I Solemnly Swear I Am Up To No Good

Indy's new motto: Toddler by Day, Newborn By Night.

Let me start by saying that this puppy is adorable and affectionate and playful and everything we wanted in a puppy, and I solemnly swear he is almost always up to no good.

Perusing just a few Internet resources -- "Surviving a Puppy"; "Puppies: The First Thirty Days" -- it is clear to me that nothing out of the ordinary is happening around here. We've had some interrupted sleep (and I'm reminded of why it is highly unusual for fifty-something women to have newborns). We've cleaned up some messes (and did I really think my house was dirty before Indy's arrival? Ha!). We've found suspicious teeth marks on shoes and sheets and furniture (and does anyone listen when I say Put it Away! Close the doors!)

But the good outweighs the troublesome, and puppyhood doesn't last forever (or so the websites assure me). Indy no longer views his crate as total abandonment. When we say "Crate, Indy," he doesn't welcome confinement, but we aren't dealing with the incessant barking (bad) or the whimpering (much worse). Nap time made newborns and toddlers a little more manageable, so we're glad he gives us breaks. 

He now sits and shakes, and the kids think we've adopted the smartest puppy on the planet. (Mom would gladly forego sit and shake for two other verbs that both begin with the letter "P.")

Meet Indy

If you had peered at our calendar this week, you would have spied this notation:

Two weeks ago we had a meet and greet with a local breeder and eight of the cutest puppies you've ever seen. We selected one of the males and made arrangements to bring him home at eight weeks.

So this was the scene yesterday:

As veteran dog owners have warned me, a puppy is a cross between a newborn and a toddler. Indy is definitely more newborn than toddler at this stage, complete with the plaintive cries that will rend your heart, the sleepless nights, the sweet softness, the mystery that asks who this is, exactly, I've brought into my home? 

Indy reminds me of Ainsley in that he really, really likes being near his people. Yes, it hasn't been quite 24 hours, but already we're his people. If we're nearby, he curls up and sleeps like a baby. Apparently, I'm allowed to complete minor, fairly unimportant tasks so long as I don't get a wild hair and try something c-r-a-z-y like, say, walking into an adjacent room to transfer a load of laundry. This is not allowed. Productivity has screeched to a halt.

But I am so happy he's ours. 

John insisted on sleeping next to Indy on Night # 1. There was some whimpering and a bathroom break at 4:00 a.m. (handled by John). Night # 2 was a whole lot of crazy for reasons wholly unrelated to the pooch. Spring Dance was Saturday night. I gradually learned that the Parents of Juniors play a pivotal and pricey role in bringing all the fun to pass. Mostly this involved handing over some cash and staying up way, way past my bedtime. I popped over to Instagram to see my friend Rachel drinking coffee at 10 p.m. -- unusual even for me, the ardent coffee drinker, noteworthy for Rachel who doesn't really drink coffee. Yes, we stalwart Parents of Juniors cleaned up the dance starting at 11:00 and cleaned up the after party beginning at 1:00. Bedtime was close to 3:00.

We attempted to farm out the little people to make this crazy evening a little more manageable. John expressed deep concerns about Indy.

"Sleep on the floor next to him, Mom," my sweet, besotted John implored. "Don't make him sleep in the crate or at least put the crate next to your bed."

Were I to sleep on the floor, I'm fairly certain I would A) not sleep at all or B) be wholly unable to get off the floor come morning. So the crate was bedside as I sacked out at 3:00. It wasn't gruesome. As dawn broke, I let Indy out of the crate. He found a comfy spot under the bed and there he slept until 10:30.

Not too bad for a newborn!

All in all, it's been a great weekend. Tim, it seems, has found a replacement for the car an errant driver totaled a few weeks back. I helped our next door neighbors move. The Spring Dance was magical. My sweet ninth graders -- the class that brought me back into the world of teaching -- are now seniors and so handsome and beautiful I cried as they were introduced. The decorations, headed up by another student, were perfect and amazing and different. So proud of Clare. Kolbe was his usual steady and hardworking and handsome self. Tired though I was, I loved working with our assistant superintendent, our junior class, and the other parents, who are my dear friends and neighbors. Day of rest though it should be, I spent quite a lot of time Sunday attending to dust and dander and puppy puddles.

Welcome to our life, sweet Indy!

Indy's Easter basket.

It's full, gloriously full, and you will add so much to it!