Never trust a mother with a camera.
Better late than never, admitting you have a problem, being late.

And now we're Doofus-dawg-proofing the couch.

I was pregnant with our oldest when we moved into our house...what we then referred to as our starter home...on Memorial Day weekend...21 years ago. Okay, so we're really sloooooooooooow starters.

Although my husband and I still dream about not having to share a closet (smaller than some other people's pantries) or my waking up in the middle of the night and having to go to the bathroom, all...the...way...downstairs...across the kitchen...through the living room...and waaaaay on the other side of the house...[taking a moment to catch my breath...phew...thanks!]...it's more than what a lot of other people have and, well, we've always managed to sort of make stuff work. 

It's also a lot easier now, in the sense that our kids are mostly-grown and have all pretty much child-proofed themselves, by now.

Then our poor old Doofus-dawg goes and hurts himself, by fracturing a bone in his foot which had to be splinted in order for it to heal properly, so the vet sent us home with very strict instructions:

  • NO JUMPING
  • NO RUNNING
  • NO CLIMBING

No problem, I mean, seeing as he spends most of his days dosing on the couch, right?!?

  • AND ABSOLUTELY NO JUMPING UP ON THE FURNITURE

R'uh-oh. Seriously?!? The definition of a dog's life includes jumping on the furniture -- especially, when you're NOT looking -- and, for as big as he is, our Doofus-dawg is especially proficient in sneaking up right next to you, without you even knowing it, until it's too late.

Doofus-proofing the couch.
yes, we ARE martha stewart's worst nightmare.

So, once again, we've managed to make it work: using laundry baskets to Doofus-proof the furniture.

Doofus-proofing the chairs.
and this is where we do our best edith and archie bunker, yo!

Aaaaand, although I didn't think we would have to worry about the recliners (they rock, literally!), Doofus-dawg did in fact try and get up on the recliners, too. The cone of shame is a reminder to quit chewing and it also seems to be working.

Still, night time is proving to be difficult. Doofus is used to sleeping upstairs with us, so my husband has been sleeping downstairs with Doofus (yeah, I know, it's going to be a looooong 4 weeks), but I didn't think he'd appreciate my posting a picture of the super-ingenious way he's managed to keep Doofus off the couch.

Soooo, my oldest daughter and I re-created it for you:

There's a dork on the couch!
this is me, pretending to be my husband, doofus-proofing the couch.

Aaaaaaaand, this is the part where you begin to feel really, really good about yourself AND pretty gosh-darned happy that you do NOT have to live with me. You're welcome! 

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