That Smell
I guess it's spring cleaning time, even though it's now going on winter. I'm home today, getting ready for our Tucson trip (we leave at 7:45 am tomorrow), doing the traditional 'dont-let-the-dogsitter-see-how-we-really-live' dance. This includes dishes. Hey kids, learn from my mistake -- if you leave any kind of food, plus water, in your sink it will rot and make the nastiest stink you can imagine. Well, maybe dead people smell worse but this was a close second. More than once, I was forced to stop and turn my head so I didn't vomit from the stench.

The good news? It's all clean now and we promise to never do that again. I'm also cleaning the rest of the house, and unearthed no less than 10 empty gatorade containers from under the sofa. Chalk those up to the hidden life of dogs, where they do their own thing (in this case, take the containers off the counter when we're not home) and hide the evidence under the couch.

Okay, back to cleaning. Aren't you jealous?

I'm writing a grant application to get lottery money from school to buy a laptop. Have any of the three of you loyal readers been through any kind of grant process? Please drop me a line if you have any suggestions about what to/what not to include in this application. I have to address the following:
Description of how and when the funds will be used.
In the case of equipment, description and cost.
Intended instructional application (to surf porn during class, of course)
Benefits to program/students/faculty
Plesae help!

I am the worst dog mommy in the world. The worst. Before going to play pickup at lunch today, I went to the garage to get my goalie gear. The dogs followed me in, as usual. There's no good excuse for what happened next.

I forgot Patrick, left my little boy trapped in the garage while I was gone. When I came home, I couldn't find him. When he wasn't there to greet me at the door, I had visions of him collapsed in the backyard, paralyzed by a cluster of seizures that wouldn't stop (I had no visions of him, a basset hound, jumping the fence) or worse. I ran out to the yard. No Patrick. I ran to the garage, flung open the door and there, there he was, scared as hell, bolting past me to get back into the house. He'd peed all over the garage and may have had a seizure or two out there but he seems okay right now. The other dogs are dutifully checking him for injuries/new, unrecognizable smells

Meanwhile, I'm rightfully beating myself up for being the worst mommy in the world. Sorry, Pat.

Why did we buy a digital camera before we had dogs? What was the point?

Another burning question: why is Rainie so fascinated with the bathtub? She's in there right now, when I look later I know I'll see little pawprints in it.