On the eve of Wednesday, January 30, 2013 I walked into my bedroom to snuggle up and read before getting some rest when my hands grabbed a wad of soaked pillow. Thankfully I did not sit in the mess, but my littlest dog, Sam, thoroughly drenched the top half of the bed. Also, thankfully, we keep a mattress pad on the bed so even though he drenched every layer of bedding he did not succeed at penetrating through to the mattress.
I find it ironic how things like this happen at the worst of times. In this case I was in the middle of readjusting to having someone living in my house. I have found that whenever Josh comes home from any music venture that lasts more than two nights I am fumbling to readjust to marriage when he gets home. This day counted in that category as he had only been home for a couple of days after a week and a half away so we were re-navigating conversation as husband to wife, and visa versa, rather than boy to boy (in Josh’s case) and me to no one – see, Josh had spent that week and a half in a van of boys and I had spent that time mostly in isolation (sitting here at my desk with the dogs lingering around me).
So we were in the middle of some passive aggressive stand-off about something I can’t remember when I discovered the wreaking mess. And, since I was the fateful discoverer, I was the one to cover my hands with pee as I stuffed the washer full once, then again as I merely hoped against complete destruction of the feather pillow. Worst part was I couldn’t even properly scold the pup because I didn’t see him do it (and dogs aren’t the best at associating a good nose rub in pee with a “do not ever do again” message and he’s just so pathetically adorable I find it impossible to stay mad at him for long. In fact, I ended up just taking his picture instead.
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