Lovely Furballs

We are falling into a daily routine with our puppies these days. They have been very full days, what with the flooring going in, Sam's job search, and my general time-off lazing about on the couch. Here's what our days are like:
5:30 One of the boys barks to go outside to do their business. One of us bolts down the stairs to put them out. While they are outside, we wash and refill their half-gallon water dish and shake out their blanket. A good sniff around the den next, to be sure there are no nasty little surprises left anywhere, that the couch isn't bitten into, and their toys are out from under the couch.
5:45 After chasing each other around the yard, doing their business, tearing a few more iris fronds out of the ground, they come careening into the house when I whistle for them. They are usually chewing landscaping bark that we remove by taking their jaw in hand and saying, "Ah!" They open their mouths and we remove whatever half-chewed foreign object is there.
6:00 Breakfast for the boys that triggers wild jumping, crying, and wriggling about, licking my legs and pulling on my nightgown whilst I fill their food bowls.
6:10 I sit on the floor and the boys climb onto my lap to chew their toys for awhile. They really seem to enjoy snuggling into my lap. This always dissolves into one puppy on either side of my legs, digging for all they are worth to reach each other under my knees. Once contact is made by my lifting of the knees, they reach for each other's mouths, biting, showing teeth, and whining, nipping, and growling at each other. This goes on until the growling and barking grows annoying.
As a way to prevent the escalation, we have a training session.
The puppies can now sit, shake hands, and lie down. Getting down and staying down until they are released is what we're working on right now. When I tell them, "Down!" and point to the floor right in front of them, they both whine and cry as if they don't want to do it. But eventually they do lie down, for a few moments. And that is enough, for the time being. They are only three months, so while Charlie could continue on with training, Baxter isn't nearly as mature. He just wants to have a good time and be a baby.
7:00 We have to do the face and ear washing ritual. I get one of them on my lap and with a cotton ball, gently clean around their eyes and then inside their ears. They are usually very happy to sit still while their eyes are cleaned, but the ear cleaning doesn't usually occur without a whine or struggle. But after the cleaning, we snuggle for awhile. Their little bodies go limp and they lean into me, sleepy and content.
Mornings are their sleepy times. They generally sleep from about 8:30 - noon, waking up for a potty trip outside, before going back to sleep for another hour or two. This is when I can get things done around here.
In the afternoon they really come alive after their lunch. We try to put them outside for about 30 minutes at a time so they can play, run around, and get out from under our feet. They yip and fight under the bushes until they drop and chew on things they shouldn't be eating: lily fronds, bark, sprinkler heads, etc. Because it's been over 100 degrees outside this week, we bring them in pretty quickly.
In the evening when it gets cooler, they roil about yipping and chasing each other through the yard or the den. When I say to them, "Wanna go for a walk?" Charlie goes ballistic, jumping up and down, whining, and chasing his tail. Baxter slinks off under the bench and lies down, looking sadly up at me through his eyebrows. He is frightened of cars, of the leash, of birds, and of himself, most likely. It is only in the last two days that he's been able to walk any distance on the leash without throwing himself on the grass and screaming. (Not howling, screaming, as though I were skinning him alive). Charlie on the other hand, rushes to the front door and holds his head high while he trots down the sidewalk next to me.
When they get back from the walk, we go through their tricks again and get treats. That keeps them satisfied for about 20 minutes, and then they get wild again, racing through the house. That is the signal that it's time to give them their evening ice cubes out on the back patio. They chew them and throw them in the air before having fights over the select cubes.
At some point they mercifully fall into a deep sleep on the floor, their fat little legs sticking straight out behind them as they sleep on their stomachs. At 10:00, we go out for a last potty stop, and then put them in their little puppy playpen for the evening. "Nite-nite!" we tell them as we turn off the lights. They are three sheets to the wind by the time we are to the stairs.

I suppose this is how new parents of human babies count their days, too. Sam has been through all of this before, but I haven't. These little guys are my kids. I'm delighted but tired. Their sleepy heads dozing against my neck, the wet nose on the back of my ankle when I'm cooking, the fat furry feet placed in my hand when I tell them to "shake," and the big black eyes gazing into mine, make it all worthwhile.

One down, five to go

I am sitting here on the couch with my feet up. Six of my fingernails are broken and jagged. My hands are so rough that if I handled pantyhose, the skin on my fingers would put runs in them. I have four bruises on my legs and numerous little cuts. The muscles around my knees are really, really sore and tired. My low back is a little tired and my eyes feel gritty from the sawdust that resulted from all the floor boards that I've cut. My left index fingernail is white from being hit three times (count 'em, THREE times!) with the mallet. But we have a gorgeous floor in one bedroom upstairs. It is the study, and will be used as a hobby or guest room while we live here. It is the room in which I've learned how to lay laminate flooring.
Sam and I started out together working on it, but I discovered rather quickly that unlike me, he doesn't find it terribly exciting work. (I also hatched a new research interest: how do renovation activities impact marriages?!) Doing my own renovation has very different meaning for me than it has for him. To Sam, 'having' to do it ourselves means that we are short on money, because people should be paid to come in and do this. But for me, who grew up where so many homes were over 100 years old and everyone was renovating something, it is just part of life. There is real New England pride in being able to say that you did something yourself. So I have been very eager to get started on this project.
It is a huge project! On Friday we tore up the old carpet and padding in two upstairs guest bedrooms. Sunday we got started putting down the floor following the advice of instructional videos that we found online. Start about two feet out from the far wall and then lay the boards in one at a time until there are two or three rows. Then shove the entire thing up to be plumb with the far walls. Sounded good, but it didn't work that way. We had real difficulty getting the boards to line up. Instead of tapping them into place, we were whaling away at them to get them to fit togehter. There was none of this "clicking the boards into place" kind of thing. It was brute force. After three hours we had only put down three feet of flooring. We were sweating and Sam was at the height of his element.
I called the flooring company. As I was explaining our dilemma to the good man on the phone he stopped short and said, "Is the pounding that I hear what you're doing with the flooring?" He was horrified. "You're going to ruin the boards that way. Bring in a box of your flooring and let's see how we can help you." So I jumped in the car and drove the 30 miles over to Buddy's Flooring Outlet and watched the manager pop all of the boards in my box into place in about three minutes flat. There is a technique that can't be taught and obviously, we didn't know it.
This morning I started in on the floor again, deciding that since I enjoyed it and Sam doesn't, I would happily do it alone at my own speed. Seven hours later, that study is almost done. The boards aren't on the closet floor yet, and I have one little board that needs to be cut with the coping saw to fit around the door jam. The last finishing touch will be the small baseboard round that needs to be nailed where the baseboard meets the flooring.
I am tired but happy. And somewhat overwhelmed at the magnitude of the rest of the job that is waiting. Gladly, I needn't do all the floors at one time, right now. I think I'll aim for the second guest room and the upstairs hallway before I call it quits. I have to go to work next week and I want to get some rest before school starts.
Hurray for do-it-yourself attitudes and efforts!