Not exactly a perfect storm of events, not by any means; nevertheless, we ran out of:
It's Ruby Dog's first birthday on Wednesday; a visit to the pet superstore is perhaps in order.
This, though I might refer to it in the store, is not a shopping list.
In a couple of weeks time it'll be Valentine's Day. I'll be buying a card and some flowers for my wife, and maybe even a small gift?
I really don't know what to buy; maybe the two things'll suffice? Heck, I'll be second-guessing myself with that one until the day. And afterwards.
The problem is simple: I peaked in 2006.
We found a bona-fide Scottish castle* to spend a couple of nights of romantic whatever-we-used-to-do-before-the-girls-arrived at. A typical utilitarian design externally, set in extensive grounds, with its own lake.
The Honeymoon Suite. You know?
I rang, booked, sat back looking at my wallet. Easy. Girlfriend-as-was was happy.
Then the phone rang.
"Hello Mr Turner, we made a terrible mistake with your booking…"
Me: "?"
"Well, we completely forgot you booked for a stay including Valentine's Day and, unfortunately, the room rate is double for that one night."
Me, hand over phone, looking over at my girlfriend after a brief summary which ended: "Do you still want to go?"
Her: (big doe eyes, soppy smile)
Me, back on the phone: "Are you ready to take my credit card details again?"
"Yes, and can we say how sorry we are for…“
Me: (sighs)
It was worth it.
*Culcreuch Castle, Fintry, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
If you're not following me on App.net you're missing out on the occasional post about Ruby – our dog.
Ruby's lovely. Approaching her first birthday, as she's grown she's lost none of her puppy enthusiasm; as she's become more accustomed to our commands, we've tempered none of that quivering anticipation of awesome things about to happen.
Here's a flavour of her impact on our lives, just my posts:
Planning required:
"@pme Aren't the little buggers great? A good thing it's nothing like Ruby 'Chomp-all' Dog. The rest of my family hadn't quite understood the importance of putting things away. But there is an expectation that adults can put stuff in a safe place, right?"
Not quite according to plan:
"@indigo @rabryst I made sure that, if my wife was going to get a dog, said dog would be hypoallergenic, smart, and would not shed fur. Ruby has not let us down once, she's awesome. A mutant compared to all the others round here, but awesome. :)"
Conflict:
“@matigo The cat woke me, I went downstairs to feed him and his sister – and Ruby dog – only to find she'd emptied out the contents of a box all over the living room floor. Hairbrushes, broken crayons, spectacles, pencils, paper, card, sticky tape, lipgloss…
… a plastic troll too! All chewed, damp. :/
My wife can sort it out when she comes home from work; she's the one who leaves stuff out, allows the girls to, then complains when the dog chews.
Yeah, I just threw it all back in & stomped upstairs. :/"
Striving for an uncomplicated existence:
"@hazardwarning @hutattedonmyarm I didn't go looking deeper, Ruby dog wanted me to play with her ball. Simple things… :)"
And, this self-referential #QuoteSunday post:
'"Ruby dog, GET OFF MY PENIS!!!"*
- @bazbt3
Slightly* disconcerting #QuoteSunday quote.
*I mentioned my hedonistic lifestyle earlier in the evening, never thinking it'd come to this!'
True joy arrives unbidden in life, often unexpectedly, and in many different forms. Whilst bent over cleaning the cats' litter tray, wearing a gaping dressing gown with the dog nuzzling one's man-bits, trying to not startle Ruby 'Chomp-all' Turner though‽
Yeah, why not.
FYI: I am @bazbt3 on App.net.
My youngest daughter is a Ladybird (a member of the local Rainbows – pre-Brownies.) Every week her mummy takes her down to the church hall, she participates, and then I collect her at the end of the session.
Just like did with her sister, now a Brownie.
She's usually made something, like a hat or a hanging thing, or a paper plate with paper poppies stuck around its periphery – for Remembrance Sunday.
This evening the things on the table at the end of the room defied my attempts to categorise. Unusual.
The leaders explained, for the benefit of the more dim-witted parents, what they were.
Sock monsters!
Not one alike, each the product of a child's imagination, all amazing.
Ah, but glittery glue. Lots of it.
It gets everywhere, no matter how carefully it's applied. I hate slimy sticky viscous things. But the inevitable beckoned so I picked the thing up, and immediately an antenna dropped.
Oops! I never was the most graceful individual. Clumsy, though age is improving me.
I was more circumspect when we left for the car park, not trusting my littlest offspring with the task of moving the monster from hall to car.
Me: "Er… can you please reach into my trouser pocket and get my car keys?"
We chose a safe spot on the back seat for the glue and sock, and waited for her big sister to finish Brownies.
All the while I gave a running commentary, ostensibly for my daughter's benefit but a safety blanket for me. The pressure inherent in such situations is probably beyond the understanding of a non-parent. I'm sure it would have amused any adult within earshot.
We always chat about stuff during lulls between life and life, my daughter's and I. Stars & planets, cars, condensation, school lunches and their friends and creations. Today not much chat, aside from a few words about her new thing. It's got rice and lavender inside it and smells lovely. We'd best not let Ruby dog anywhere near lest…
Daughter 1 emerged a few minutes later, we buckled up and drove home.
Home, tea, change, ready for bed, tidy, teeth, night-night…
Though I know she wants to take it to school tomorrow, I'd forgotten if she'd told me the most important thing, so I just woke daughter 2 to ask her what the sock monster is called.
A frown, obviously. "I haven't named it."
And that was that.
We have a dog. Ruby is lovely. Smelly, eats poo, she's as mad as a box of…
We have a cat. Mollie is lovely. Very ladylike, and even when she's shouting at me for being too slow getting her meals ready, delightful.
We have another cat. Loki is a right royal pain in the arse! He's coming up to 15 years old and, though showing signs of slowing down, is getting better at one thing…
Shouting, caterwauling, making frankly disturbing noises when he finds his soft toy and engages in very focused, er… 'behaviour' with it.
Ok, lots of annoying things. He's the last thing I hear at night and the first in the morning. It's got to the stage I want to launch him somewhere very, very far-away…
But no.
He's family.
To be absolutely fair to her, my wife shouldered the burden of wrapping the presents prior to Christmas. Most at least.
Today she's taking the girls to see her friend; they're off to visit a soft play place for a few hours, and I'm left in peace.
Ahhh…
But, as-ever, a last-minute rush to wrap those gifts, and an 'emergency' trip by my wife to the toy shop for the youngest recipient, left me wrapping the few allocated to those lovely people.
I didn't moan or sulk or internalise, no. I just got on with it and wrapped.
It seems my New Year's Resolutions have just been implemented. Early, too!
I'd best make some for 2016.
The seasonal sales have already started. In fact, some have been going on, on-and-off, since the week before Black Friday.
What have we bought?
I got a shoulder bag for my wife, a vibrant red thing of the same design as her black one. A genuine half price.
The laptop she bought before the sales commenced has been reduced by the same retailer in their Boxing Day sale by a whopping £200! To exactly what she paid for it.
The Xbox One with Kinect, the thing I wanted in the Black Friday sales – the one that the day before was £350, on the day £370, and the day after dropped to £340 – is now £335. Cheaper with 3 games than without.
Crazy!
So, what do we need?
Not believing the hype: Easy.
I just now had my Christmas Pudding. It was delicious, laced with brandy and, I think, rum, and covered with single cream – and 'twas an individual-sized portion.
Why individual?
My wife doesn't like it and my daughters (8 & 6) don't have alcohol for obvious reasons (and don't like rich fruit cakes anyway.)
Ruby puppy* sat and waited for a while, ever hopeful, but my resolve never weakened.
*She's a lady now, our Ruby; perhaps I should start being consistent and calling her a dog.
A variation on a theme; a joke told to my daughters a few minutes ago:
"What did the Italian man say when asked why he was leading Bambi, who was wearing 2 eye patches?
'I've-a no i-dea!'"
I'm imagining your response, dear reader, is the same my girls gave me.
My wife didn't tut. Progress.
I can only now bring myself to talk about it – such is the impact on my family.
On Sunday evening, wearing my trusty grey dressing gown, I flashed Mollie, our female cat.
Swinging dangly bits, hip sways, whatever real flashers do, I did, my wife looking on aghast. Mollie's normally inscrutable gaze faltered a little before she rolled onto her back, hands clasped cutely at her chest, legs 'akimbo.' Cute.
To me it felt liberating.
Giving an added sense of perspective, Mollie is coming up to her 4th birthday – all-but 7 months spent in our home (assuming the dates we were given are appropriate.)
And then it happened.
"You do know you just flashed your daughter," my wife said.
Ah.