Why we'll be fine...

Last night I rushed home from work to walk the dogs and throw in a batch of chai-spiced sugar cookies for my work's t-giving to-do before going out to dinner with my brother, sister-in-law and my friend (and long-ago ex), Mark.  Mark had not met my brother and SIL previously, and, while I know he has the tendency to talk a lot when nervous, I have never before seen him hold court like this.  It was... unbearable.  We all finished our dinners while his sat untouched in front of him while he pontificated on the finer points of politics. I love Mark, I really do.  But omigawd, please shut up!  I started actually having a panic attack that he was never going to stop. When dessert came and he was still going.  Luckily, he is smart & interesting, but even that only goes so far.

It was 10:30 when we got the bill.  I still had to make another batch of cookies before bed.  I was already fiendishly tired.  FINALLY, we somehow extracted ourselves, I went to the store to buy vegetable oil (I was 2 Tbs short), went home, only to discover that Sophie had pooped and peed in the house.  Great Dane poop is three scoops, minimum.  Plus, loads of windex and paper towels to soak up any remaining poop residue. I cleaned the poop and pee, washed my hands, made the cookie dough. Then I threw in a batch while washing the big dishes, dried the dishes, took out the first tray of cookies, threw in the second tray of cookies, ran downstairs, threw a load of urine-soaked rags in the laundry, came back up.  I took the second tray of cookies out, put a load of little dishes in the dishwasher, went back downstairs, brushed my teeth, heard suspicious noises, went back up-- Sophie had pooped again, this time pure liquid. I cleaned up, went downstairs, got some chucks to throw on the floor in case of any further accidents, went up to put them on her favorite spot to poop, went back downstairs, finished my ablutions, cleaned the litter boxes, and went to bed.  It was midnight.  It was only 90 minutes of furious insanity, but it was handled.

I know I am not a mom yet, but I think I have some inkling of how this thing goes down sometimes.  There's nothing to do but bring the body to the task, get it done, and keep going. 

The cookies turned out dry, not crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside as the recipe promised (I think my oven is running low-- gotta get that checked!), but hell, it's just a work to-do.  They can freakin' deal and I get to say I pitched in.  And as of when I left the apartment this a.m., there was no poop on the floor.  I consider that a success.

Fingers crossed for no more poop when I get home this afternoon!