Patience my dear, patience

ME - "Guido, buddy, give me a few minutes. Actually, give me a few hours."

CANE - "Mom, I'm ready to party (panting profously). Look around you...I smell bones, rawhide, bacon, grass, poop and ENERGY (saying at a furiously fast rate). It's time to rage!!!"

ME - "Gui...the only people outside right now are those nut jobs that decide to go run five miles before the sun comes up. And let me tell you, I refuse to be one of those people. I will not step out of this house until the sun hits the sky like a big pizza pie (Italian reference that only an Italian can make)."

CANE - "Mom, I hate you. I am going to pout now."

ME - "Guido, you'll get over it once you turn 20, now go back to sleep."

I am a nice, positive person...most of the time. The only time this ever changes is when I don't sleep. In fact, when I miss out on sleep I get easily agitated and turn kujo on my nearest and dearest. My sleeping never used to be an issue. I would always manage to get my ten hour minimum (don't be jealous).

But ever since my munchkin came along, I have been on edge. Not anything having to do with him directly, just the fact that I get hourly urges to put him on A.D.D. medication, so that he can chill out for a bit.

I have been utterly perplexed on how to go on with life and business when I cannot think through my foggy headed sleep deprivation. I have been walking around with no makeup on, with shorts on that look like Umbros and my hair slopped on top of my head in a soaking wet heap. The idea of waking up 20 minutes earlier is just not an option.

There are few people that can wake me up at 4 a.m. but when my little furry dust mop wakes me up to go to the bathroom for the 20th time, I can't help but love him.

Fast forward six hours.

I don't hear Guido.

He must be sleeping.

"Sleep is for suckers mom."

I search around my house until I find him chewing on my favorite (not cheap) hallway rug. From there, he went on a single handed kamikaze mission destroying my shag rug, Louis XIV refinished vintage armchair and armoire that I labored 2 straight days redoing.

They say that puppies are cute for a reason but Gui better start batting his eyelashes STAT because he is slowly ruining my perfect home aesthetic. (if he attacks my pillow collection, he's getting shipped back to Wisconsin)

It's moments like these when you have to call on your patience. My patience would probably have been greater if I had more sleep but the only advice I can give is to take that little munchkin and get a good sniff of his puppy goodness. I love Guido even if he kills everything pretty in my house because he will make so many more beautiful memories fore the rest of his life.

Grandma Lucy

If you meet Grandma Lucy, you are one of the lucky few.

She is frank. Candid. Hilarious. Absurd. And awesome.

To know Grandma Lucy, is to adore her.

Everytime I am around her, I wish that I could take those memories and store them in the vault of my mind where the most treasured, and hysterical moments live on.

My grandma is a reality TV junky, Buffalo soothsayer and my improv hero.

This post may be a bit chaotic in structure, but I just want to give you a pleasurable sampling of Grandma Lucy-isms.

When I went to college, my grandma called me and briefed me on what to do and not to do while in the throws of my crazy new environment. Her most memorable piece of advice went something like the following.

"OK, so I was watching 20/20 and you really need to be careful about people slipping stuff in your drinks. One pill and next thing you know it, you're face down with your a** up in the air. Those guys are sons of a bit****."

Point taken Lucy.

Another legacy grandma passed on, was created on Christmas Eve two years ago. My grandma has never been the best driver but she took it to a whole new level that day. My dad was sitting in the living room (ironically, underneath our family portrait) reading a magazine. About to doze off, my dad was awakened by my grandma crashing through the garage into the living room where the family portrait almost decapated him. When my grandma emerged from the car, the only thing she muttered to my dad was, "I think someone stole my checkbook."

My grandma loves to tell my aunt to go to hell and about what celebrities are annoying her that day. Lately she has it out for Katherine Heigl.  Don't ask me why.

When I call her for our weekly conversation, my grandma has already memorized the obituaries for that week and what Italian is getting married, divorced or  moving to his mistresses home.

Lucy stays up until 3 a.m. and for some reason, takes it upon herself to repeatedly wake up my mother and I to see if we want to watch Nancy Grace at 2 a.m. 

My family recently went to the Turks and Caicos, and Grandma Lucy was gaming to go. She was very perplexed as to what swimsuit to buy, but she finally decided on a polka dot tankini. Instead of worrying about showing too much skin, she asked my aunt if she looked too "matronly." Gotta love the Italians.

I am truly blessed to have a family with a sense of humor, and even more blessed to have a family obsessed with dogs. I am proud to call Lucy my grandma and hope I can live up to her standards as the coolest grandma on earth.

A Beginning

I have always been close with my sister. When we were kids, we used to confide in each other about whether Joey or Jordan was cuter. As time progressed, we whispered secrets to one another regarding crushes and must-have shirts and dresses.

When I went to college, I focused on friends and parties but I always knew I could call my sister. Then I moved to Chicago and we were the inseperable duo we used to be when we were hunting down imaginary friends behind the refridgerator.

My family is the perfect example of the millennial generation unit. We are always connected. I talk to my mom three times a day (at least) and my sister exponentially more. Some people think it is too much, but for me it's just right.

So in 2006, when Freddy came along, I was scared my access to my sister would gradually ween. A year later she got married and I was the #2 best friend now.

Since the wedding, I was used to not having her 100% of the time but I had no idea what was in store for me when baby Augie came along.

Those of you who know me, know that as maternal and nurturing as I am, I did not inherit the pregnancy gene. What I mean by that, is that I cannot wrap my head around the thought of carrying a ten pound baby inside my 115 pound frame. I hate the idea of growing hair on my stomach, my ankles swelling into my legs and my face looking like I was permanently punched.

My sister must have been able to read this on my face as each day she got bigger, I stood back in horror. My little itty bitty sissy was twice her size, but to my surprise she couldn't have been happier. She loved having this human life inside her.

I was so proud of the way she never complained and went into labor calmly and elegantly as only she could.

Aside from being ready to constantly pass out in the labor and delivery room, I was in awe. I still can't believe that a live, eating, breathing actual human came from my sister. As my mom said, it can only be explained by chalking it up to a "miracle".

Initially, I was scared to death to touch the baby. I was convinced that I would be an utter failure at an aunt/mother figure and drop Augie on his head.

I didn't end up dropping the baby (thank God) and instantaneously realized that this baby was worth all the physical discomfort that pregnancy brings. Unbeknownst to Augie, he also just gave me another reason to always be by my sissy.

I may not be ready for motherhood yet (who am I kidding, I'm definitely not ready), but I am ready for the next logical step in my life. Ladies and gentleman, I am................................................. getting a new puppy!!!! Stayed tuned next week to meet the one and only - GUIDO.

Toys

"You are amazing...seriously. I am in awe. Totally obsessed."

My boyfriend repeated these types of outstanding compliments over and over again. Instead of soaking them up, I stood in my kitchen shaking my head.

How did I get myself in this situation? Since when did I become second fiddle to something smaller and plainer than me??

Well, I guess it happened precisely when the new iPhone came out. I instantly became less important.

I have never seen anything like it. My boyfriend sleeps next to it, holds it constantly even if we're hugging and stares at it for so long his eyes water. It was the apple of his eye.

Every time I think I am getting a little bit of QT with him and the conversation is rolling, I will ask him a question and the inevitable follows.

"Wanna find out? I can look it up on my phone."

Ugh. No, I don't want to find out. Want to know what I feel like doing? I feel like throwing that thing out the window as far as I can see and watch it die a slow, screen breaking death.

One day I was so frustrated that my precious alone time was being monopolized by the phone, I huffed out my front door in a fury. Hopeless and indignant, I decided to call my personal adviser - my sister.

She enlightened me. "You have to create boundaries." The phone will not be allowed within five feet of us if we were hugging or talking over dinner. The phone will be turned off when sleeping. And most important, the phone is not the source of all things good and wonderous.

I was familiar with these boundaries. The most important part of being a dog owner is setting limits. Let the dog know who's boss.

When you get a new puppy you are always practicing letting your puppy know when to play, when to eat, when not to bite, where not to sleep and when to sit.

Sometimes they listen. And sometimes they fight you. Sometimes you give in (most of the time). Sometimes you don't (very rarely).

I hoped to prove a more successful track rate with my boyfriend and his love.

I've been practicing asserting myself lately. Occassionally, hiding the phone from him. Telling my dog to get off the couch and allow room for my boyfriend and I to be lazy. I figured I needed to be equal in my boundary setting actions.

But even after all these efforts, the second you're not looking, they're back at their toys. Boys will be boys I guess. Astor is back at his ball I hid and Mark is back on his phone. I am still trying to be the boss, but I always have online shopping as my toy and my boyfriend is letting me getting away with that for now.

Milo the Maniac

His name is Milo. He is 20 pounds of pure adrenaline. His white fluffy coat should not be mistaken for weakness. He is a maniacal killing machine. The great white killer is his persona when in the great outdoors. If there is a chipmunk or snake in sight, he will find it and take care of business.

In the house, though, great white is an attention hog. All he wants to do is lay in your arms and get tummy rubs. This personality is called Mi-Bear. He nuzzles as close as he can get until he covers at least 60 percent of your body.

The first time my boyfriend met Milo, he was preying on a poor innocent baby rabbit. He greeted Mark with a red stained beard and glassy eyes. Not the best introduction. Mark soon realized that Milo suffered from multiple personality disorder.

Was every dog like this? Did they have a carnal, killing side to them that could be repressed inside around people, but not in their natural element?

To an extent, I guess we all have different personalities. My best friend named her different side, Denise. Denise loves to dance. Denise also loves to call me at 4 a.m. on weekdays. I do not like Denise.

In a less ostentatious manner, I guess I have a few identities. Professional Lauren. Social Lauren. Kid Lauren. And my favorite, doggie Lauren.

It's fun to be able to wear different hats..put on appropriate outfits and act the part. I guess it's a flash back to childhood when you could be an astronaut, archaeologist and magician on the same day. Inside your amazing imagination you can be anything you desire.

When I come home to see Milo, though, the one personality I always want to see is genuine Milo. Plain, old, crazy whacked out dog.

This goes for my human friends too. After a night out on the town, I love to come home and hang out with my boyfriend. No forced conversation, extra-chipperness or uber-social antics. I wash my face and I am able to embrace my natural "Lauren." She is somewhat of a loner and loves zoning out to reality TV.

It's still fun to embrace other arenas that are outside my comfort zone or bring out a different side of me, as long as when I come home, I am the same old, boring, sensitive, loving - me.

My mouth

I have a terrible habit of putting my foot in my mouth. Case in point...one day I was walking down Southport with my sister and saw a sweet little black dog. Naturally, I went up to pet it. Attempting to compliment this adorable little guy, I told his owner that he had the most beautiful blue eyes. My sister immediately jabbed me in the side. I obviously still hadn't put two and two together. The owner let out a slight laugh and said, "Honey, those are cataracts."

Wow. I'm a girl of many words but at this point, I chose to just walk away, shamed.

What is wrong with me?? How could I have not put this together? I'm a dog lover and have been around plenty of old dogs.

A second example of my idiot-dum, occurred this past weekend. I was hosting one of my best friend's engagement parties and couldn't be happier by the show in attendance. But when a crowd comes along, my awkwardness follows suit. For some reason I can't keep it together around a lot of people. I mix up the order of my words and try to bust out jokes that either lay flat or die completely on arrival.

My friend was used to this but she was not used to what I was about to say. When I was trying to tell her how happy I was for her and what a good guy she found, I proceeded to go off about all the women that would want to date or marry him and how she needs to watch out.

Good intentions, totally wrong execution.

I think I have a clinical disorder where my obstinate mouth fails to follow my brain and hopelessly dribbles out nonsense. There should be a treatment for this before I offend everyone around me.

Luckily, I'm only with people 1% of my day. My job is right for me on so many different levels and an apparent benefit is that I won't affront people on a daily basis.

There is a dog that I walk that I have always felt a deep bond with. She is a little cooky and ticks off most dogs around her.

After studying her behavior, I realized what it was. When she met another dog she would either go right for the jugular or to the less desirable parts. There was no, "Hi, it's nice to meet you, my name is Dog. Now can I please smell your butt?" It was more like, "Move it buddy, I'm going to smell your butt whether you like it or not."

Poor girl. She was obviously never versed in dog etiquette and scared off most friends before she could make them. This was my kind of girl, though. We were the offensive team together. Watch out Chicago, we will single-handedly scare off your dog and owner simultaneously.

Now my dog on the other hand, was always very polite. He would give the standard kisses and smells and would always have deep conversations before ever offending anyone.

I decided from now on before I talk, I will vow to ask my dog what he would do, because all the dogs in the neighborhood seem to be in love with him. Leave it up to my eloquent little buddy:) Maybe I will start taking tips from him now on.

Bureaucracy

I cried numerous times this week. But there was only one cause of my angst - bureaucracy. First perpetrator? My health insurance company.

Lets play out the scenario. Three conversations prior to my sinus surgery, I was assured that 90% of my surgery would be covered. Now, my health insurance company decided to have amnesia because it was apparently all my responsibility to bear. So, I decided to embark on a fact-finding mission.

During my first call, I was greeted by that infamous woman - the automated operator. I imagine the person that created this female (lets call her Jane) thought her voice would evoke calm and peace. To me, though, this voice had the uncanny ability to drive me to pure insanity in less than 30 seconds.

Today, we were off to a bad start. Jane was prompting me to give my health insurance policy number but "could not understand" me after four tries. Maybe she couldn't understand me because she repeatedly interrupted me while I was beginning to say my ID number.

Instead of transferring me to the real operator (the humane thing to do), Jane was dead set on getting my information before I could speak to anyone. I found myself screaming into the phone in the middle of Jewel - 8 - 0 - 3 ....A few women walked by me wondering why my face was beat red and why I was so mad at my phone, but a young guy sauntered by and gave me a knowing look. He knew all about Jane and her inability to comprehend numbers.

Finally, Jane decided to let me speak to her cohort. By the time I reached this poor woman, I was so exasperated that I had to catch my breath. I proceeded to tell her that 'Jane' was impossible to deal with and that I almost had a nervous breakdown trying to get through to her.

The operator was not interested in Jane or her peskiness, instead she informed me that she had no information regarding my case. Three people, and still no information. Apparently there was only one person that could help me finalize my claim - Jennifer. The problem was that Jennifer wouldn't call me back and I was beginning to think that this was purposeful as I left her more than five cryptic messages, each one getting more desperate and irate.

Normally, I consider myself a patient person, but today Jane just threw me over the edge. On top of all of that, I was knee deep in parking ticket issues with the City of Chicago. I am convinced that simultaneously dealing with these two organizations could send someone to the asylum.

The next stop on my bureaucratic meltdown was the post office. There were eight people in line and two postal workers. In a normal working environment this would take 10 minutes, but at the post office it naturally took 30. When I finally got up to the desk, the oblivious postal worker decided it was her obligation to fill in her fellow colleague about her weekend plans. I sat there dumbfounded.

"Excuse me miss, do you not see me here? The lowly US Post Office customer that is about to go postal on this place unless you take care of me soon and stop talking about your weekend of debauchery???"

This conversation played out in my head many different ways until she finally came back to me. But right then and there, I completely lost my gumption.

The point is that these bureaucracies unfortunately exist and they can either drive you insane or you can learn how to deal with them. I can assure you that crying is not the best coping method but I can also tell you that I know one way to let it roll off your back.

Meditation didn't work so well and either did yoga, but coming home to my dog and laying around petting his long, awesome pony tail ears did the trick. It's amazing how dogs can calm you down. So if you're in the middle of a bureaucratic crisis? Take some time to give your dog a belly rub and everything will seem OK in the world.