Thursday, April 1, 2010

I Blame Betty White.

I am an idiot.

What is wrong with me?

How did this happen?

It started out a normal Wednesday. Send the kids off to school. Empty the dishwasher. Load the breakfast dishes. Grab a cup of coffee. Catch up on emails and facebook. Check my blog. Check my freinds' blogs. Randomly check one or two of their friends' blogs.

Head to my first Zumba class. Head home to shower. Grab a light brunch. Check my emails and facebook. Check my blog. Check another blog or two. Head to my second Zumba class.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

You know the drill. But somehow the drill went wrong. The drill went terribly, terribly wrong.

After my Zumba class at the local YMCA, I made a bee-line to the parking lot because

1) I was starving


B) I wanted to get a shower in before the kids got home and our spring break began!

On my way out the door, I noticed a small group gathered by a table down the sidewalk. Figuring it was a Girl Scout cookie stand, I averted my eyes. Too hungry. Too weak. At this point, I was at risk of purchasing a whole case of Thin Mints and finishing them off on the car ride home.

Little Girl #1: Awwwwww!!!

Little Girl #2: Can I hold it?

Little Girls' Mommy: How old are they?

Betty White: They're 4 weeks old.

Betty White? What's she doing in a Girl Scout cookie booth?

Of course, it wasn't really Betty White. But it was a white-haired grandmother that was holding something precious in her hands. No, not Thin Mints. Not Somoas. Not even Do-Si-Dos. It was a tiny little teacup Yorkie. With black and butterscotch fur and big (realtively speaking) pointy ears. He was absolutely adorable. He had me at "ruff."

The next half hour is a total blur. There were words about the local SPCA. An illegal puppy mill in Lancaster County. Some choice words about Michael Vick. And I do recall Betty listening intently as I told the story of a brave little trooper named Rox (see previous posts...label: Rox). I got all caught up in my grief, and the next thing you know, me and the Yorkie were on our way. He was so tiny, I could have fit him in my cleavage for the ride home. Instead, I put him in my hat, which I put in my Zumba bag, which I safety belted in place in the front seat. Me and the Yorkster. Heading home to greet the kids getting off the bus......

Dear Lord, what have I done?!?

By the time we got home, I had only fifteen minutes before the kids would be arriving. My mind was racing. My stomach was growling. I was wishing I had a sleeve of Thin Mints. I wondered if Yorkie was hungry. Did we still have Rox's special diet food? Forget food. EASTER BASKET! It's close to Easter. I'll stick the Yorkster in an Easter basket and surprise the kids! We run to the basement and look for the baskets. Ah-ha. ZuZu's glossy blue number still has the bright green Easter grass inside. Yorkie tries it on for size. He's dwarfed. I'm afraid they might mistake him for a chocolate bunnyesque mold and eat him. They've been off candy for nearly 40 days. It could get ugly.

Oh! I know! I'll borrow the hamster's green plastic ball and let Yorkie walk around the house until he bumps into the kids. They'll freak out! It will look like the hamster doubled or tripled in size since the morning. That could be fun! I grab the ball. Yorkster's ears aren't fitting through the ball's opening. Strike two.

Maybe I could stick him in the mailbox, and tell Deuce to go get the mail when he -

ZuZu: Mom?!? We're hooome.

Oh, snap.

I turn around in the kitchen and shove Yorkie in my tank top, whip back around and...


ZuZu: Aaawwwww! No way! Can we keep him?!?

Deuce: Mom, what are you doing?

MT is already at the top of the stairs heading to his room to change out of his school uniform. He hears all the commotion, and decides to head back down.

ZuZu: Where did you get him? Is he ours?

MT: OH! Man! Is that our dog?

Deuce: Seriously, Mom? Can we keep him?

Me: Happy Easter!

Big Daddy's reaction wasn't quite as energized. Just two weeks ago, we were on the same page with NOT replacing Rox with another dog. Ever. Although, if you recall, I did leave grieving daddy home alone with the kids for two hours and came back to a freakin' hamster. And - let's not forget that Big Daddy was also the one who surprised me, ZuZu and MT with Rox seven years ago. I figure this little surprise (and I do mean little) makes us even. Especially considering I'm the one that will be doing the potty-training, feeding, and walking. Of course, to the mailbox and back will constitute a walk for this little guy's stubby legs.

We played with Yorkie all night, and debated on a name for the little guy. MT's suggestions were Knox, or Lox, or Shox. ZuZu seemed to recycle names she considered for the hamster. There was "Bear" and "Pickles." Deuce wanted a tough name for the little guy, so he would never be mistaken for a girl like "Roxy" always was. His top choices were Rambo and Rocky. I then suggested Sly and Stallone. Which led Big Daddy to Spartan (Demolition Man) which led me to Butler (as in Gerard, from 300) which led John to Spartacus which led to the kids asking us to please stop.

So, I would now like to formally introduce you to (drum roll, please).......

Freakin' Yorkie.