My so-called life outside of Grady: Never say never.

(*warning:  100% nonmedically related or relevant post ahead.  Patient care only types, return in two days for more enriching material. You were warned.)

Zachary on a bouncy-Tigger day

 "I will never say never. . . ."

~ Justin Bieber (a.k.a. Justin Beaver)

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Today was a pretty decent day. I got a lot of residency-related work done that needed doing, had a couple of productive meetings, and even managed to sneak by the eyebrow place to get my unruly brows threaded. Since I was making good time, I took my time driving toward after school care to get Isaiah. I listened to NPR and took a scenic route. No cell phone chats, just me, my open sunroof, and Kai Ryssdal. Stolen moments like these are wonderful, even when they're brief. But whenever I do get these little quiet windows, I do take a few seconds to savor the fact that they are finite and that I do have my screaming kids waiting for me. Live long enough and you'll meet some people who remind you of how quickly life can change in the twinkling of an eye. Especially when it comes to your children.

Anyways.

This isn't a heavy post, so let me move to where I was initially going with all of this (which is really no where important.) So, like I was saying, I had my little me-moment and then eased on over to get Isaiah first. He was in a part chipper/part whiny mood which I decided was better than all whiny. He threw a paper airplane five extra times before getting into the car, and finally buckled himself in after I told him that I'd be really unhappy if I have to pay the late fee at Zachary's school. Fortunately, Isaiah doesn't like the thought of me being unhappy, so off we went.

I listen to tales of monkey bars, super heroes and pretend battles between several kindergarten boys turned imaginary komodo dragons. I hear of who got a time out, who had to have a silent lunch, and exactly which person would like to marry whom. I am asked if there will be homework and get a high-pitched whine when I answer in the affirmative. It then falls silent as Isaiah decides to pick up a pad of paper and draw pictures from his booster seat.

We get to Zachy in time, and he is in a bouncy-Tigger mood which makes me smile but can sometimes make getting him into his booster seat a challenge. He bounces and he sings and he bounces and he sings all the way out of school and into our commute. There is obligatory arguing over "Zachary disturbing my art-creating time" which is countered with even louder, bouncier singing. Today, a repetitive loop of 16 dreadful bars of Justin Bieber's "Never Say Never."

So finally we make it home where I promptly park in the garage and shut it behind me to keep the bouncy-Tigger-boy from bouncing out the door. It's a homework night for both kids, so I am all business. "Get inside, get your hands washed, get your backpacks and come to the kitchen table." Easier said than done, but eventually said and done.

Isaiah is writing about what he plans to do this summer. Zachary is tracing numbers. I am preparing a dinner that fortunately is only for the kids since Harry has a meeting. This means no consideration for an adult palate or a grown man appetite. Yay.

Then there is quiet. Isaiah independently working. Zachary not bouncing and actually doing the same. Milk is poured, food is on plates and I decide to pick up a few things strewn about the house with my twenty-seven extra seconds of time. I try to sing something, anything out loud to get the bouncy-Tigger version of the "Justin Beaver" song out of my head. All I can hear though is this, like a broken record:

"I will NEVAH say NEVAAAAHHHHH! I will bite you for-EVAAAAAAAHHHH!"(repeat)

It's like a horrible reciprocating engine looping around and around in my head. I give in and start humming it. Then I start singing it. "I will never say neverrrrrr. . . " Bleccchh.


That's when I heard the doorbell ring. Hmmm. We weren't expecting anyone. I look through the peephole and. . . . . .

Awww, hell naw!!

No. It must be a mirage. It can't be. Is it?

I fling open the door, just to be sure!







Is it really. . . . gasp. .. .the Dogfather of the Puppy Mafia? Has our prodigal pup returned home? Yes! He did!!! And on such a mundane day, he did!

I yell for Isaiah. Yes, the boy is knee deep into some hard core sentence composition and sight word recognition, but this is an emergency, people!

"Isaiah! Isaiah!"

The boy can't believe it. No, I take that back. He can believe it. He said, "I knew he would be found! I knew he would not be lost forever!" Then he looked at me and said, "See, Mom! I told you he was already brave!"

And then he commences to hold a full on conversation with Puppy saying things like, "What were you doing? How was your adventure? Are you hungry? Were you on top of Mommy's car?"

But the Boss was tight-lipped, I tell you. A vault, man. His disappearance deemed officially classified information. Only to be discussed with other Puppy Mafia bosses, which we do not happen to be.

And so. A day that seemed totally ordinary turned out to be extraordinary. Because the Puppy Mafia is again complete.

The saga of Puppy the sometimes wayward don of the Puppy Mafia continues.

He's baaaaaack.

Oh, and to all of the naysayers that believed that Puppy aka the Dogfather was lost forEVER and who didn't believe me when I said he got lost for a year in my grandmother's house and found again and therefore could never be lost for good, AND who just can't seem to understand the concept of being "already brave" no matter how many times it is explained to them. . . .I say to you:

"I will NEVAH say NEVAAAAHHHHH!"

::Sigh::

Welcome to yet another part of my so-called life outside of Grady. New readers to this blog? Read about the Puppy Mafia when you are totally bored and have absolutely nothing to do or at least ten things to do that you'd really love to procrastinate on. Old readers and new readers, I promise something patient care related real, real soon.

And Mom? Yes. I used tons and tons of literary license on this story. . .well, mostly from the doorbell ring on. So if you must have a more concrete version of what really went down, Harry couldn't find his iPod Touch and took his search to the maximum levels possible. Unbeknownst to me, while digging deep into the bowels of the living room couch, he found Puppy! Deep, deep, deep down in the deepest, darkest parts of that couch. Satisfied?

 ::shrug::

That might be the real version, but I personally prefer the first version a lot better. . . . . .

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Happy Wednesday.