Restraint

Hampton Noodle has a whiffle ball addiction.  It's all well and good and I certainly don't mind keeping him in whiffle balls, but unfortunately, Nate and Quinn are also partial to the damn things.  I have probably purchased three hundred whiffle balls in the last year.  Hampton can crunch them in one exhuberant crunch, which never fails to cause ceaseless wailing from the toddler set unless I can produce an uncrunched whiffle ball, pronto.

I'm very strict with the children about taking balls from the dog and vice versa. Nate is well aware that if he gets his hands on the ball first, the power lies in his corner. Hampton can track a whiffle ball for hours. He's a passionate whiffle ball hunter.

The hunter stalks its prey. (The ball is under Nate's hand.)

 "What this? You want this?"  Nate feels powerful, but our fearless dane has more patience and a longer attention span than a two-year-old. Oh, I will get that, small one of the no touchy-touchy, and when I do I will CRUNCH it and MUNCH it.

You are kidding me right?  I know you're watching me, yelly woman with treats, but technically he put it down. I didn't take it from him. Crunching it would be fully within the rules at this point. I call foul. I want a line judge.

It's not even looking now. The small screechy one that can not be knocked over is finished with it. It is playing with a PENGUIN.

I'm whiffle crunching with my eyes.

For all my bitching, he's a very, very good eighteen month old puppy.  (Yes, I let him have the ball.)

 (We found the dog park. Great suggestion. He loves it and so do the kids. It's usually deserted too, which is a bonus.)

(He still sucks ass on any kind of leash, although he's an angel and stays right with me if he's loose. We tried the head lead thing. He is, um, very good at walking, well hopping, on his hind legs while wildly tearing at the evil contraption on his head. We'll keep working on it.)

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Soon they are going to start asking me about tile and color and shower design. Scary and exciting. Scariting. I managed to move the children temporarily into the nursery-that-is-not-going-to-be-a-nursery-any-more and to take down all the gorgeous artwork that made the Snow White room special to me. All, that is, except for the photo border. I will do it, but there will be crying, both over the fifty adorable photos of them in their baby glory and because you have no idea how hard it was to get the damn thing up there!@!

Matt thinks it looks like a scary face. I think it didn't look like a scary face until Matt said that and now I will be afraid of our house growing teeth and eating me, Amityville Horror style, at night.  As if I were not already scared of the dark.