If it’s not one thing, it’s the dog

It never fails –

• Just when I’ve put Nate in his crib for his nap, the dog barks ridiculously at nothing.  And it’s not just a “Woof” bark – no this bark is like “I’m going to rip your head off for coming near my door BARK.”  A bark so loud and so ferocious you would actually think there was someone trying to get into our house.  I don’t even bother looking out of the window anymore – I just run straight at the dog and tell him in my loudest whisper, “BE QUIET!”  (Usually followed by other comments that I say under my breath while still glaring at the dog.)
• I find all the pieces to six different puzzles.  I put all the pieces in their place.  I neatly stack the puzzles and slide them under the couch so they will stay neat for, hopefully, a day.  I walk out of the room for a few seconds.  I come back in the room and see all the puzzles and their pieces scattered across the floor. When will I learn?  I do not know why there is something in me that insists on cleaning up while the destroyer (as we loving call Nate) is still awake.  It happens every day and every day it makes me shake my head and sigh and ask, “Why do I bother?”
• I finally think of something new to cook for the kids that I think they will like – I serve it up for them – Nate yells “NO!” at me and Nia says, “But I haven’t tried this before.”  Translation: I just wasted food and time and energy and now have to do it all over again as I come up with something they will eat.
• I successfully sneak the blankey that never leaves Nate’s sight away from him to give it a much needed bath.  Before it even makes it into his bed that night, it already has spaghetti sauce on it, some dog hair, a few crumbs from his graham cracker and I’m pretty sure there’s got to be some pee or trace amounts of poo on it since he insists on holding it as I change his diaper.  (I really hope not but I can’t help but think it – the blankey is a bio-hazard.)
• I think I’ve talked about this before but it is just a constant source of annoyance that it warrants another mention. It’s the reason that I seriously do feel like, if it’s not one thing, it’s the dog.  It’s because just when I get a break for 5 seconds to, oh I don’t know, go to the bathroom by myself, there’s the dog.  Panting.  Starring.  Yawning at me.  It seems whenever I’m trying to do anything – he’s there.  I try to cook dinner.  He blocks the refrigerator.  I try to run the dishwasher.  He positions himself so I can’t open the thing.  I step backward – I trip on him.  I love that big ball of fur so much but it seems he’s usually the thing that pushes me over the top.  (The boy usually has me right on the edge, then Joey takes it over for him.)