Awesome Mom"- the FUN Mom, for once- instead of the Craptacular mother I've been lately. The girls looked so cute holding the puppies and they were so, so happy and all the birds were singing and the sky was blue and somewhere, a Hallmark employee was envisioning this very scene to put on the front of a card, except maybe in a setting other than a W*lmart parking lot, with a puppy lady who looked a little less... toothless, and was maybe wearing a slightly more supportive undergarment... I dunno. Anyway- You know what I'm saying?
So yes, I'm that kind of mom now, apparently. I will buy your love and happiness. Is there some kind of award I get for that? Does it come with a sash I could wear? I've always wanted to wear a sash.
As soon as we were in the store (to get the cash... and, oh yeah, we're here for milk in the first place), I realized that, CRAP, I was in a bucket of deep, deep you-know-what with my husband. I decided I'd better call him. Crap. Crap. CRAP... I honestly felt nauseous. I knew he would not be happy. No, not at all.
See, "we" (as in the one with all the big, manly, power-wielding testosterone) decided our existing animals were to be our last. No.More.Pets. Ever. Never, ever, ever. They smell. They shed. They have to be housebroken, and sometimes they don't want to be housebroken. Ever. They have to be let in. And out. And in. And out. They have to be fed. Food isn't free. And the kids who promise to be responsible for the tasks of feeding and taking the creature in and out quickly tire of those jobs after the novelty wears off. The beloved critters need vaccines and medications, surgeries, boarding at vacation times, and all of this... Costs.Money. And more money. Lots and lots of money. "We"positively, absolutely agreed "together" that "we" would not have any more animals enter our humble abode. We "both" feel this way. Totally. "We" are done with pets. Are you getting the point I'm making here? Darrell is gonna be mad as H*11, is what I'm saying...
I called. He answered. Crap. Was kinda hoping for voicemail. My stomach tightened up and I had to stifle my gag reflex. I tried to find my Cheerful, Confident Voice (the one that says, "I'm not at all afraid of you right now"). I said, "Hi, Hon!!!! So! (Gee whiz, take it down a notch, Michelle. Nobody says "So" with that much excitement)!!! How ya doin?!!! Um... I've done something."
I was right. He.Was.Not.Happy. No, not at all.
Darrell knows by now that "I've done something" is never going to be a good thing as far as he's concerned.
I told him I'd just committed myself to buying a dog.
I'm going to have to edit the majority of our conversation. Suffice it to say that my stint as King of the World had ended. Just.Like.That. I got in trouble, just like a five-year-old (or Lucy Ricardo), but of course, I had it coming- I had acted just like a five-year-old (or Lucy Ricardo).
You know what? Let's just skip to the end, shall we?
Our puppy will be ready to pick up after Oct. 1st. Her name is going to be Clementine. She shall have a pink or purple collar... with diamonds on it. The girls have already decided that much. They are over the moon. I am the Awesome Mom. Awesome Wife? Not so much.
Darrell already does not like the impending bundle of joy.
But he'll come around... right? How could you resist something that looks like this?