the hair of the dog
It was a Saturday morning in the geeky household. One of those Saturday mornings when you need your coffee so badly that you are actually incapable of successfully making a pot of coffee (common caffeine deprivation induced mistakes include incorrect counting of scoops of coffee, use of cold water, oatmeal in coffee pot instead of coffee, failure to screw together french press plunger or combination of the above).While concentrating very hard on the challenge of generating a drinkable pot of coffee, I heard the voice of 2 year old geekygirl saying
"mummy, I have hair dog?"
I did a double take. Did my sweet child just ask me for a morning cocktail? I know that it is 'dance party' day at daycare on Fridays, but surely the toddlers are not sneaking in booze in their lunchboxes.
Turning to look at geekygirl, I saw her holding up a long black hair that she had discovered in her oatmeal. I explained to geekygirl that yes, you do indeed have hair dog. I mean dog hair. I explain that geekyhound's hair gets everywhere, but that hair in our oatmeal is a small price to pay for the joy and love that a dog can bring to a family.
"mummy, you have hair dog?", geekygirl responded.
I looked at the clock: 7.15 am. It was tempting, but perhaps a little too early to start drinking.
I realized though, as I contemplated the overwhelming list of things to do that weekend, that hair dog in the breakfast is my metaphor for what happens when I try to do it all. I can nurse an infant, feed a toddler and play fetch with an overexcited, underexcerised dog all before my first cup of coffee of the day, so I am bound to end up with hair dog in the food.
And you know what? I think that is OK.
