Dear Kid,

The weather has gone completely squwonky. I know this because I consulted my favorite weather expert–me.

It’s March, which means we should expect changing weather. And, boy oh boy, do we have it.

One minute it’s beautiful, the next we’re mid-snowstorm. One moment we have light, wafting breezes, the next the wind and rain are auditioning for the role of “Tornado” in The Wizard of Oz.

Yesterday I had to wear water wings and add pontoons to the car to drive to work. The day before was sub-zero with polar bears looking through the neighborhoods for a nice summer home.

Today we have a monsoon. AND allergy season. How is that even possible? I have no idea, but here in the Ohio Valley, it’s happening.

I consulted the Puppy to get his views on the matter.

It will not surprise you to learn that he thoroughly disapproves of weather extremes. A little bit of rain or dew enhances the sniffing experience, but beyond that the trade-off of being wet (“And you taking too long to wipe my paws. Put that in there too!”) isn’t worth it (“Of course not. You take too long to dry me. I have toys to play with and naps to take. I’m BUSY, woman!”).

The prediction is for gorgeous (mid-60s) weather the next few days and then several inches of snow on the weekend.

So basically, “March” means “time to wear galoshes rather than suede boots.”

I’m making a list of indoor chores for the weekend.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

We have a problem.

Dad and I were working in the backyard this weekend. We’re starting to get a new garden area ready because…well, because we’re insane. That might sound like it’s the problem, but it’s not.

The Puppy was outside with us, wandering around and sniffing and generally being his lazy puppy self.

All of a sudden, he (the Puppy) perked up and started pawing at the ground near the corner of the house. Dad looked up and smiled. “He found a mole or a vole or something.”

I glanced over and saw one nose poking around and one tail waiving frantically at the other end of the Puppy. “Should we stop him?” asked Dad.

“Why? He looks so happy.”a

“I just don’t want him to get his nose bitten.”

“I don’t think he’ll get his nose bitten.”

We stopped what we were doing and went over to watch.

“What has he got?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s a RABBIT!!”

“It’s a baby bunny!!!!”

“Puppy, stop that!”

Daddy grabbed the leash and pulled the Puppy away from the baby bunny. The Puppy was not amused – we took away his friend and he didn’t like that at all.

The bunny hugged the wall of the house and tried to act invisible.

Dad took the Puppy inside where he barked and howled and explained his problems at the very top of his voice. We ignored him. He reached new octaves of outrage.

He expressed (in no uncertain terms) how badly he was being treated. How unfair it was that we had taken him away from his new favorite toy – that moved all by itself! And how mean we were to put him inside when we were staying outside where his new friend was. AND no one was feeding him. Unforgivable. 

If he had fingers he’d have texted everyone on the planet. And called the newspapers.

Worst. Parents. Ever.

(Fortunately, giving him dinner seemed to solve most of the problems. His tiny little brain and generally forgiving nature solved the rest.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Once again, it’s Monday. It happens every 7 days, so I’m sure you’re not surprised.

But this is no ordinary Monday, my friend. No, no.

This is a Monday to put a smile on your face.

Because today is—wait for it—Love Your Pet Day.

The need for such a day is, well, imo, silly. It’s like saying we should have a day called Breathe Oxygen Day. Duh.

But apparently someone (I’m guessing the card companies) decided it was a good idea (completely overlooking the fact that Pets Can’t Read).

For the record, the Best of All Possible Pets is currently celebrating by napping. When I asked earlier, he said he plans to celebrate by eating, sleeping, and trying to convince everyone he comes in contact with to adore him. And he wouldn’t object to some jerky or pumpkin. In other words, business as usual.

If we had a hedgehog, I’d have to go buy mealworms for a treat, which is kind of ick. Did you know that hedgehogs are considered exotic pets in Ohio? I have no idea what that means either, except that you can’t just go get a hedgehog whenever you want.

I’m pretty sure you can’t just go adopt a river otter either…

It’s a good thing we already have The Puppy. Who is only exotic in that he’s ours.

I think I’ll celebrate Love Your Pet Day by snuggling with him.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

The Puppy has the hiccups.

Like most unexpected bodily functions, this one has him confused, affronted, surprised, and insulted.

I don’t know if all puppy hiccups are like his but his are irregular. No set rhythm. Hic. Hic. Hic-hic. Hic. Hic-hic-hic.

First he tried ignoring them. They persisted.

Then he tried moving from his pillow to the dining room.

No change in hiccup-ness.

He tried running away from them. They followed.

I called him into the kitchen and suggested he have a drink of water. He hic-ed and stared at me. I caved and gave him a treat. After which he drank and drowned the hiccups.

Now he’s napping in order to recover from the trauma.

It can be very hard being a puppy.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

A Perfect Sunday (obviously) starts with the night before. Last night Dad took me to see the North College Hill Community Theater production of The Real Inspector Hound. The accents came and went a bit, but it was delightful (I LOVE Tom Stoppard [the author]) and a nice little space. The only thing that could have improved it would have been to tie it with another of Stoppard’s one act plays. On the flip side, with only one act we got home before bedtime.

Also last night the Puppy slept through the night. Which was a Big Freakin’ Deal. We are quite hopeful that this is a sign that the 4am barking phase is over and done with.

Today, I hope to get to the gym early and be home in time for the most important event of the year. You got it: the Puppy Bowl.

This year they’ve included several “disabled” dogs. Um, “differently-abled” please. The really wonderful news is that all these pups are from shelters and have now been adopted. Big cheer from the endzone if you ask me.

Also, flippin’ cute.

Then there’s football.

I really hope it’s a good game. It’s the last one of the season and I hope, hope, hope it provides 100% in the way of entertainment and sport and 0% in the way of scandal. We, the People, need that.

Meanwhile, the sun is shining, the streets are clear, and the coffee is hot.

This is shaping up to be a perfect Sunday.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

So it happened.

As we knew (or at least feared) it would.

The groundhog, Mr. Punxsutawney Phil himself, saw his shadow, screeched in alarm, and darted back down underneath his covers, there to stay until 2021.

Perhaps it wasn’t his shadow that so freaked him out. I’m not a groundhog handler, so I can’t be sure.

Regardless, we are likely to have more winter before we have spring. This surprises exactly no one except those of me who were slightly hopeful.

We are continuing to have issues with the Puppy barking at all sorts of unapproved hours. He’s being very closed-snouted about the why of the whole thing.

At first I thought he just decided that he’s too grown up and doesn’t need a crate anymore, but I don’t think that’s it.

‘Tis a puzzlement.

Not an amusing one since it is diametrically opposite sleep. Which we like. A lot.

Between the additional winter and the less than standard amount of sleep, you have fairly cranky parents.

You’ve been warned.

Love, Mom