Puppies, Passwords, and Parking

Most days, my husband asks me, “What did you do today?” I think really hard for a minute because I want to list things I accomplished. We left the house at the same time so he knows I drove the kids to school with the new puppy in the crate, but that doesn't rate as an accomplishment. I hiked and made it home before 9am, carrying the puppy who fought against the leash and then sat, refusing to walk at all. I tried pulling him but dragging the cutest puppy ever as he looked like a confused plush toy being abused by a toddler wasn't buying me any fans. After the hike, I barely had time to rinse off and no time to wash my hair, all the while watching the puppy christen every rug in the house. Our other dog, Buster Brown, howled and whimpered over the injustices.

Today, like many days, I forgot all my passwords. I needed one for Apple and it was as if I pulled at a thread and everything unraveled. Sounds silly. I should just use the same one for most accounts, right? Have a journal and write them down. I do that. Problem is many require a Capital letter or a number or at least eight characters. So my passwords have evolved into a maze I cannot decipher. When I'm on my desktop the cloud remembers them for me, but my phone or a child needing the Amazon password sinks me. Other moms confess that they can't remember their passwords either. I have 72 passwords between social media, airlines, shopping sites, email and music accounts, my computer, banks, my business, and more. Those are the ones I remember. I'm sure I have dormant accounts such as retail ones that I use on late night shopping sprees for last minute Christmas gifts. I don't have a bad memory yet (although my husband claims it is quite selective). It's that the whole password culture has gotten out of control. I've thrown up the white flag on passwords.

I have two blogs that I need to write and an article to edit. Puppy training is non-stop but I manage to finish one thing. I try to print and there is no ink or paper. The kids print all their homework out on my work printer in vivid colors so every month at some point I run out of paper and/or ink. I drive to Costco to get more supplies. I have to park in the shade because I have the puppy with me. I see about fifty handicap spots near the entrance and most are empty. Shoot! I end up parking about a mile away. Costco parking lots do not bring out the best in people so I walk carefully, avoiding angry looking drivers.

As I enter Costco, my senses are assaulted by Christmas decorations – it's only the first week in October. What's going on? I have a mountain of things to get done before the holidays! I can't have the holidays thrown at me now. I'm so overwhelmed by the Christmas decorations that I forget to buy the ink. I do buy enough fruit to feed an army although we have never, ever finished a Costco size package of fruit. I'm hungry so I sample the foods and buy the Angus cheeseburgers, granola bars and Saimin noodles. I'm not sure who's going to eat any of this.

When I return home, our new adorable little puppy morphs into destructo-puppy, when I open the crate. He scampers up the stairs looking like a clumsy rabbit. He pushes through the railing openings, intending to jump down a story. I yell, “stop puppy!” He chews my child's dirty sock and the chair legs. He even chews the carpet. He bites my feet and barks at me for attention. It's puppy pandemonium and he is still not house-trained. I put him back in the crate and set off. The kids have three piano lessons, two tennis lessons, one basketball clinic and a tutor. My son ripped another sneaker so I have to replace those. My daughter gets in the car and rants about how terrible clowns are for almost five minutes. I don't dare ask how the clowns came up. Instead, I check to see if my ears are bleeding.

I clear the dining room table for homework. My son feels that homework somehow violates his rights and he does not want to spend any more time on it. Everyone wants to play with the new puppy and we still have to vote on his name. The puppy is completely wild, excited to see the kids. He has an accident on my dining room rug. I grab him, push his nose in it, and say, “This is not for puppies. NO!” Then I bring him to his puppy pad and put him on it. My daughter rushes over, picks him up, and says, “Stop being mean to the puppy. Let's name him Bear.”

It's six o'clock. The caller ID is my husband. He asks, “Hey Sweetie! What did you do today?” I smile into the phone, not really having any answer. “Nothing much.”