In which I only have one child

And this week it has been forcibly brought home to me WHY. The girlchild is lovely as usual, but I have been doodle-sitting. My parents are out of state, and their pup has been hanging out with us. And OH MY GOD. Seriously, I do not know how people with more than one child manage to do it because these are dogs. Children are infinitely more difficult. It isn't that the responsibility doubles with a second dog around. It multiplies in some sort of strange exponential fashion that only theoretical mathematicians would understand. We've had four toys and one bookmark destroyed completely. There have been attempts to eat the sofa, the restaurant-style prep table in my kitchen--the STEEL restaurant prep table, mind you--and endless shedding of fur and immodest mounting. The respite should come when they are quiet, but that's when I have to be most on my guard because it means they are exploring something new. I just this minute caught them trying to pry a nail out of the wooden floor with their teeth.

The worst part is that they teach each other things. Deacon never looked sideways at a table leg until Sophie showed him the tasty delights of wood, and he in turn initiated her into the papery goodness of books. I've managed a tiny fraction of what I had on this week's to-do list, and my house looks like it's been hit by a tornado of fur. So my hat is firmly doffed to those of you who manage to keep track of more than one warm, wiggly body at a time, be they children or pets. You are better folk than I, that's for certain.

Mercifully, my parents are back tomorrow and the dogs will return to wreaking individual havoc. Until then, send wine.