Poor Nosy Dog

This morning the Spouse took Emily out for her morning squeeze. She's reached a new phase in her dog-development: the sniffy phase. And this morning, as I'd feared for some time, she sniffed in a foxtail. This is potentially life-threatening situation, as the damned things can get lodged in the dog's twisty nasal passages and cause infections that can move into the brain and other squishy bits (I've heard rumors of foxtails moving directly into the brain, but I'm not sure this isn't an urban myth). Poor dog was sneezing so hard she literally levitated with a few of the sneezes. So Heroic Spouse grabbed the dog up and took her to the emergency vet (it being, of course, a holiday) and she has been anesthetized, de-foxtailed, and will be available for pick up in half an hour.

We are efficient in packing in as much chaos as possible into our day, are we not?

Tryin' to Make Me Go to Rehab But I Said No, No, No

Avocado's desk is well over a dozen years old, a hand-me-down from her sister. It was never a particularly good piece of furniture--the sort of particle-board thing that you expect your kid to outgrow. Today we decided that she had outgrown the desk, and we headed off to Ikea with a floorplan in our pockets and a hey nonny nonny in our hearts.

Ikea. Labor Day. Ow.

Shopping with highly articulate 12 year old who knows exactly what she wants and damn the cost, the consequence, or the fact that she has a total of 114 square feet to work with. Ugh.

Talking her out of a full-size bed, a foam mattress to replace her current mattress, three different new lamps, and new shelves. Whew.

Finally settling on the things she wants, buying them, and then (in the heat and sun and swelter) discovering that one box will not fit into the car. Lashing it on top, loading the car with the rest of the stuff, tying everything down with miles of nylon twine. Yearghhh.

In the end she not only replaced her desk, but got a matching bed. I have put the bed together so that the child has a place to sleep tonight, but she has been firmly instructed that all the stuff that has been removed from her shelves so that we can move them and install her new desk must be put into four different stacks of boxes: keep; store for sentimental reasons; throw out; and give away. At the moment there are piles tottering all over her room and into the hallway. I have a deep suspicion that I will have to stand over her with threats and molten lava to get this part of the project done.