On Saturday morning DH and I packed the kids into the minivan, loaded it with snacks and DVDs and cameras and coffee, and headed south.
Our prospective dogs’ current owners agreed to meet us halfway between Northern Virginia and Knoxville, their current home. Consider four hours of this from the back of the car:
(In the car, they speak as one. Frankly, it doesn’t matter which one): Mama. Mama. Mamamamamamama? Mommy? I need a snack.
DH: Give your mother a minute. She’s…doing something on her computer. Hey, do you have wireless on that?
Me: Yes. (I turn on the radio.)
Back: I wanna watch a show. Can we have a show? Dora? No, Diego. Can we have Dora?
Me: (typing) May we have Dora. Please. And yes you may, in a minute.
DH: Can you google where we are? I want to see what exit is next.”
Me: (still typing) We stay on 81 for like 300 miles. We don’t have to get off anytime soon. Who needs a snack?
Back: ME! Me! Meeeeeee!
DH: I like to know where we are, though. (turns off the radio)
Me: Hey, I was listening to that!
DH: I thought you were getting them a snack.
Back: Snacky! Snacky snacky snacky snack! Can we have chips? Can we have a show now?
DH: May we. Please. (To me:) What are you doing?
Me: Working on my blog.
DH: Can you please get them a snack?
Me: I said I would. (I close the laptop and pull out some raisins and cashews.)
Back: But I wanted goldfish! I no yike cashews!
DH: What are we doing?
Me: (sigh) Injecting two strange dogs into the equation so that this moment, by comparison in retrospect, makes us nostalgic for simpler, saner times when we were really “in control?”
We know this feeling. Or, at least, in keeping with the spirit of blogging truthiness, I certainly recognized it. Same feeling I had we got engaged (following the yin/yang vice soul-mate relationship model); when we bought puppy Samson and brought him to our DC condo without so much preparation as a pre-purchasing a leash; when we moved to NYC; when we moved back; when we drove home from the hospital with the screaming, colicky Pebbles; when we bought a broken down farmhouse in a historic district to renovate.
And I knew, with these dogs, what we could be getting into.
And DH did too, in this nauseating little life moment. I could see his satisfied, mid-west-modest grin out of the corner of my eye.