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feat. The Dummy Alliance, Psychological Warfare & The Two-Week Siege

At this point, I think we can safely say we’re locals at the Emergency Department. You know it’s bad when the triage nurse greets your toddler with, “Ahoy there, Captain — what brings you in this time?” This particular adventure began innocently enough: the boys getting dressed up in their Halloween costumes. Westley was a pirate — naturally. Nathaniel was Spider-Man — ready to save the world (or at least the backyard). They looked adorable for about thirty seconds. Then they

or, the one where I woke up to find my dog held hostage by my 2 year old. There are few sounds that can cut through a sleep-deprived mother’s dream state faster than the slam of a car door. Tuesday. 5:10 AM. Too early for consciousness, too late for optimism. I bolt upright. The house is suspiciously quiet — which, as every parent knows, is code for something has gone terribly wrong. I fling open the front door… and freeze. There, in the driveway, is my Rottweiler. Locked ins

(Or: Westley and the Great Backyard Uprising) Friday. 4:30 PM. If one more person says “Happy Friday!” I might spontaneously combust. It’s not happy — it’s triage. Oh, you’ve got a lovely weekend ahead? Nice. Mine’s about survival tactics. I’m already late for a coffee catch-up, guilty for rescheduling again, and supposed to be getting ready for an awards night. You know, one of those events where you’re meant to look like a capable professional, not someone who reheated thei

with a Green Dog and Cancelled Holidays.

Or: How One Small Boy and His Rottweiler Are Slowly Unravelling My Sanity