Wednesday, March 10, 2010

A Post in Which I Liken Soccer Moms Taking Their Children to Practice to Me Bringing My Dog to Obedience Training

Before I get started on my new writing endeavor, I would like to take this time to tell the tale of tonight.

The Wall dog and I went to training class.

And I got a small but very palpable glimpse of what I might be like as a working mother. Yikes.

5:15pm: Need to leave work. Needed to leave work 15 minutes ago. Client calls me about being medicated early tomorrow. Shit. Need to get approval from a Coordinator.

5:17pm: Get approval. Call front desk to confirm, call client. Start to walk towards the mail room to clock out. Stopped by client with some crazy crisis. Can't stop. Then he mentions one of a few magic words that always makes me halt in my tracks. I stop. Double shit.

5:22pm: Another counselor walks by and I extract myself from the conversation saying that I will see this client tomorrow.

5:23pm: Get stopped by creepy and inappropriate fellow counselor who tries to give me a light-up rose from Valentines Day. I am too tired and too much in a rush to be polite, so I say "What the hell would I do with that?" Well, truth be told, first I asked if it was candy. It wasn't. So I got snippy.

5:25pm: Try to slip out door to only get approached by a client in the parking lot who missed his appointment today. He approaches me saying "I have pneumonia, but I'll see you tomorrow." I quickly back away and tell him 'okay' while making a mental note to make sure to have Lysol stocked in my office tomorrow.

5:30pm-5:55pm: Get in car. Race home. Get home.

6:00pm: Say hi to Wallster. Get together his stuff while quickly doing a few training exercises from last week. It is at this point that I have the sinking feeling that A) We are going to be late and B) Ask myself if this is what working moms feel when faced with the dreaded after school activity.

6:10pm - 6:40pm: Drive while practicing 'down' at red lights. Not only am I negligent for not having arrived home in time to help him practice his homework, but I am also recklessly endangering him by trying to make up for that negligence by multi-tasking while negotiating rush hour traffic. Not exactly quality time.

6:45pm: Walk into training class 15 minutes late. Seven pairs of eyes lock squarely on the 'bad' mommy and her charge. Wally is apprehensive because last class (at which I was on time! I swear!) we were the only students and the trainer reminded me of Mister Rogers sans zip-up cardigan, but with a wide variety of doggie treats. This time we walk into a room of three dogs and women of varying ages and sizes. The new trainer is a no nonsense stocky female. With no treats. Triple shit.

6:50pm: Wally is barking at the other dogs and farting.

6:51pm: We are asked to stand at the end of the room like the dunces of the class that we are. Wally is still farting.

6:52pm: The trainer asks us to walk with the dogs in a circle around the room. Wally decides that this would be a good time to flop belly down to the floor and grip with his claws, which basically equals me dragging him like a sack of rocks around the room. Begin to understand mothers that drag their children on leashes. Kind of. Wally lunges and barks at a Golden Retriever three times his size. Understand the impetus behind leashes a bit more.....hopefully my someday-child will not bark.....

6:53pm-7:30pm: Intermittent farting, barking and dragging. Mostly from Wally.

7:31pm: Trainer lady ends the class and says that I did a good job and that Wally improved throughout the class. This makes me feel good about me, but bad about my encourageable child-dog. We are still asked to wait until all the dogs leave before walking out. Like being kept after class for a mini-detention. She gives us a handout that Wally instantly tries to eat.

Walking to the car, I can briefly imagine what this must be like for a mother with one child. I CANNOT on the other hand imagine this with mutilple children, much less with varying tasks at hand. How does one help their child practice the flute or Korean without knowing it themselves? Oh the horror. That's why I'm sticking with my flatulent pup for now. No flatulent children for awhile.

1 comment:

  1. Smelly dog, smelly dog what is FACE feeding you?
    I was seriously guffawing at the image of a farty dog dragging you around!