Keith Richards in the doghouse…

I forgot to tell you guys what happened with the dog after Steve came home. If you recall, I was serving him Peanut Butter and Crazy Sandwiches with a side of downers the whole time Steve was gone. The first night Steve came home and went outside to feed the dogs, Simba staggered out the doghouse, with his fur sticking out in all directions and his eyes heavily lidded. Steve did a double take and then yelled from the yard “HONEY? Why does the dog look like Keith Richards?”

 

Serving up a peanut butter and crazy sandwich. With a side of downers…

The dog doesn’t like to take his Prozac. In fact, he can be really ornery about it. And when he and I get into a power struggle, it gets ugly. Like the other day. I gave him his Simba-be-cool pill, and he had the nerve to spit it back out, so I called him an asshole, and wrastled him to the ground like Steve Irwin. I straddled him, pried open his jaws, and shoved the pill down his throat while he gnawed up my fingers. Then I called him some more names that were so bad I can’t print them, and held his mouth closed while he tried to shake, rattle and roll free. HA! Take that! Then I did some trash talking like “Bring it, Dog! I’m not taking any sh!t from you! Uhh Huhhh, that’s right, Dog…… Go Helen, it’s your birthday!!” Then I did a victory dance right there in the dog kennel, said “That’s right, Biotch!” and went back inside.

Don’t judge me. If you had put up with this damn dog for the last 14 years, you’d be like this too.

Annnnywayyyyyyyy. We usually buy the cheapest, softest, white bread in the grocery store to put the pills in and mush it up and he usually takes his medicine fairly well. We refer to the white, Wonder type breads as “dog bread.” In fact, my kids know not to eat the dog bread because it has zero nutritional value. Last summer when we were staying with my parents, son #2 comes in my room, early in the morning, wakes me up and whispers in horror ”Mommy! Wake up! Grammy is trying to feed me dog bread!“

So yesterday I ran out of dog bread. And the human bread was molded. I was going to have to be creative, because I was NOT wrestling the dog again for the third time this week. Besides, I’m pretty sure the neighbors hear me swearing up a storm in the dog kennel. I decided I would somehow use a concoction of milk bones and peanut butter to make the pills stick. I got a dog bone, spread it with peanut butter, and humming to myself, stuck the Prozac into the peanut butter. I added two Benedryl because a sedated Simba is a good Simba. Then I stuck another bone on top. It was a neat little peanut butter and crazy sandwich. I think he found the sandwich suspicious, because I was all cheery about giving it to him. I saw him rolling the pills around in his mouth, but they were stuck to the peanut butter and he wasn’t willing to spit that out. HA! Take that, Dog!

I think I’ll start a business. Catering to male, yellow labradors. We’ll call the sandwich Peanut Butter Sedation. And all will be right with the world………..

 

We have a new breed of dog…

This morning we woke up to a new breed of dog. Steve let the dogs out of their kennel and discovered our 15 year old incontinent labrador had a shit stripe up her back like a skunk. In disgust, he said “We have a new breed of dog. It’s called the Seattle Shitback.” lol. I’ll spare you the picture. It’s disgusting. Trust me.

 

Showdown at the Teixeira Corral

scene: Son #1 is now sick with a high fever and cough. It’s bed time and I tell him to take his cough medicine.

cue western showdown music and tumbleweed.

Me: Take your medicine.
Son #1: OHHHHHH! It’s YUCKKKYYYYYYYYY!!!!!
Me: Sigh. Just take it. Don’t be a big baby!
Son #1: NOOOOOOOOO! I don’t like it.
Me: Oh honestly! Just take the damn medicine.
Son #1: No.
Me: What did you say?
Son #1: No.
Me: Come again?
Son #1: No. I’m not taking it. And you can’t make me!

cue another round of showdown music as the stage goes dead silent.

Me: (squinting) Oh I can make you.
Son #1: (suddenly a little less sure) HOW?!
Me: I’ve alligator wrastled Simba many times and shoved medicine down his gullet. I won’t even break a sweat.

Simba “I’ve been alligator wrastled” Teixeira

Son #1 is suddenly less sure and completely fascinated.
Son #1: You gave him that medicine?
As proof, I show Simba the bottle of cough medicine and he crinkles his nose and lifts up his lip in a decidely Elvis fashion. He looks at son #1 as if to say “Doooode. I’d just take the medicine. She isn’t effin’ around.”
Son #1 looks back and forth between me and the dog. Defeating that dog is not to be taken lightly.
Son #1: But it’s liquid. You haven’t shoved liquid down his throat! You can’t get the liquid down my throat!
Me: (squinting again.) Oh I have. Have no fear. You are taking that medicine and I’m perfectly willing to wrastle you for it. (It’s hard not to grin at this point.)
Son #1 sits down in front of his medicine totally defeated. The dog looks at him as if to say “Dooooode. Smart move.”

 

On returning to normal

Over the weekend I finally figured out what had been contributing to my ongoing sense of malaise. I realized that for more than three weeks, I had only seen Steve a total of 4 days. Four. For almost a month. Between our travel schedules and work, we were apart. And I realized another thing. No big, belly laughs for a month. This, people, can really mess with you. Friday night was the first time we really got to spend some together and ended up cracking each other up. There was the withering banter, smart ass comments and our usual scuffles for the remote, feather pillow and the last drop of milk. And did I mention that hottie I’m married to went and lost himself more than 20 pounds? So he is HOT with a capital H! Of course, this has presented a little problem with an escalating taste in HOT clothing and a newfound love of Lucky jeans. Sigh. I remember having to limit myself to a pair, like, every six months. He got three pairs the other day. Curse that hot husband of mine!

But I digress. Belly laughs. And you helped too, dear internet. I was catching up on bloglines and laughed myself to tears on Friday. First there was Mr. Fab. If more women allowed their husbands to run amok, this would be the result. I admire the fact that Mrs. Fab is so absolutely tolerant. I try to shoot Steve down before the ideas are allowed to fully form. Also, I would never leave him alone with an entire tube of blue food coloring.

Then I was perusing The Underpaid Kept Woman’s blog where I feel a kindred spirit with Susie Sunshine, the sassy mother of four boys. Her conversation with Ikea Anna had me laughing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

Have you, your pets or your family ever been skunked? I was already laughing when I saw the picture because my parent’s dog was skunked years ago. *MY* dogs are far too smart for that. I had to endure daily calls from my mother begging for suggestions to get rid of the smell. And when I finally made my way over to inspect the situation, the dog was completely ashamed of himself. He knew he was a pariah. It took nearly a month for him to stop stinking so badly he had to stay outside. And I smelled phantom skunk smell for months. I wouldn’t even pet him without checking to see if the smell rubbed off on my hands for probably six months afterward. Anyway, Hotfessional made me laugh until I cried.

Things are not totally back to normal, though. I’m having to drink multiple cups of coffee every day. I haven’t completed a sentence in weeks and I refuse to talk on the phone, but I’m getting there, dear internet. I’m gettin’ there…..Keep the belly laughs comin’…….

 

Of course it was a labrador….

because they are notoriously bad drivers.

 

Steve, the Axe Murderer, except it’s too much work….

Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Steve: Damn him!
Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! YIP!!
Steve: GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’ve either got to feed him or kill him!
Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Steve: GAH! <sigh> Feeding him is less work…….
Me: <flipping through a magazine without looking up> Yeah. Cuz then you’d be all tired and bloody and have to take a shower………but killing him has it’s advantages too. Make sure you give him some Benedryl or I’M going to have to go out there and get all bloody…..

 

Why Helen, you’re all out of breath and sweaty, how come?

It’s just me, your friendly-neighborhood crazy person. I had just put son #2 on the bus, when a yellow and black lab went by running down the street like bats out of hell. Or like two bad dogs just escaped from the kennel. “HEY!” I bellowed and took off running. Which made them run faster. So I’m about a half block behind them and we’re running UPHILL and they’re headed straight for the pond. I’m running and yelling “BAD DOG! COME!” and clapping my hands. They dash into the water which gives me some time to catch up. I yell “COME!!!!!” and I hear my neighbor, Michele, had given chase too and was running behind me. She yelled “How deaf are they?!” And I yelled back, “I don’t think they can hear me yelling but they should be able to hear the clapping.” The dogs ran out of the water and started running again. I ran faster. Damn, I hope I can run like they do when I’m a freakin’ hundred. I finally caught up to them and cornered them in a neighbor’s yard when the yellow lab turns and looks at me and it’s not Simba. “Oh Shit.” I think “I’ve been running down the street screaming and running through people’s yards and these aren’t even my dogs.” I quickly walk down this person’s driveway where I run into Michele who points and starts to chase them as they run out of the yard. “THOSE AREN’T MINE!” I yell. She starts laughing. She said “I thought they were running a little fast for as old as they are.”

Unfortunately this is the second time this week I’ve run through the neighbor’s yards screaming. A few days ago I chased the rabbit out of my yard yelling “BAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” through the neighbor’s yard when Michele, who is standing in the street laughing at me yells “HERE HE IS!” and I start chasing him again across the street and through more neighbor’s yards. The neighbor next door mentioned he had seen me running through his yard. I apologized and told him I was chasing a rabbit. He just smiled and nodded. Then went inside quickly and shut the door.

 

Note to self: Do NOT forget to give him crazy pills!!!!

I was so giddy last night about getting medication for myself, I forgot to give Simba his prozac. This morning, I woke up to an absolutely over-the-top insane, crazy-eyed, drooling, barking idiot. He charged out of the kennel without even waiting for me to open the door and his fur was sticking out all over his body like a vagrant on a week -long bender. I thought dog hair only laid one way? He then ran over to my garden and started digging like he was trying to escape Alcatraz. He looked confused when I yelled at him to stop. Not sorry, but confused. He didn’t seem phased when I called him names. Names I can’t even print here. Ok, I’ll give you a hint: YGDSFSOB DOG GET THE HELL OUT OF MY GARDEN! He may not have understood the words, but he certainly understood the intent. Except for stupid. He understands that. He knows it’s his name. Like all AKC pure breds, he has an official name: Sir Simba of Stupidity. He also responds to “Dumb Dumb.” You even get a wag when you call him that. He thinks that’s a term of endearment. It is, if you’re a stupid, crazy, idiot dog.  Tonight, he will be dining on a lovely 3 course meal of dog food, prozac and benedryl for sedation.

(file photo)

 

Well played, Rabbit, well played.

So I’ve been having a little problem with a rabbit. Now don’t laugh. This is a serious problem. A rabbit is eating my flowers and strawberry plants. And he’s become so bold, he doesn’t even run when he sees me anymore. I’ve put up a scarerabbit. Which works for the crows, but apparently, rabbits are smarter than crows. So I guess it was just a scarecrow after all.

I’ve tried chasing the rabbit and growling and yelling at it. I’ve even sent the dogs after it. But that was embarassing. Because the rabbit was WAY smarter than Simba. I specifically told Simba to get the kitty, and he charged out of the backyard only to stop and stare blankly STRAIGHT AT THE RABBIT while the rabbit pretended he was a statue and then made a quick getaway while Simba got distracted by a blade of grass and a bee.

I am furious that the rabbit is destroying my garden. He’s very wily. But he’s cute so it makes it hard for me to want to throw rocks at it. I mean, it’s not like it’s the raccoon that I tried to have killed. And yet, the rabbit mocks me. It wants to incur my wrath. I wonder if it’s illegal to serve rabbit on Easter?

 

Mr. Fabulous is THINKING not dancing today….

That Mr. Fabulous, he’s a little….well….he’s a little nuts. However, he brings up an interesting topic today- murder. Go ahead, scroll back to other entries (not one is suitable for children) and he’s always…well…..nuts, but let’s talk about this killing thing for a second. I was about to make a comment under this entry on his blog and realized I had more to say than a just a few sentence comment. Most of you know, I’m a vegetarian. But I’m not a vegetarian because I’m being an animal rights activist or because I’m trying to make a statement. Although the longer I’m a vegetarian, the more squeamish I seem to be becoming about dead animals and such. Last night I was cutting some fake fur for a project for son #1’s class and handling the fur kinda grossed me out. Then, when I was done cutting, the floor looked like I’d killed a beaver. That really grossed me out. It was an interesting sensation. Even though I knew it was fake fur, it still grossed me out.

I feel bad if animals die. When we go fishing, if the fish swallows the hook, I feel sick to my stomach. I won’t kill a worm or insect to put it on a hook (dead squid doesn’t bother me though- well the smell does, but not the dead animal aspect.) When I was a kid, I begged my dad nearly every day to take me duck hunting with him. Finally one weekend there were a bunch of doves in our backyard. He handed me an air rifle and told me if I could shoot the doves, he’d take me duck hunting with him the following weekend. I’m a good shot, so I picked them off one by one. The fourth or fifth one I hit in the wing and it didn’t die instantly. It started flopping around the backyard. My dad went and grabbed it and handed it to me. I looked at him in horror and screamed “What am I supposed to do with it?” He calmly said “You have to put it out of it’s misery and break it’s neck.” I refused and he did it. I burst into tears and ran into the house. I never asked to go hunting again. Dad knows me pretty well. lol.

Although I learned at an early age that I was not cut out for killing,  I have since learned that I could kill any animal, even a dog if it attacked me or my family. My aunt’s dog attacked my oldest son a few years ago. He knocked him over, jumped on top of him and was biting him in the back. I was holding my youngest, who was a baby, and a large, full tote bag.  I was running at the dog yelling, and I saw him go for my son’s head/face and my thought was that when I reached this dog I would kill him. My voice must have changed when he went for my son’s head, because he looked up and saw me charging at him and like he read my mind, he yelped and tucked his tail between his legs and ran. I really did want to kill that dog. My son had scratches, bruises and bite marks on his back. Only in Louisiana would a dog not be put down for that. Sigh. But I digress, I knew that I would kill that animal to protect my children without a moment’s hesitation or feeling bad about it.

Some people repeatedly dream things. I repeatedly dream about bad guys attacking me or my family. In my dreams, I never even hesitate to fire a gun. (There’s always one conveniently located, much to my surprise. Or one conviently left by a bad guy. These dream bad guys aren’t too smart.) The really annoying part is that the gun NEVER works. It never stops them. I always have to think of something else. The action jams or the bullets just bounce off the bad guy, or some variation of that. I’m not sure whether that means my mind can’t process actually shooting someone, or whether it’s my fear that a bad guy couldn’t be stopped. Statistics show that women killers do not like to get their hands dirty. Even in crimes of passion. I could see that. I don’t even like cutting up steak for my kids. So the question becomes could I really do it? If I were being attacked or my family, I think I could. I’m absolutely certain though that I couldn’t do it for any other reason. I feel very bad when I kill my plants. I feel bad when I smash a spider. I know I would protect my family though. Could you do it? Under what circumstances could you do it? What if you knew you wouldn’t be caught? Can you live with yourself for even killing animals? Is your problem with killing, or with jail? That’s a very thought provoking post, Fab. It beats the hell out of your dancing videos. ;D

 

The Aroma Pill

For Scott and Beth: Captain’s Log Stardate 3/5/07 10:07 pm

 I’d heard of this new all-natural cleaning product line called Method recently and was thinking of trying it, but I hadn’t seen it in any stores. Tonight I saw it in the drugstore when I went to pick up son #2’s prescription. I purchased several products, including a plug-in air freshner called the aroma pill. The best part about the yummy smelling aroma pill is the directions:

Rotate plug of aroma pill to accomodate your vertical or horizontal wall outlet. Insert aroma pill into wall outlet with glass bottle pointing down. Do not turn sideways or else fragrance oil will spill. Gravity is mean like that.

During the winter we keep our dogs in our bonus room off the garage at night or when it’s snowing because they’re too old to stay out in the cold anymore. Consequently that room smells BAD until I can air it out in the spring. I immediately came home and plugged in the aroma pill. Without turning it sideways. Because gravity is always mean to me. Within a few minutes it started to smell better in there. I came back in the house and announced to Steve that it already smelled better back there. Without looking up, he replied “Well that’s not hard. You could take a dump on the floor and it’d smell better in there.” If gravity’s not being mean like that, Steve is.

 

Entry from my prison cell

I have rage today. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how freakin’ far away you move, family can still get to you. It’s the in-laws these days.

And I’m tired of being a prisoner. I want to go to the gym. I can’t even take son #1 outside for a walk and some fresh air because it snowed again. It’s too dangerous to go out.

I need groceries. Desperately. My fridge isn’t even this empty when we go on vacation. I need some random stuff from different stores like slippers for son and one of those pillows that are triangular shaped so that he can sit up in bed more comfortably. He’s read all the books I have here, and wants more. I need to pick up the forms for the handicap placard from the pediatrician’s. The bimbo at the pediatrician’s said she couldn’t mail it to me because she doesn’t have a stamp. I almost snapped. Of course this was after she tried to tell me she didn’t have the doctor’s license number. I told her I’m sure he could locate his number. Idiot. She wants me to take my wheelchair-bound child in the snow and ice and try to load him in the car, drive over there, try to find a parking space where I can get him out, unload him, go inside and get the forms, reload him into the car, drive home and unload him again all because she can’t figure out how TO MAIL SOME DAMN FORMS?!? ARGGG!!!!!!!!! I also need son’s new contacts and glasses picked up from the eye doctor. We have no back-ups right now.

I have come to find out from the school that son #1 can not actually get tutoring. They’ll help him with writing. That’s it. No actual tutoring for the work he’s missed. Just help him with writing. Nice. Son #1 is trying his damned hardest today to be difficult and make unnecessary, irritating noises. He’s throwing tantrums. He’s refusing to do any of the work sent home from school. I’m also not cut out for teaching math. He says I don’t explain like his teacher does. Sigh. Of course not. When it comes ot numbers, I just memorize them. I’m a walking phone book. A walking numerical encyclopedia. I don’t calcute. I memorize. Therefore, do not ask me to teach you math. If we want to memorize the phone book, I’m your guy. Or girl. Whatever. Otherwise, someone else needs to teach the math.

Son #2 thinks the house is haunted and is currently glued to my lap because there are ghosts upstairs. Do you think the ghosts might be able to run some errands for me? I’ll even let them drive my truck if they would. Any why haven’t they been picking up around the house? Leaches. I just went upstairs. Damned ghosts left shit all over the place.

It’s not that people haven’t offered to do stuff, they have, but I just don’t feel comfortable asking for the stuff that means they have to go out of their way. People have already gone out of their way grabbing a few items from the grocery or dropping off homework. How do you call someone up and go” Uh I need a BIG grocery run. Lots of food. I need one of those sitting up in bed pillows from Bed Bath and Beyond or somewhere. I need slippers and books. I need someone to pick up forms, pick up glasses, bring son’s homework back to school, get his jackets from school. Oh and can you cook some meals for us? I’m a vegetarian- no I don’t eat seafood and son #1 is extremly picky.”

Sigh. I’m sick of cooking three to five meals a day. Son #1 is so picky, he won’t eat the things son #2 and I usually eat for lunch. So either I have to cook a separate meal or son #2 and I have to eat stuff we don’t really want. I’m too tired to keep cooking separate meals for everyone.

The stress is getting to me. The kids are fighting. I’m not sleeping. The one thing I am looking forward to is that my trainer IS coming to the house tomorrow. My first workout in two weeks. I even feel bad about that. About asking him to come here.

So here I write to you from my prison cell. I took some PMS meds so I feel a little calmer. Make no mistake, I still might kill at the drop of a hat. But don’t provoke me and we’ll all be fine. Except the crazy dog. With him, I make no promises. He just could be the thing that sends me over the edge….Pardon me. I hear him barking….

 

Even the dog is in on it….

So I finally get all the kids out of the house and back to school today after more than a week of snow days, when the dog decides she’s throwing her lot in with the kids and becoming a defiant little bitch. I go to let her outside to pee and she just stares at me. Doesn’t move. I politely tell her to get out. She just stares ahead, pretending I neither am talking nor standing there. After a minute or two of this, I go around the front of the kennel and yell at her to get the hell out. She pretends to stare right through me. I get in her eye line and yell OUT! She tentatively starts to step out. I break eye contact to turn around and see what her co-conspirator is doing because he already charged back inside in fear because I was yelling. I turned back around as she ran back in, threw herself down defiantly and slammed the kennel door. Bitch.

Update: I’ve outsmarted the dog. This is why I went to college. I got her all pumped up, hackles raised from head to toe by whispering “Get the Kitty” over and over until she was worked up and then I opened the door and she charged out. Don’t look at me like that. I realize that I lied to the dog. But these are desperate times. It’s me or them.

 

10 things I learned about the snow

Growing up in Louisiana, Texas and California, I was never exposed to snow. Now that I live in an area where it snows, I’m discovering things about snow that never occurred to me. Now I’m sure all this is rudimentary instead of novel discoveries for those of you who live in areas with heavy snow, but you have to realize that people who have never lived with snow find these things both surprising and fascinating.

1. Snow has many different shapes, sizes and textures. There’s itty bitty stingin’ snow, big fat fluffy snow, snow that floats down, snow that comes in sideways, and sometimes snow that seems to come from underneath.  
2. Hail is mean. Being pelted with giant balls of snow hurts. Yelling “HEY! You’re denting my truck!” at the sky does not stop it from falling.
3. There are millions of different ways to say it’s snowing. I am fascinated by checking the forecast and never knowing what in the hell they are talking about. For example, what in the hell is freezing drizzle and how is that different from snow? What is sleet and how is it different from hail or snow? For that matter, how come hail isn’t snow? What is the difference between snow, snow showers and few showers. Is this some meteorologic humor? I have never seen so many damn ways to say icy stuff is coming down from the sky.
4. You can’t build a snowman with “dry snow.” Apparently, snow can be of a texture that it will not pack up into a snowman. I find this annoying. 
5. Black ice means you can’t see it and won’t know it’s there until you’re flat on your ass or face down on the concrete.
6. Interestingly enough, dog shit freezes. This is something that never occurred to me. The beautiful, white, winter wonderland that is my backyard, is only marred by several ugly, brown turdgloos (turd igloos) frozen solid to the ice and snow. Who woulda thought?
7. After about 4 inches of snow, it is necessary to dig your vehicle out. Apparently windshield wipers freeze to the windshield and can not simply throw the snow off. I know this is not surprising to those of you in snow bound areas, but this is surprising to people only used to rain. I had the kids’ plastic sand shovel and had to dig my windshield out. The neighbor came over and asked where my ice scraper was. After I decided he was not being a smart alek my reply was this “I’m from California. I don’t own an ice scraper.”
8. On that same note, doors can freeze shut. This is both surprising and annoying.
9. When applying salt products to de-ice the driveway, if one were to just drop handfuls of salt onto the driveway, instead of say, a fine sprinkle, it creates melted holes in the driveway. Nothing more. Thanks for trying, honey. A neighbor came over and shoveled it. Apparently that’s what you do AFTER you put salt on it. It doesn’t magically dissolve. You learn something new every day.
10. As the weather climbs to the mid 30s, one must be careful standing under trees as large clumps of snow just arbitrarily fall from the sky, sliding down the back of one’s neck and inside clothing. Screaming is not appreciated by those around you.

 

I’m old, I’m vacuuming and headed to the Big Easy….

It’s been an eventful few days around here. First thing you should know is that I’m multitasking. I’m vacuuming while I type. Ok, the ROBOT is vacuuming while I type, but the floor is being vacuumed while I type. The problem is that I keep having to yell at the kids to stay away from the robot. They’re just fascinated and won’t leave the damn thing alone. Steve is all into it because being the nerd that he is, he found out that he can write software to make it do stuff. When I asked “Like what?” In his most geeky manner he says “ANYTHING!” Yeah, that explains it, Steve. Glad you didn’t get all technical on me. Program it to pick up the crap you and the kids leave all over the house and I might be able to get as excited about this as you. Or teach it to take out the flippin’ trash. Or feed the crazy dog. Otherwise, I can’t get excited about playing Tertris on the vacuum, dear.

You can now call me Sacagawea. Some large beast has been getting into the metal garbage can we keep dog food in and turning it over every night. Today I found tracks in the snow. And being Sacagawea, the great tracker, there are thigns I can tell you for certain about those tracks: I can tell you that it’s one big mofo that keeps knocking over the trash. Seriously. My dogs weigh around 90 pounds. This animal’s tracks weren’t that much smaller. I’m guessing this animal weighs between 40 and 50 pounds. Steve thinks it’s a raccoon. I fear meeting a raccoon big enough to make tracks like that. But it rules out the coyotes we suspected. Unless they’re very weird looking coyotes. That dance around on dainty, sissy feet.

Which brings me to the next issue- Snow. WOO HOOO! And how! About 4 inches fell in just a few hours last night. I. love. it. here!!!! California take your ONE season of the year and shove it! Give me snow and four seasons ANY DAY! There is something so soul satisfying about watching the snow fall and turning everything into a winter wonderland. The silence that seems to settle with the snow…it’s just hard for me to describe. I feel the same way when I’m scuba diving and 100 feet below the surface. Life just seems so serene, so pure, so simple. Of course, Steve didn’t get home until nearly midnight last night because the traffic was so bad with people abandoning their cars and roads closed and such. The kids are out of school until Tuesday. We started to build a snowman on the front lawn today, we’ll have to finish tomorrow. I slipped on some ice and feel like I was in a car accident. My back, neck, shoulder and knee are killing me. But we had a good snowball fight anyway. I’m too old to fall like that any more.

Speaking of old, I know I’ve been making jokes about the hot flashes I’ve been getting, but I received a call from the doctor last night telling me that blood tests confirm that I am in peri-menopause. Except I’ve got several years before I even hit 40. So when you’re as young as I am, it’s called premature ovarian failure. Don’t worry, I’m not all depressed about it. We are done having kids. It’s just a little shocking. And now Steve won’t stop with the old jokes. Sigh.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned that my sister in getting married next month in New Orleans. I’ve been on the fence about going to the wedding, for various reasons, and before I sound cold-hearted, let me clarify that my sister lives in Manhattan Beach, California, not in New Orleans. Anyway, she chose not to invite a large part of the family (ALL our family is there except my parents and siblings) and it was going to be thousands of dollars for us to go in for the weekend. In the end, I decided to stick it out and buy the tickets and go. Yesterday I found out that my favorite cousins WERE invited and at least ONE of them is going. So now I am really looking forward to going although it means MORE travel (and more comedy for you). I have to fly in alone with the boys (EIGHT HOURS ON THE PLANE!) because Steve can’t leave work until 2 days later. THIS is love. Sigh.

The last piece of news is a little scary, my mom had a 2.5″ section of her scalp removed and it turned out it was skin cancer. Allegedly they got it all, but still….not what I needed to hear on the heels of Pop’s death. Steve and I have both been dreaming about him every night. The movers picked up the stuff of his that we wanted yesterday and should arrive with it some time next week. I took all of Pop’s garden things like his fountains and statues, I only wish he could have been here to help me set it all up. He loved our yard and this house and I feel like I can bring at least a little of him here with us. Pop and I used to garden a lot so it seems fitting that his garden stuff comes here.

So that’s been the last couple of days.  There’s inner chi to be found in the snow. I’m wearing better snow shoes tomorrow! And anyone making old jokes DIES.

 

I am wound tighter than a….

It’s getting to me. The holidays. Going back to California. Too much time doing everything for everyone else this week when I have stuff to do of my own. I am wound VERY tightly. Really REALLY tightly. So tight in fact………………that I forgot where I was going with this. It’s been happening a lot this week. I stand frozen in the middle of a room, unable to remember where I was going, what I was doing or what I was going to do. And I keep eating cookies from that effin’ cookie exchange that I went to because I don’t have enough time to stop and have a meal or make myself something to eat.

The bulging disc in my back that has caused me pain and sciatica for the last 18 months, seems to have shifted and is creating alarming new symptons such as weakness and numbing in my right leg. I go to take a step and it feels as if I have no leg there. It’s there but I can’t actually put weight on it because I’m not even sure I’m standing on it. And like I have time to go see a doctor right now anyway.

We are leaving at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday morning and I still have no one to take care of the dogs. My trainer usually takes care of them for me, but he has a funeral to go to out of town. The kennel we usually use can’t keep them the 4 extra hours until we get off the plane Tuesday. So I am freaking out. As Simba barks his fool head off outside.

The kids are acting out. Badly. And that guy that I’m married to? Haven’t seen him. He had this new brilliant idea that he’d do this new working schedule where he’d go in really early one day a week and stay really late one day and then work reasonable hours the other days. But this is Steve the workaholic we’re talking about, so he’s going in an hour earlier than usual EVERY day and then staying a couple of hours later EVERY day. I think he was just looking for a way to work more hours and trying to sneak it by me.

A parent saw me in the hall at school today and said “You’re here like…….. every day…… like……. all day.” Yeah…… like……. I know. And my pants have new and quite brilliant orange and red paint stains. And I found the red paint, but not the thief. It was put back in the cabinet, like they never stole it from my box.

On a more comedic note, we live across the street from the Griswalds. Every night there are more lights up. To the point of me acquiring a sunburn while I sit in the living room. Last night I went over and knocked on the door. Michele answers and I said “I’m looking for the Griswalds.” She points to the living room and says “He’s in there.” I yelled “I’m on to you! Every night there’s just a few more lights up, Griswald!” He swore he’s done. I’m skeptical. And I’m pretty sure a 747 tried to land in their driveway last night. So pardon me while I sit here with my sunglasses on. It’s hard to see the screen with the glare from across the street. I put on spf 50, but I think I might need to go reapply. My face is feeling burned again…..

 

IT followed me!

I’m blogging this from Steve’s grandfather’s computer. I’m really not totally comfortable with this foreign computer. I don’t like the keyboard and the mouse is all weird. Does it make my butt look big? And also he’s got a police scanner right next to the monitor and it’s really distracting. I need a list of police codes so I know what the hell they’re talking about because I keep having to pause while I yell “SHOOT HIM! JUST SHOOT HIM!”

And Pop’s dog is rotten. Yes, you read that right, totally rotten. The dog is a 200 year old rat and smells like he’s already dead. His breath is so kicken’ you can smell it from across the room. When he yawns I gag.

We stood in line for over an hour on Saturday just to get x-rayed at the airport. I’ve never seen the lines that long at an airport. And then they made me get naked before I walked through the metal detectors. Seriously, what the hell is the point of a METAL DETECTOR if I have to walk through in my underwear anyway? They made us take off our belts, clothes, and shoes and when I turned around, Steve had pretty much lost his pants. He grabbed them before they hit the floor though.

SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM! Sorry, I think there’s a chase going on right now. I can’t believe you vultures were all disappointed that Steve was home because you wouldn’t get to watch the train wreck that has been my life. You’ll be happy to know, that the curse has followed me. I was standing next to the microwave at my parent’s house last night. Wait- SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM! (Someone stole a car!) Anyway, I was standing next the microwave, Steve was in front of it and it blew up. I shoved Steve out of the way before he got the family jewels burned off. (It’s an under counter microwave.) There was a fire inside and everything. I think my mother was just relieved I wasn’t standing next to her car at that particular moment.

I hear people have arrived in the other room. I think I’m expected to go be social. Let’s see if you all can be civil and not root for more carnage. My life’s complicated enough.

 

Is this contagious?

I called my mother at 6:45 this evening. I didn’t even bother with a greeting:

Mom: Hello?
Me: Steve’s plane is four hours late. My computer is broken. Simba’s been barking for 6 hours straight. The power has been out for the last 5 hours. I went outside to take care of Simba and I got chased by a rat and stepped in dog shit. All the phones in the house are cordless phones requiring power and my new cell phone not only doesn’t work in the house, but not in the driveway or middle of the street either. The connection to Spain has been so bad, Steve and I have only had one conversation where we could understand each other in 11 days. It took me over an hour to find an old fashioned plug-in phone just to make this call. I finally found one in Steve’s office in a metal box on the very top shelf. And the temporary fence will NOT hold Simba and needs to be reinforced.
Mom: (silence then a giggle then sobering realization…) Is this contagious? Can it come through the phone? I don’t even think I should be talking to you. Maybe you shouldn’t stay here. And are you planning on driving my car when you get here? Because it only has 10,000 miles on it and I’m really afraid of you driving it with the way things are going……

But you’ll all be happy to know STEVE IS HOME! Even though he just fell asleep on the toilet….

 

It’s Chernoble…

You’re laughing already aren’t you? You know something else has happened and you just can’t wait to see what it is. Rubber Neckers!

I’m trying to quell the hysteria. Literally there are tears running down my face as I type this. My new neighbor just knocked on the door to tell me that his fence guy is coming tomorrow to take down the common part between our yards. Yes, you guessed it, that fence is one of the fences enclosing the dog run. But wait, it gets better. I can’t let the dogs run loose in the yard because part of THAT fence is coming down too. Oh and wait! There’s more! He says it will be down at least four days. (Let me put into perspective that the other three sides of their fence have been down for five months because contractors keep walking off the job.) Let me also point out that as of 6 a.m. Saturday morning, we’re supposed to be on a flight to California and if history is any indication, that fence could be down for months. I’m trying not to panic. I’m hoping I can talk this fence guy into not tearing the fence down until the posts are set and he can do part of the dog run one day and the rest of the yard the other so that I have a place to put them. I’ll wear my sluttiest attire to go and try to beg. But, with the way things are going, he’ll be gay. Queer as they come. It’ll happen. You watch. I have no idea what I’m going to do……

 

Martha Stewart rules the roost…

When the inners argued this morning, Inner Martha bitch slapped Inner Food Network Chick and decided to make pancakes from scratch. I put all the ingredients together and was just about to stir it, when I picked up the buttermilk carton and noticed it felt warm. My hands were icy, but….I picked up the eggs….warm. Oh no. I opened the fridge to check the temperature: 64 degrees. Crap. The door has an alarm that goes off if it’s left open and no alarm went off. So instead of the usual plumbing breaking when Steve’s gone, it appears the fridge has broken. The phone rang just as I started to cry. It’s Steve. I forbid him from leaving for this long ever again. (I did that last September when he was only home for 8 days the whole month. Notice he left again for more than a week. ) I think he was about to tell me how much Spain sucked with only a dial up connection in his hotel room but decided my Inner Angry White Male just might be homocidal.

After I was able to gather myself, I went outside to our garage fridge which had spare eggs, milk, buttermilk, and butter and re-made the pancakes. Inner Food Network Chick was pretty smug about this until Martha sucker punched her. Looks like Martha hooked up with Angry White Male last night and has a new lease on life. Chocolate chip pancakes from scratch are TOTALLY worth it.

Martha threw four tennis balls in the dryer with the down jacket and the feathers seem to be unclumping a bit. It still smells a little like wet dog. And washing it probably removed any waterproofing. Sigh. The repair guy for the washer insisted we switch to a High Efficiency detergent for our front loading washer. Dude. I told him we bought this washer before HE detergents were even invented. But he insisted and Steve listened. So Steve bought All detergent. Just so you know, All sucks. It sucks big….AHEM. Sorry. Anyway, it’s not cleaning. Which is really annoying because I’m going to have to rewash this jacket and after spending 2 days trying to get it to dry with no heat and 6 times through the dryer, I’m annoyed. Really annoyed. And the pizza stains didn’t come off my youngest’s shirt. I told him not to wear his pizza, but he never listens. Martha does NOT recommend All. Or Tide. They sucketh. Martha will be going in search of some yummy smelling Gain or Mrs. Meyers that actually CLEANS clothing.

We’re slipping back into summer mode. The kids are reading and drawing and playing quietly. After basketball yesterday I refused to leave the house, because the kids have started fighting the second we get into the car. Being enclosed in a small space during a civil war could drive someone to drink. I took them to a restaurant yesterday and they started screaming and fighitng and punching each other DURING THE MEAL and I could not get them under control. I’d grab one and the other would be throwing a roundhouse punch, I’d grab the swinging arm and the one child I didn’t have would kick or throw another punch. Needless to say, I walked out the restaurant without them even finishing their meals. I was totally humiliated. I would have walked out carrying one under each arm, but their combined weight is more than I weigh. Two teenagers were staring at me as I was trying to get them into the truck with them punching and screaming. I almost turned to the teenagers and screamed THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX! But my youngest was punching in the face by then and I didn’t want to have to visit the ER so I had to focus on them.

I drugged the crap out of the dog last night. He’s all mellow now. He’s staying high until Steve gets home. Because it’s the drugs or the gas chamber. I’ve had it. My other dog seems embarassed to even know the bad one. She tries to pretend she’s never seen him before in her life.

I forgot to mention that due to a trainer induced injury, I couldn’t turn my head yesterday. Well it wasn’t all his fault. I worked out eight times in 6 days. My back rebelled. Night before last I couldn’t sleep due to pain. It was so bad last night I debated about searching the medicine cabinet for some narcotics. But I decided that I probably couldn’t combine narcotics and my knee medicine, so I opted for a boat load of Tylenol. I’m a little better today. I can turn my head, although not very far. I usually work out on Mondays, but perhaps I’ll ride the stationary bike tomorrow and read a magazine. I still have to do running club too, and extreme pain makes me crabby. I listened to my neighbor and dropped the intensity of my workouts when I’m not working out with my trainer, but the problem becomes that I don’t feel like I worked out. So then I work out again. Sigh. It’s a vicious, vicious cycle.

We’re headed to California on Saturday for 11 days. I’m really hoping the weather is nice. I’d like to spend some time on the beach. And I’ll be doing a lot of running. I might go work out with my old swim team too. Certainly there’ll be stories to tell. And Thanksgiving is coming up. Where Martha rules the roost and we don’t even know that Food Network Chick.  

 

Speak slowly, I confuse easily…

Ok, I’m going to admit it. I’m having a hard week with Steve being out of town. I’m not sleeping, the person who helps me around the house quit, my babysitter didn’t show up for a meeting I had to go to at school with the teachers, and my trainer measured my fat at the gym.

Tonight I called the produce delivery service to bitch them out for not showing up today and as soon as they answered, I hung up because I realized they weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow. This morning, I heard the garbage trucks at 6:30 and shot out of bed running around trying to find a robe to put on to run outside and put the cans out because I forgot Thursday is garbage day. It’s freakin’ cold at 6:30 a.m. when all you’re wearing is a t-shirt and robe.

I sustained a second degree burn on my hand from the oven trying to get dinner out. It is a hideous burn. Did I mention that Prozac-taking lunatic of a dog? No? He is driving me up the WALL! He has taken to start demanding to be fed at 1 pm just to tick me off. He’s barking non-stop even after getting a face full of vinegar. He thinks he’s ENTITLED to be fed when he wants to be fed. He normally gets fed at about 8 pm. (*&$#(&*%$( dog!

The rain has been unbelievable. I can’t walk outside without it filling the pockets of my jacket. I went to the store to get dog food and it completely soaked the bags before I could load them into the truck. I bought a smaller bag (33 pounds) to carry around the back of the house and put in the can for the dogs because I knew I would not be able to handle 44 pounds of soggy paper and dog food. It turns out that’s the only smart thing I’ve done all week because the 33 pound bag broke as I got to the garbage can. The 44 pound bag broke before I got it out of the truck.

The children aren’t helping either. They have fought non-stop since dropping Steve off at the airport on Sunday. However, this evening there has been no arguing for TWO WHOLE HOURS! WOOO HOOOOO!!!!!! Well, they were on a conference call with my dad for like 40 minutes of that, but still, they managed to get through the call without pummeling each other.

So when you speak to me, speak slowly. I’m having a hard time. Hopefully, I will not spend another night staring at the ceiling listening for the boogey man or the cat-rats. And perhaps I will wake up less confused and less crabby, certainly less cold and wet. Because I don’t care who I hear at 6 something tomorrow morning, I’m not getting cold and wet again for anyone.

The kids don’t have school tomorrow. My trainer says “So how are you going to make it through the day?” I said “I’m coming here.” lol. My goal is to make it through tomorrow without sustaining injury or burns, maiming any dogs, or being drowned in the rain. I’m hoping the kids can go most of the day without fighting, and if I play my cards right, coaching basketball by myself tomorrow will go off without a hitch. I feel like I might be being overly optimistic given how the week has played out so far, but we can all have dreams…..

Update: My week appears to be improving. My youngest just came into the room and asked “Did they have electricity when Daddy was little? What about phones?” I laughed so hard I couldn’t answer.

 

I have a homocide to report here

Hello? Police? I’d like to report a canine homocide on the 1900 block of IHATETHISDAMNDOG Drive? Yes, I do believe it was first degree, intentional homocide because he’s standing in the sleeting rain barking because he’s wet and demanding to come inside. The smarter dog is inside the doghouse dry and warm.

 

Sex and Free Alcohol II! (and a little Satanism)

I promised to post the devil costume with the dirty shirt I wore last night. But first I should point out, you should never wear that costume around labrador retrievers. I went to drop son #1 off at a friend’s house and got chased by his labrador retriever. First he tried to fetch my tail. When I turned around he tried to retrieve my feather boa. He barked at my eyelashes and finished it off with a wet nose to the crotch. If I knew him better, he would have gotten a swift kick in the ribs for getting fresh with the devil.

We got to the Halloween party and I was in charge of running one of the booths. I should point out that this is a huge party we go to every year with probably a hundred kids. One of the kids gets to the front of the line and doesn’t recognize me. I say “Hi Lucas” and he looks stunned and then looks at me suspiciously. “How do you know my name?” he says. I replied “I’m the devil, I know everyone whose been bad this year.” and then he turned and ran away. I should point out that he’s 10 or 11 so I wasn’t scaring little kids, but I enjoy scaring the bigger kids.

So without further ado, here’s my costume:

 

 

Translations of a labrador retriever

Can you hear that? Irritating isn’t it? It’s my idiot yellow labrador retriever who will not stop yipping. That’s right yipping. It’s not your normal ferocious “You’re on my property, I will kill you now.” barking. This says “I am insane. You were late in getting me my Prozac yesterday. Did I mention I’m insane? Yes, I’m here. Hello? Anyone hear me? I’mmmmm insannnnnnnneeeeeeeeee!” And do you know what I hear? “Hello!?! I am your extremely irritating, idiot yellow dog! Please come out here and shoot me with a face full of vinegar or the hose until I shut up! Helloooooooo! Anyone home?”

Yes, I got my degree in Dogology- translations of an idiot retriever back in 1994. Everyone should have this degree.