I would say that first and foremost, I am the queen of unintentionally sticking my foot into my giant mouth. I am forever saying things I should not, and I really don’t even have the excuse of being stupid. I’m not stupid. My mouth just happens to work faster than my brain. And in a somewhat related vein, despite being something of a planner—some might even say a neurotic, perfectionist one, at that—I am often queen of choosing a course of action without fully understanding ALL of the ramifications.
The saddest part is that it’s invariably something where I feel so PLEASED with whatever I’ve done right up until I realize I’ve completely screwed myself. Accidentally.
Example the first: Granted, I was sort of having a hissy fit when I wrote it, but this post? Appears to have cost me a dear friend. Which sucks.
Example the second: While deep down I thought I was being kind of brilliant, taking away my daughter’s bedroom door, once again I only proved that my capacity for the long view is somewhat myopic.
What’s that, you say? You say I should’ve known better in the first example and what in the world am I talking about for the second? Well.
Remember Licorice? Licorice is awesome. Licorice also sleeps with Chickadee, except that with no door, the dog has wisely decided there is no reason to stay in her room. And as noted previously, allowing her to sleep with Chickadee has ruined her for sleeping in her crate.
Yes. Yes, this is a story of how we’re completely at the mercy of a 12-pound dog. Shut up.
So, the thing about Licorice is that if she wants to get into our room when the door is closed, she doesn’t bark or whine or anything. That would be annoying, but I believe I could eventually tune that out if I really tried. No, if Licorice has been closed out of our room and wants in, she commences bodyslamming the HANDLE until her needs are met. That is to say, she doesn’t just ram the door—she LEAPS INTO THE AIR and THEN rams into the door.
It sounds like the Mongol hordes have arrived, is my point.
She can’t sleep with Chickadee, because there’s no door to keep her in. She can’t sleep with Monkey, because I still worry about the height of his bed and the fierceness of his flailing, and the safety of all involved. So she’s back in with us.
To be perfectly clear: My child misbehaved, and in a move that I thought was totally clever and logical, I made sure that my husband and I have to fight for the covers, tune out the dulcet tones of incessant nighttime licking, and forget about doing anything other than sleeping in that bed until this punishment is over. I AM SO SMART.
Licorice, however, thinks this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to her. Every night she wedges herself between Otto and me and licks and licks to her heart’s content while we yell at her to stop. Then she spends the wee hours draping herself over our feet and our necks, alternately. Finally, when the alarm goes off after that super-restful night’s sleep, there’s nothing better than whacking the alarm clock, turning over, and… having a tongue jammed into your eyeball. Except (possibly) being the OTHER person in the bed, who gets a waggy tail up the nose while your eyeball is being violated.
Note to self: Stop doing stuff until you can better suss out the causal relationship between actions and consequences. Love, Me.
[Edited to add: I do not think y’all understand the impressiveness of Licorice’s vertical leap. The baby gate idea is a great one except I would need to stack THREE OF THEM to make it work. Heh.]