My life is insane right now. Mostly in a good way, but whew. I really need a breather.
Two weekends ago, we took our first trip on the new family sailboat, which we sealed the deal on two weeks ago. The purchase was finalized after a months-long process that involved canceling the deal on our first choice and multiple trips to the Chesapeake Bay and South Carolina and lots and lots of stressful negotiations. We love our new boat, and we had a great time on our first trip. But, during that trip, Mia had a stomach bug that involved vomiting and lots of diarrhea. We went through more pairs of pants and underwear than you can imagine. And I cleaned up a lot of poop. And, on this first trip, we had no running water on the boat to wash our hands. Also no hand sanitizer. And on the last leg, the engine failed and we hit a floating log. It all worked out and we love the boat, but still... not exactly restful.
Then, this past Thursday, we got a puppy. A lovable, adorable 8-week-old puppy. She is a great puppy, but wow. Puppies are a lot of work. Everyone tells you this, and I knew it on an intellectual level. But you don't really know it on a gut level until you are out walking the dog at 3 a.m. All the house training and crate training and leash training are to be expected, but I am a bit of a nervous wreck about them. Raising a child was instinctive to me. I didn't worry about "expert" advice or fall prey to paranoia. But a puppy? I have no idea what to do with a puppy. So I am reading five different books, and talking to other dog owners, and googling every little thing, and every single source is telling me something different. And I'm in a constant state of "Oh shit, I going to screw up my puppy and turn her into an ax murderer!!!"
Another unexpected complication is Mia. She behaves like a child who has gotten a new sibling. She loves the dog, but is jealous of all the attention it gets -- from us, from everyone we meet and from her friends. She wants to walk and hold the dog, but she is also afraid of the dog. The dog nips her, and she runs and squeals, making the dog think it is time to play even rougher. Mia is needy and demanding and whiny. She (and we) are sleep deprived because of the dog's howling in the night. I find myself a little wistful for when I could offer my attention to my daughter, rather than devoting all my mental energy to the dog's urination and defecation needs. I know that this too shall pass, and fairly quickly, but still. Intense.
And then on Saturday night, the dog's third in the house, when Mr. SOC was thoroughly exhausted after two nights of puppy duty, he got a call that his mother was on the way to the ER. He was there until 6:30 a.m. and finally got in bed at 7. He was like the living, ready-to-bite-your-head-off dead yesterday. But life doesn't stop for medical emergencies, so he spent the afternoon moving the last furniture out of his mother's apartment. Over the past several weeks, we've been packing up, selling, donating and storing the possessions she accumulated over a lifetime. It's so incredibly eerie, getting rid of her shoes and her lipstick and her coffee mugs and her furs and her 10,000 Chanel suits. It makes you feel like she's already dead. And you (or at least I) can't help thinking it would probably be better if she were.
Oh, and somewhere during the last month or so, we also took Mia on her first ski trip. Another trip that was fun and worthwhile, and we're so glad and lucky we got to do it. But also, not at all restful and filled with a good number of moments of heart-thumping stress. And also my grandfather is dying, a slow and painful process that makes me sad and also threatens all my future plans (like a work trip to San Diego in a couple weeks and my mother's planned two-week visit here). When will I have to go to the funeral? Also, my mom is about to go into the hospital for heart problems.
Maybe I'll just stop there. I need a week on a deserted island.