The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Good...

If you know me, I've probably just caught your attention, because I never use the word good in the same sentence as my dear husband's dog, Jack.

However, if you've heard me tell Jack stories before, you know he is "accident prone".  That is putting it lightly.  This dog has cost us more in vet bills than I've spent on groceries in the past five years.  There was emergency surgery to remove a neonatal binki from his ruptured intestine, the dead bird, delivered to our bed, that made him deathly ill, and just last month, the two inch patch of skin ripped off his leg on a barbed wire fence that required a skin graft.  So, to clarify, the good is that Jack is alive.  My husband won't be divorcing me this week because I killed his dog.

The Bad...

The bad is one jumbo sized bouncy ball that came home in a birthday goody bag. 

Let's compare it to a quarter, just to put the story in context, so you understand that this isn't your average sized bad ball.

The Ugly...

Yes, I'm the ugly.  More specifically the shiner that Jack gave me...  but let's back up for just a second so you can fully appreciate the story.

Above mentioned ball comes home from birthday party and is promptly identified as a "dog hazzard" by ever vigilant mom (I'm making myself look good here because the above picture is so not pretty) and placed on the kitchen island for safe keeping. While preparing dinner, lunatic children invade the kitchen, capture villain ball and proceed to drop it.  Ever observant dog immediately retrieves.  Children, who have been warned of "the danger of the ball" scream and attempt to recover it, which causes dog to promptly swallow said object in fear.  Rather, since I would imagine it is hard to swallow an orb the size of an orange, the dog begins to gag and writhe on the floor making pathetic choking sounds.  The children scream "He swallowed the ball!" while I stare for a moment in stunned disbelief, thinking "How could he swallow something that large?"  before springing into action, sticking  my entire arm down the dog's throat and then attempting to administer the doggy Heimlich Maneuver to flailing 50 pound beast.  Five seconds later, everyone else launches into action.  I'm screaming at the children to look for the ball to confirm accidental swallowing.  The children are screaming "He has it, we can't find it!".  The two other dogs (yes, please recall that I live in a zoo), sensing danger, insert themselves into the situation.  Rocky starts attacking Jack because he believes he is hurting me rather than just choking and my husband's "other" dog, Doc, who is a dumb jock, starts biting everyone and everything, because truly, he has no idea what is going on.  I begin dragging the choking animal by the collar into mud room to attempt a peaceful resuscitation and finally manage to slam the door where I'm able to ascertain that, thankfully, the dog is now breathing, but, the ball is no where to be found.  The children tentatively knock the door to beg admittance, confirm the ball is missing and ask what I'm going to do.  Should we call dad?  I begin to cry because I have no idea what to do and darn it, this is really putting a crimp in my plans for a nice dinner, which I can smell burning in the kitchen.

I won't explain all the excruciating details of the next half an hour when I try to decide where to find an emergency vet on a Sunday night.  How to get children and ball containing dog into the car.  Whether to call my husband at work and confess to the fiasco.  But then, I hear a rumble...  Could it be that the ball is disagreeing with the dog?  Will it come out on its own?  He begins pacing...  He lies down with his nose in the corner, a telltale sign is is about to hurl.  And then, blessedly, the dog pukes.  I have never been so happy to see a mucous covered three inch bouncy ball in my life and promptly grab it with my bare hands and discard it while the children scream in disgust.

The black eye...  I didn't discover that until the next morning, but I have to assume it was inflicted in the process of trying to deliver sharp thrusts into the abdomen of a very large choking canine.  I still have it.  For the last two weeks, everywhere I've gone, everyone I've seen, I've had one lingering, getting progressively worse, black eye. I'm beginning to fear it's permanent.

Just another quiet evening at our house.

Kicked in the Badonkadonk

I know, I disappeared.  The last two weeks have been beyond crazy.  They kicked my, ..., well, I'm trying to encourage a obscenity free zone at our house, hence the title, but you get the idea.

I won't bore you will all the mundane details, but to make a tedious story short, it involved a black eye, a funeral and an insane amount of "real" work, all piled onto our usual amount of craziness.

But here is something beautiful. This arrangement of flowers, given to my family for my grandmother's funeral. It is absolutely breathtaking and contains the largest roses I've ever seen. 

Seriously, they are the size of baseballs.

And last night, for the first time in way too many nights, I got to cook dinner for my family.  And it felt good.  It felt right.  It was like coming home.  And I realized that I really, really love to cook.  And when I don't cook, I get grouchy and under nourished, both physically and emotionally.  So I just got back from the grocery store, and there will be fresh food this weekend.  And my hands will smell wonderfully like garlic.  And as soon as I get a get a chance, I'll post more.

Daylight Savings Time Sucks!

Springing ahead for daylight savings time is always so hard for me.  At least now, I know I'm not the only one. 

Our little guy came down this morning with his big brother and promptly curled up and went back to sleep in our bed.  He never does that.  I'm so jealous.

There was the occasional stretch, which looked so delicious...

But he'd snuggle right back into the covers and continue his slumber.  I love to do that.  Stretch and then go back to sleep, knowing you don't have to be up yet. 

Next year, that will all change, because my baby is about to go through kindergarten round up.  How can that be?  This is still a baby hand!

And it is attached to an angelic little baby face, covered by his trademark ratty pink blanket, which was mine so many years ago.  Kindergarten will come too soon for us, or maybe just for me, so for now, I'm going to go watch him sleep and listen to the inevitable little sighs and snorts that he makes until he decides to wake up and meet this very early Monday morning head on.

Mr. Big Mouth, No Teeth

These pictures were cracking me up today. You never know what you are going to get when you ask your kids to smile for the camera. In my experience, it is very rarely a smile.

 

I say, "Smile!".  The six year old hears, "Stuff a huge strawberry in your mouth, slightly cross your eyes and turn towards the camera."

 

I say, "Smile!".  The six year old hears, "Wrap your entire mouth around a 64 ounce G2 bottle and try not to gag."

 

I say, "Smile!".  The six year old hears...  Well, actually, this time, I guess he heard smile.  But man, his teeth are a train wreck.  Five baby teeth missing (four by "natural" means, one thanks to a concrete floor at Cheeseburger in Paradise), check.  Three big teeth coming in at awe inspiring angles, check.  Cross bite, check.  Strawberries caught in teeth, check.  Scratch near eye acquired after mercilessly teasing baby brother, check.  I see an orthodontist in our future.

Fashion Lessons: 101

I've been working my way through all my old pictures with Picasa's people identification tool.  At this point, let me issue a warning.  If you have the slightest bit of obsessive compulsive disorder tendencies, this is NOT a task you should ever start.  EVER!  Don't even try it to see how it works.  I promise, you will be sucked into the face identification vortex.  For the past couple of weeks I've been trying to identify shadows in crowds.  For instance, do I know that person, or is it a random bystander at the St Patrick's Day parade from 2004?

Anyway, while I was wasting hours tagging all my family, friends, acquaintances and strangers,  I noticed that in a high percentage of the snapshots, our youngest son is in very odd ensembles.  Now I know that we aren't fashion forward at our house, but I think he may have a problem. 

Here he is a couple of years ago.  Now, the outfit would be OK if he had on pants, and if it was winter.

How about this one taken just a few weeks ago?  That's my headband.  I'm just lucky it was on his head instead of mine, because "fixing my hair" is his other favorite thing to do while I'm trying to work...  And he is disappointed when I comb out my hair when we make a carpool run.

This is more like it.  Middle of winter, in boxers or "little pajamas", never mind the cold, with my "Jacklyn Onassis" sunglasses on.

This one screams classic confusion.  Am I superman?  Am I a cowboy?  Am I a train engineer?

Fatigues with antenna sportin' rain boots.  His explanation?  "Mom, I don't have any real army boots".

And this, this is over the top, even for him.  Tightey whiteys on his head with hot wheel sunglasses.  Hmmm...  I swear that I've always believed he was gifted, but I may need to reconsider exactly what those gifts are.

Although I will admit that the other day I threw a pair of pants and shirt at him as I was folding laundry in an effort to get him out of the aforementioned boxers and he looked at it and asked me completely deadpan, "Mom, isn't that too much green?"  How do you like them apples?

Thank you very much

We are snowed in again.  What to do?  What to do?  How to entertain ourselves on our fifteenth of sixteen days at home (we snuck one school day in there) when it is "Too wet to go out. And too cold to play ball.  When we sit in the house.  And do nothing at all."

Finally, an "Ah ha!" moment.  We should write the thank you notes that we have so sneakily avoided doing for the last fifteen days.

So, this is for all of you who are about to receive a home made card in the mail.

You know who you are, because there was a present from you under our tree this year.

Now, it might not be abundantly clear, when the postman delivers it, who this card is from or even exactly what it is for. 

Because, after all, we are 5 and 6 and writing words is tedious...  But you will know that we worked very diligently creating it for you.

On our fifteenth day stuck in the house.

and that we are so thankful for the presents, but mostly we are thankful for you and wish you were closer

so that we could give you this card in person instead of trusting it to the mailman. But we will see you soon and we are so excited! Love, the boys.

Dreaming of the Beach

Today, I'm dreaming of a beach, and it's not this beach.  I don't even think a Corona could help this picture.  School was canceled again today after the kids returned for a single day from Christmas break.  The snow just keeps on falling and it is bitterly cold out, so, while I watch the big snowflakes pile up on our beach, I'm thinking of another.

On this beach, you can dip your toes in the water without fear of frost bite.

You can bask in the sun with nothing on except your swim trunks and diaper, if you happen to wear one.

You can stand at the sea wall and contemplate the waves while thinking about retrieving your boogie board for another thrilling ride.

And you can dig the sand out of your belly button every night.  See the name? On the chair? Casa Manana. I'm dreaming of you and counting the days until I see you again.

Last day of break

The kids have been home with us for almost two weeks now for their Christmas break, in addition to three snow days the week before, so we have had a lot of "together" time.  I realized that I may not be setting the best example today though, when I saw this...

Yes, they have ensconced themselves in my bed with a computer on their lap.

The only saving grace is that they are playing something mildly educational.

However, they aren't alone.

My bed seems to be "the place" to be on these cold, winter days.

And, since it is the last day of this very long break, I'm not going to do a thing to stop it.  Everyone can snuggle into my bed.

In fact, see that star?  The place with the unoccupied computer, mug of coffee, bottle of water, work phone and cell phone?  I'm about to jump right back in under the warm covers and join them!

Tomorrow, we can wake up early to our alarms, struggle into the shower, get dressed and make our way through way too much snow back to school, but today, this is sounding perfect.

Digging out...

After three days of being snowed in with five adults, two rambunctious children and five (yes, you read that right) five dogs, today we ventured outside to survey the damage.  After a frustrating trial run getting the snow blower started (during which someone, who will remain anonymous, forgot to turn on the fuel line), we were successful and trudged out. 

We had some substantial drifts...

But none bigger than the route to the front door through which we carved a narrow path in the 4 ft snow drift.

Our front door is looking rather short these days, but at least now the dogs can be coaxed out.

We've spend the last two and a half days enjoying being locked in the house.  We opened presents...

We played with our new toys...

We engaged in some very serious games of "Go Fish"...

We gave each other lots of hugs...

We cooked and consumed an obscene amount of food.

Sometimes,

it was almost painful

to try and get it into our mouths all at once...

But mostly we just sat around in our jammies and had fun...

I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and enjoyed the season as much as our family.