The Queen B

Buyers Remorse

It is probably never a good idea to, you know,

purchase a pet

because you like the name of the breed. However, for some reason that no one in the palace seems to recall, we did.

The valiant breed of the Schnoodle.

We ordered Ruby from a website. There are two major problems with that: ordered Ruby and website.

Should a loving family ever be ordering living creatures from the world wide web? Sight unseen? No clue as to how this Schnoodle was raised? Not really sure of what makes up a Schnoodle? You be the judge.

After emailing a lady two times I felt the time was right to commit to the Schnoodle. So, I sent her a ridiculous amount of money via Paypal. I then sent my parents on a four hour drive to, ahem, a Western Sizzlin' parking lot. The Queen Mother was a little disturbed that Ms. Schnoodle Raiser was circling the parking lot really slowly and looking more than a little shady. When they finally approached her, Ms. Schnoodle Raiser chunks the five -week -old -three -pound dog at them, says the papers are in the mail and burns rubber out of the Western Sizzlin'.

We now sense that there are breeds that shouldn't be, well, bred. Take for instance a weenie dog and a dalmatian. It just probably shouldn't happen. Such is the tale of the poodle and the schnauzer. Each taken on their own merit make wonderful pets...surely. However, when combined... it is not pretty.

We are quite sure that most of the responsibility rests with Ms. Schnoodle Raiser (who never sent those papers, by the way). She bears no blame, however, for the black skin with white hair. She cannot be held accountable for this coarse white hair that exists in all places. All places but the mohawk of soft beige curls down her back, that is.

We can hold her responsible for the fleas that came along for the ride. And for the fact that Ruby was apparently never let out of her crate to go to the bathroom. Let your imaginations run with that one.

Ruby is a special dog.

Perhaps God knew that here at the palace, we root for the underdog. We like to meet a challenge head on. For all her faults...and there are many, many faults...we love this Schnoodle.

Labels: pets

It will only hurt for a minute

Yesterday was delightful.

My daughter, heretofore known as The Princess (you know, the Queen theme...), had a regularly scheduled teeth cleaning. No big deal. Never had a cavity (not to boast, but don't you think that speaks to excellent mom skills?) Gets a kick out of TVs in the ceiling. She approached the appointment with one teeny worry. Teeth pulling.

Let me pause for a brief history of The Princess's mouth trauma:

2 yrs. old--Falls into front steps mouth first knocking 2 teeth into her gums. Like, all the way into. Like, couldn't see the teeth. No front teeth until permanents come in at age 6.

9 yrs. old--Gets nailed in the mouth with a baseball bat when walking behind the batters box thing. Cracks the permanent front tooth. Loses all sensation of heat. Requires monthly check ups to gauge its status for, apparently, the rest of forever.

Back to yesterday.

For some reason (and I'm certain a fault of her father's--heretofore known as The King--he'll love that) 2 of her permanents have been growing in above the babies. The babies have no idea that they need to come out. A boy in her class called her "Shark Teeth". She has had 2 layers of teeth.

Ok. In the above paragraph, I already broke 2 of my rules. I shamed The King and embarrassed The Princess.

So, going into the appointment, she asks if they will pull the Shark Teeth.

"Of course, not. Dentists never schedule extra time for things. If they feel that they need to be pulled we will have to schedule it for far, far away."

After the 10 minute teeth cleaning (not kidding), the dentist says, "Would you like me to get those 2 teeth out?"

"Sure!" I reply without hesitation. The tears start flowing.

We go into the Extraction Room where a Cute Hygienist asks if we want laughing gas. Well, yes. The dentist comes in to "squirt" some "juice" into her mouth with a needle. (Got it?) She cries a little at first. Then she wails. At one point, she actually screamed. Horror.

The hyperventilation that accompanied the wailing apparently aided in the ingestion of the laughing gas. The Princess begins to giggle uncontrollably. For a while. Cute Hygienist says, "Wow. Normally people don't really laugh".

Dentist comes in. Out pop the Shark Teeth. The Princess gets to choose a pack of Floam to take home (another post for another time).

All is well.

Except for he said we need to schedule an appointment for orthodontia.

Labels: parenting

Out the window

Ok. My family's modesty is officially gone. I am going to pretend that I will not mention names or embarrass my ten year old. I will vow to not share important matters. I will pledge that my husband will never be shamed. Whatever. I give it a week until I have probably done all of the above. And then some.

My hesitation into the blogging world pretty much boils down to one thing...ok, two things: grammar and punctuation. I truly fear misusing semi-colons. I will spend more time than necessary obssessing over commas. It's true. (I got that one right.)

I need a small creative outlet. I also need to remember things that I'll forget. This seems like a good place to start.

Labels: blogging