I think we passed the parenting test.

I had a soccer game at 10:15 p.m. last night (you don’t have to question my sanity for playing soccer that late on a Sunday night– I question it every week), which means the Pretend Husband (the very dedicated PH because he comes to most of my games) and I didn’t get home until just before midnight.

Walking into the house, the PH commented, “Did the dog poop in here? It smells like poop.”

“Of course not. She hasn’t done that since she was really little. You must be imagining things.”

But, sure enough, there was a pile of… not poop, but vomit on the living room carpet. And there was poop in the bathroom.

While the PH thought Molly was just being a brat, I figured she really didn’t feel well and must have just exploded all over the house. As the PH was cleaning up the carpet and the bathroom, she threw up twice more, the poor thing, convincing the PH she really was sick.

Then I went upstairs and discovered four more piles of vomit. I began cleaning it up, but the PH came up and took over the cleaning duties while I caught even more vomit coming out of the little pup in a paper towel. Who knew a 13-pound dog had such a big stomach?!?

I felt like a mom at that point, especially as I held her furry ears back so they wouldn’t fall into the vomit just like my mom did for me (although it was my hair rather than my ears). And I think the PH felt like a dutiful dad as he scrubbed the carpeting.

Our night of fun did not end there although, thank goodness, the vomiting did. We weren’t able to go to bed until after our dryer malfunctioned and was still blowing hot air despite being off. I had to maneuver myself into a crawl space and unplug it before it stopped.

Molly seems to be feeling better today. As for the faint stains on the carpet and the malfunctioning dryer (and the lack of heat and no hot water we dealt with last week), well, we close on our new house on Friday anyway. This is probably the last time I’ll ever be able to say, “Let the landlord deal with it.”