Sunday Morning Spooning!

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

I love the weekends because the pace is different.  No one is getting up early to head off to work and I am not getting up early because I forgot to pack the someone’s lunch who heads off to work.  My dogs love when everyone is home and Vern seems to up his walk bys just to see if Dad is still in bed. 

The other morning after I took the dogs out, Fudge wanted to go back to bed and stopped on John’s side of the bed and started wagging her tail and wanted up on the bed to be beside him.  Once up on the bed she always faces him and makes sure her worst side is facing me and then starts to draw him into her belly-rubbing web by pawing him until he delivers the goods.  Sometimes, I try and take over for him and she all but shrugs off my hand and I can just hear her thinking, “back off, sister, this is between dad and me.” I learned a long time ago with two daughters that dads are special to little girls and even though I may be the only one who thinks I am the better parent, I have found it is better to keep that information to myself or risk being told otherwise.  No one needs to know that I have already declared myself the winner in the parenting and dog ownership department and really every other imaginary contest between John and me. I could go around shouting, “loser,” to John whenever I scored a point in my head, but people tend to get concerned when random words are shouted out, so I just say it on a need to know basis, although not everyone agrees with the need to know part.

Sunday morning, however, Fudge realized when John turned over that she had two choices, 1) accept me as a belly rubbing substitute or 2) continue to paw the world’s greatest “How was I supposed to know you wanted me to do something?” excuse giver of a man the world has ever seen.  Fudge is no dummy and quickly decided my belly rubs were better than no belly rubs and before you know it we were spooning with her back up against my front. I never once kidded myself that if John happened to roll over in her direction she wouldn’t fire me on the spot, but it was sure nice while it lasted.  I remember John’s and my spooning days when long before menopause kicked in I actually got cold once in awhile and would cling to him for warmth. 

I can still remember his high pitched screams when I said, “marriage means I never have to say I am sorry for what I am about to do, “ and then would put my ice cold hands and feet against his skin.  Long gone are those “share some of your warmth with me,” days and nowadays, when he looks over in bed and sees my heaving body in a state of undress and my glistening skin, he often says, “you’re hot,” followed soon after by, “and sweaty.”  I think it is my bright red face that scares him the most and the realization that he has traded in a Popsicle for a red-hot dollar.

 

My kids used to hate when I said anything about spooning with their father and I still have fun when Megan calls and says, “watcha doing?”  The other day I told her we were going to try and give her a little baby brother or sister and all she said was, “isn’t that like making a chicken using old, expired, shriveled up eggs?”  She seemed to have no problem spouting off one derogatory adjective after another about what I can only deduce is a thinly veiled reference to my eggs.  I used to say we had been spooning and when I got the expected, “you are so gross,” comment, I would always add, “it could have been worse, we could have been forking.”  Now, before you say you heard Phoebe say that line on Friends, I can’t prove it, but I have said that line for years and I can still remember hearing her say it and screaming at the TV and to everyone within hearing distance, “she stole my line.” None of this is neither here nor there because my story is about spooning with my dogs and I got sidetracked.  I may be too hot to spoon with a human, but like most things when it comes to Fudge and Vern, I am willing to withstand physical discomfort to make them happy. 

For the last time, Fudge, my arm is hurting!

Luckily, Vern gets as hot as me and can only stand it so long before he rolls over and decides smacking me with his paw is a much cooler activity.  Fudge, however, if I catch her at the right time will curl beside me for hours and likes me to hold her paws.  She is so soft and smells better than Vern that I really don’t mind and in fact, just might count it as one of the things I love most about Sunday mornings.  I always think to myself that the world would be a more peaceful and loving place if everyone had a moment like this to start his or her day.  Sometimes, the simplest things can be the best.

[Lori, Quincy & Frankie]

I never thought that getting out of bed at 7ish would be a late morning, but that's my life now since I become a furnace if I stay under the covers and I am wide awake anyway.  Plus side is we have already been to the dog park and a walk around the lake there, made a BLT which I shared some bacon and am about to try, yet again, to get some of the matting under control, all before noon-ish. Quince is exhausted, so maybe I will actually make some progress. 

Wonderful blog Laurie, enjoy the rest of your Sunday, everyone!  

[Nicky, Riley & Boris]

Lovely Sunday morning fuzzy warm cuddles with doodles, what could be better than that? Reminds me of our bed here. Two large doodles here also have their own preferences in the bed cuddle department.

[Pat and Traveler]

I love those mornings too, Laurie.  Trav curls up against me and all is right with the world. 

Great blog!  Wishing you many cuddly mornings with Fudge, and walk bys by Vern.  :)

[Christine & Shelby]

Great blog Laurie! Shelby and I love our lazy weekend mornings :)

[Doris, Knox & Flash]

Sunday mornings are my favorite too! I have just read the paper and have had my coffee and should get out of bed, but I hate to disturbe the sleeping doodles/bookends. We're not spooning, but it's the next best thing!