I was at the playground with my daughter a few hours ago. We live in a townhouse complex with a playground. Generally speaking, it is a fabulous place to live and for the most part, the neighbors are great.
As I was saying, we were at the playground when a black chihuahua came sauntering down the hill without his/her person. The dog squatted and deposited, then sauntered back up the hill. Still no accompanying human in sight.
Unfortunately I’m not sure exactly which neighbor belongs to said dog. Dogs are not permitted to wander off leash in the complex. Owners are also required to pick up their pets leavings. Strike one, strike two.
I ask you, what would you do?
- Post a “You’re welcome for picking up your black chihuahua’s poop off the yard” note on the community board with a plastic bag of the poop in question?
- Complain to the strata council.
- Wander around the complex until you find the dog owner and attempt to deliver the bag of poop personally.
- Blog about it.
- All four.
- Some other more creative, poop related, neighbor shaming activity.
Not that I would do any of those things. I’m too classy for that shit.
We just returned home from visiting extended family for a few days. They live out in the boondocks away from civilization. I would waste away and die living in hillbilly-land, but the kids thought it was paradise!
Miles of bush country to roam, okay, not miles, but to a 5 & 7 year old it might as well be miles, creeks, muddy swampland, blackberry patches, one of those completely unsafe trampolines without a net, a rope hanging from a tree with a stick tied to the bottom for a swing, and miles of road with very little traffic perfect for racing down. Aside from the mosquito infestation, what’s not to love.
It was a fun visit. But I have to say, nothing feels quite so nice as getting onto the ferry and heading back home.
Now that the kids are in bed, the mojitos are mixed and the laundry is on the go, we are going to sit back and enjoy the peace and quiet. While folding laundry of course. Sigh, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.
There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.
by HW Longfellow
We’ve had some “horrid” lately around our place and my nerves are starting to get a little frayed. Thank heavens I have a job to go to all day and can drop the children off for someone else to deal with. Going to work counts as a break sometimes. If you work outside the home, you know what I mean. If you work all day with children underfoot, trust me… it counts.
Some examples of the “horrid”
- wrong pink plate = epic temper tantrum
- hit her brother and got a time out = epic temper tantrum
- mommy didn’t know what she wanted even though she didn’t say a single word = epic temper tantrum
- the TV show ended = epic temper tantrum
- she didn’t like the picture she just drew = epic temper tantrum
I keep telling myself it’s just a phase, it’s just a phase, it’s just a phase…. You get the picture. She might be growing, she might be anxious about the transition from daycare to kindergarten, she might be feeling a little sick, she might be a foul tempered little diva, who knows! I just hope it ends before I completely lose all my funny and what little is left of my sanity.