It started out ordinarily enough: grumpily canning tomato sauce together on CP's last day of vacation, waving him off on his back-to-school bike, juggling babysitting, peach jam, and class prep, trying to keep the rain-starved fall garden alive on hose rations.
On my return from teaching Wednesday night, Christopher showed me a stainless steel bowl on the kitchen counter with tufts of gold curls lying limply at the bottom: NS' first-ever haircut. She'd accomplished it on the sly with illicitly acquired child scissors, more than six weeks after watching me get a professional haircut. Fortunately, the instrument was dull enough that the damage is virtually invisible to the untrained eye.
That same day my sister-in-law had told me about puppies "(sooo cute") for sale at the orchard where she buys fruit. CP had been trying to persuade me for--well, he'd probably say years---that we need to own a dog. After realizing that this could be a seriously sore spot in our relationship, I decided that, of the two apparent options, a good dog and peace in the family would be better than no dog and and incessant arguing about dog ownership. (Isn't there a proverb about that?) So I took the matter into my own hands, called the farm, and quickly researched the puppies' pedigree. I presented the information to my husband; the ball was then in his court.
We agreed to drive out to the farm the next day, after CP got home from work, following a hurried and inconclusive dialog about shots, spaying, and cost analysis. The tricky part was not committing in our daughter's mind before making up our own minds. We swung by to pick up a borrowed pet carrier, then told NS we were going to pet some puppies. Much to my chagrin, we spent probably half an hour lingering by the dog pen, petting and observing the roly poly, gingery pups, while CP wet his cold feet in the waters of responsibility and consequences that I'd been wading in all along. I had been counting on his gut to make a snappy decision for all of us. Apparently, he'd been banking on NS' instantaneous infatuation to sweep away all our doubts. They both let us down.
Finally, CP stated, "I think I'll be glad we did it," then stammered, "NS, do you want to take a puppy home?" We wrote the check and carried off our membership prize for the foolish dog owners club.
A note here for the detail-curious: NS tried out several names, including Goldbug and Officer Flossie (of Richard Scarry fame), Clifford (the Big Red) and Rosy (friends' grandparents' dog). I suggested Carmela, a Spanish girl's name that evokes, in my English brain, the dog's caramel-colored coat. However, Noemi pronounced it as Canela (
cinnamon in Spanish, part of her kitchen vocab), which is what stuck. As for pedigree, according to the original owners, the mother is a
Shiba Inu and the father is "some type of
hound." We're hoping for the best of both: mom's calm intelligence and cleanliness and dad's good looks, loyalty and hunting instincts, with an average of their sizes.
Saturday NS spent the morning with friends in town while CP and I had a morning gig with our band at the farmers market. (They showed up for part of the performance, just as we were singing the song we wrote about NS when she was a baby.) We sang for a full two and a half hours with no break. It was a record-breaker for our less-than-a-year-old band: longest nonstop performance, largest audience, most tips so far ($73) and most promising leads (contacts from two downtown restaurants expressed interest in our performing there). Records aside, it was a beautiful day, an enthusiastic reception, and a thrill to see people of all ages--friends, family, and strangers--listening, dancing, and singing along to our music.
NS skipped her nap that afternoon, after having woken up at least an hour earlier than usual. She climbed right out of the crib. CP and I looked at each other. "It's time."
We spent the afternoon cleaning house and rearranging furniture to accommodate an upcoming renovation project, and incorporated the crib-to-toddler bed graduation. The change generated much excitement on NS' part. I anticipated that her sleep deprivation would precipitate a super-early bedtime despite the excitement of a new bed, but alas, the stoic pixie pulled a 14 1/2 hour day. As you may imagine, bedtime was a frustrating and protracted endeavor.
The good news: after falling asleep, she didn't patter into our room until 5:10 am, when the putting-to-bed process all started over again. The bad news: Canela woke us periodically throughout the night with her persistent, pathetic howls and yowls.
I'm glad this week is history.
