I remember the moment I realized that what I'd imagined owning a pug would be like was not anything like what actually having a pug entailed. For one, Percy's being a short-haired dog does not in any way correlate with the amount he sheds. I could weave a rug each day with what he leaves in his wake; it's like that old cartoon in which the witch would scram, leaving behind a cloud of hairpins in her dust. I find it fortunate that the boys have always liked to vacuum because it's really an almost-daily necessity. Secondly, I assumed that all pugs were 100% couch potato from Day 1. This is not remotely accurate, and while Percy has definitely calmed down, he can still run and frisk with the best of them. I think that many of us, about many things, fall prey to such misconceptions based on the idealized expectations we carry into our experiences. Parenting is certainly such a case. While it is often better than I imagined, it is also much more constant, taxing and psychically wearing than I'd ever thought possible.
Observe: we are on Day 4 of our Thanksgiving "vacation," and in pretty much every respect, there is no way either Tom or myself would consider this a vacation. Yes, he has not gone to work since Tuesday. Lovely! But otherwise, things are simply harder than they usually are. Having been awakened before it was light outside, it seemed totally reasonably to take the boys to a 10:50a showing of the The Muppets movie; thinking Oliver wasn't quite old enough for a movie, I suggested he stay here with Tom, but no, you can imagine how that went over. So we channeled some Zen and thought, great: family outing. About an hour in, O wanted to go home. Saying "I thought this would happen" would obviously have been 100% moot, and then there was the "I want MOMMY to take me home" separation drama. I'm trying to have a date with Jack so abstained but had to listen to him cry as Tom dragged him out of the theater. Towards the end, Jack really started losing steam and asked for candy and a cowboy coloring book. I said no and tired-drama ensued: why? why? Please people.
It is now but 1:47p, and we feel that we're on mile 15 of a marathon. Do the math and you see that we have many miles left, and today is only Saturday. I love my little buddies, but please, go play by yourselves sometimes, stop following me to the bathroom, please do not ask me to explain the lack of gravity in space at 6:15am, do not having a sibling meltdown because one of you wants to pretend the car is a grabber machine and the other a police vehicle. You're both pretending so just go with it. There is a reason we call it "quiet time"- you're supposed to be quiet so close your mouth. Please stop making siren noises at every passer-by. Please brush your teeth/wipe your nose/stop asking for three different but concurrent drinks at all mealtimes. These are the little things I just didn't know about and the intensity of all of then in tandem is something I am shocked that I'm still shocked by, but I am.
Reason 110 that I love the boys' schools. And those rum balls I made. ~~ During a rare moment of quiet, I made turkey noodle soup for Jack. He is BIG into brothy soups, so I'm hoping he grooves on this. I'm hungry for something that does not involve turkey. Ok, 6 minutes of quiet time left. I'm off to enjoy it. Grr.