Today is the puppy’s birthday. The. Damn. Crazy. Hyper. @#&*n puppy!!!
Yes, you know the one. The one that I told my husband we could NOT get until our 3rd child was weaned. The one that was so stinkin’ cute when we picked her out of the litter. The one we had to take a 2nd mortgage on the home to purchase from the breeder. The one that although curled up so adorably on my lap for the first week, then every night for the next four weeks made it feel like we had a newborn all over again. And in the ten months since we got her, she has peed all over our new carpets. Chewed every toy, paper, ANYTHING left on the floor in her path. Dug holes all over our yard. Jumped up on tables, counters and children for a lick of food. AND eats her own poop. Yes, THAT puppy turns one today.
Kalua, our German Shorthair Pointer got her own birthday cake and birthday hat (both of which she devoured/destroyed less than 30 seconds after these pictures were taken. Happy birthday Kalua, you crazy puppy! And many more…!
Now, for your Friday Funny…Thank you, again, Jill Smokler of Scary Mommy, for so eloquently describing how each of us SAHMs feel during that witching hour, the Five o’clock Failure:
No matter how wonderful of a day I’ve had with the kids, how many hours we’ve spent outside at the playground or digging for worms in the yard or reading endless books or baking cupcakes or playing with play-doh or brainstorming on how to cure cancer or achieve world peace, there is a point every day where I feel like a total and utter failure of a mother.
It’s called five o’clock and it blows.
Without fail, everyday around five o’clock, I can be found banging my head against the wall and moaning, “why me?” I get on Twitter or Facebook to whine about my out of control offspring. I question just what I have done to deserve such raging lunatics as children. I’ve been known to lock myself in the bathroom and it’s a marvel I’m not completely certifiably insane. Everyday, I wonder what I have done wrong and who the hell these creatures are.
Like magic, my previously well- behaved, sweet and kind children will suddenly transform into wild animals. They’ll decide to “play boxing” and punch and push each other, ignoring my warnings of upcoming I-told-you-so’s. They’ll do laps around the first floor, feed their dinners to the dog and talk back to me. They’ll climb on furniture, pretending to be superhero’s and scream at the top of their lungs. They’ll push my every button and relish in doing so.
And, then, just when I can’t possibly take anymore, they will tire out and become my children again. The human children who listen and cuddle and behave and don’t sport horns and fangs. This transformation will, of course, occur just in time for Jeff to waltz through the door and wonder why I look like hell as the children happily run to him. Just in time for me to kiss them good night and crawl into bed, knowing it will all happen again tomorrow.
At five o’clock.
Reposted with permission from Jill Smokler, aka Scary Mommy. Original post can be found here.