Cold Spaghetti

On Saturday afternoon, we made Paul clean himself of debris from the back and walk around the block to Octavia Books, a local bookstore that also was one of Will’s first words. (He loved walking in the bookstore during our walks around the block and would request “Octavia Books!” as a way to tell us he wanted to go for a walk.)
Here is Kate. Storytime had ended and we were waiting for The Big Event.
MEETING ELMO. WOW.

Elmo “signed” a book (a bookstore clerk stamped it with Elmo’s signature) and I took some pictures.

Then, the day continued. Paul and Will went to the back to work on the house and Kate and I walked hand-in-hand to Whole Foods. We had just walked into the parking area when Kate saw The Dog. I had to tighten my grip on her as she tried to run with all her might towards the animal, who had noticed Kate and was equally struggling to reach her. The dog was probably a year or younger, of medium size, golden like a retriever with a fluffy tail and with big floppy ears. Very Cute. The dog and Kate finally met at the door, where they kissed and hugged and squealed with delight. I said to the woman holding the dog’s leash, “What a cute dog.” She hopefully replied, “Oh, the dog is up for adoption. He needs a home.” I looked down at Kate loving on that puppy. Uh-oh.

“We have a cat,” I quickly replied and scooped her up. We said goodbye and went into the store. Kate was great in the store, but I was worried about having to walk past the dog again. Then, I saw the dog’s keeper in produce — so I assumed that the dog had already found a home.

WRONG. We left the store and found the dog and woman again; she’d put the dog in the car for a second to get him a some watermelon. The Kate-dog love fest began again, with even more intensity. Seeing the dog was even more exciting to her than seeing Elmo, if you can imagine such a thing. I was getting desperate.

“My oldest got bit by a dog when he was little and is deathly afraid,” I lied, knowing full well that Will has been begging for a dog for weeks.

This time, when I scooped up Kate, she began to cry. “Doooooooggggggg, Nooooooo, DOOOOOOGGGGGG!” She wailed, reaching with all her might over my shoulder.

And then, the dog started to whimper. Over her cries, the garage filled with his whimpers… followed by (and I am not making this up) his HOWLING. So there I am, holding a snack of groceries and a squirming, crying Kate who is reaching behind me calling out to this dog who is whimpering and howling to her.

I am pretty sure this puts me in striking distance of “The World’s Worst Mommy” award. But we are not getting a dog!!!