Not Lost in Translation

My boys aren't like the other kids.

I recognize this fact and quite often, I embrace it.

When the 'other kids' are taunting others, I am proud mine aren't involved. When the little girls are being catty, I am saying a little prayer that God gave me boys. When mine are spouting Beastie Boys lyrics and the other kids are looking on in complete confusion, I am beyond encouraged that I am raising boys that don't fit into the same mold as some of the 'other kids'.

No, I do not think they are perfect. We have our share of 'you shouldn't have punched Jack in the junk' sorts of discussions; there have been times when I have had to physically hold them back from a fight; I will admit to saying on morethanoneoccassion, "We do not hit girls. Even if they have it coming." But ultimately, I know their hearts better than anything else.

Today, I was down-right proud of them and the strong boys they are becoming.

After school, I was sitting on my neighbor's porch when two kids rode up. They asked my neighbor if her kids could come and play, to which she responded no, they had chores to finish. My boys, who were standing rightthere, were not asked. They weren't even acknowledged.

I will admit, that for a split second, my feeling hurt for them. (I only carry one with me, you know. It is safer that way.)

Before I could say anything to comfort my boys, Bonus yells, "ADIOS!" and waved as they rode off.

My neighbor looked at me and said, "That was Davis-Spanish for 'eff off', wasn't it?"


"Yes, I believe it was. And good for them."

Can You Spare a Square?...

Last week, Dorkfish went grocery shopping. This isn't an 'out of the ordinary' thing for him, but he totally screwed it up this time...

As with most husbands, if he can't readily find the specified item on the list, he attempts to convince me that the store no longer carries it. Example: "Hey, where are the chocolate chips for my cookies?" Him: "Yeah, they don't have any." Me: "Reeeeaaallllly....the store stopped carrying chocolate chips. Every.Single.Brand?..." Him: "Yep."

So when I send him with a list, I just assume this is going to be the case. #pickyourbattles

But this time was different. This one was the NO!WAY! WHATISWRONGWITHYOU?! trip.

He came home with John Wayne toilet paper.

Yes, ladies, the kind only John Wayne could appreciate.

It was the cheapest brand, single-ply, could-read-the-newspaper-through-it type of toilet paper....

#groundsfordivorce

After the lecture on how we are Charmin people and NOTHING compares to Charmin and we have ALWAYS USED CHARMIN HOW IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU MISSED THIS IN TEN YEARS OF MARRIAGE?! I stopped. Because he had that deer-in-the-headlights look where you know he stopped listening at 'WHATTHEHELL'...

Fast forward a week. Bonus is out of toilet paper in his bathroom so he goes to my closet to get some. I am standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee and Deuce is sitting at the bar eating breakfast.

Bonus: (holding THE bag of cheap toilet paper in the air) "What is THIS?!"

Me: "Yeah, your dad bought John Wayne paper."

Bonus: (completely offended) "But we ALWAYS use the kind with the bear on it!!! He knows that!!!"

Me: "I know, I know. You're preaching to the choir here, buddy."

Bonus: "But MOOOOOOM, they use this same stuff in school and I HATE IT!"

Deuce: (from out of the cheap seats yells) "And THAT is EXACTLY why I DON'T WIPE!!!"

Bonus and I just looked at each other in shock. Deuce cocks one eyebrow and gives us the "What?!" look and starts eating again. Bonus gives me the 'you suck at your job' look, drops the bag of toilet paper, sighs and walks out...

THIS is the kind of thing that happens when you buy cheap toilet paper, people.

Remember, there are THREE THINGS IN LIFE you don't want a discount on:

1. Toilet Paper
2. Tequila
3. Tattoos

This has been your public service announcement for the week.
you'rewelcome

I'm Registering at Whole Foods

So, I warned you guys that Mams was in town, so now y'all are expecting some hilarious posts full of Mamsisms...

Today ain't that day.

But she is involved...

On Monday, Mams decided she wanted to go to our favorite little Mexican restaurant. Never needing my arm twisted for fat, salt and beer (the three most important food groups), I happily abliged. (Please note that the information inside the parenthesis is foreshadowing...) Since the kids were all in school for only ONE MORE DAY until trackout, we were able to talk Sheshe into coming along. As always, we had a ton of chips, I may have licked the cheese dip bowl clean, mams and I each had a beer and I managed to polish off a burrito the size of my head. It was glorious.

As we were paying, the owner, who knows us well (but not THAT well - foreshadowing again), grabbed my wrist and said, "Can I ask jew a personal question?" While it was unexpected, I am a very open person and knowing she is from South America, I know she is very upfront with her conversations so I said sure. Smiling like a cheshire cat she said, "Are jew pregnant?"

*blink*

{Holding back the desire to scream ROACH and point to the corner or just pop her in the mouth.}

All I could think was, "I really wish I was right now so I wouldn't have to hate you for this" but all I could squeak out was a tiny "no" as I fought back the unexpected tears.

Expecting to see a look of mortification, but only finding mild surprise was a bit disheartening. But the real crusher was when she reached over, patted my 'hello-I've-had-two-children' tummy and said, "I've just never seen jew wif a pooch dis big before."

Yes. She. Did.

I turned to Sheshe in support, but all she could manage was a small whimper as she chewed off her bottom lip. I turned to Mams who was snickering. I finally gave up, shrugged my shoulders and admitted that I had gained FIVE POUNDS recently, but THANKYOUVERYMUCHFORPOINTINGITOUT.

Now, one would assume that the horror would end here. But.No. She proceeded to tell me her personal diet techniques and then lift her shirt to show me her 'I've-had-five-kids-and-three-mules-living-in-here' tummy. Yes.She.Did.

I believe this was the moment Sheshe sprinted for the door and I shuffled out behind her. (Cause you know, us pregnant women can't sprint so good. Not to mention, I was dragging my pride behind me.)Mams chose to stay behind and tell the woman her own horror stories of her saggy boobs and large rear end.

The entire drive home was Mams telling me that she too had wondered if I was pregnant while Sheshe hid her tears of laughter behind her oversized Jackie-O sunglasses.

It was a glorious day.

Short on Time but Not on Laughs...

Let me just start out by warning you, Mams is back.

And she is FULL. OF. IT. this time....

Just to give you an example, she was sitting with Dorkfish last night reminiscing when he interrupted her. "Yes, Mams, I know what you mean about how some people are just likable. A lot of people like me. I am a likable guy," he said smugly. Mams, without even pausing to ponder this statement said, "Well, Dorkfish, you sure keep that hidden well."

I love her.

She is and always has been one of those people who can't remember a punch line to save their life, but is never short on the snark. Fortunately, Deuce has inherited her quick wittiness. As exhibited by our shopping trip yesterday.

We were upstairs in a department store and mams was headed for the elevator. The direction she was going was only taking her to a glass railing for the second floor. Deuce and I tried to tell her it was the wrong direction, but at 86 you honestly don't give a damn about other people's opinions. (I am learning this quickly.) Deuce asks me, "Where does Mams think she's going?!" I explained that Mams has her own way of doing things and she would find the elevator eventually. "Let's just hope she finds it before she hits the glass railing, though," I added with a smartass tone. Picking up on my snark immediately, Deuce yells across the store to Mams, "DON'T JUMP MAMS! YOU'VE ONLY GOT ANOTHER THREE OR FOUR MORE GOOD YEARS LEFT!!!"

That's when I peed my pants.

Why You Should NEVER Text Me During A Meeting...

One of my girlfriends and her husband are both out of town on business. In a moment of desperation, she asked me to take care of her kids this evening until her flight gets in at midnight.

Obviously she does not read my blog.

Or anything I put on facebook...

ANYWAY, so we had been joking about how I would have to clean the house for her kids since her daughter seems to prefer a neat and tidy house. (I have boys. We don't do neat and tidy.) So I sent my friend a text:

"Getting the house cleaned for your daughter...*snicker* ;)"

She writes back, "I am in the longest marathon meeting."

Ignoring the cue that she probably doesn't want to continue the conversation, I said, "I know what you mean. The dogs and I had a serious discussion this morning over coffee. It was going well until Flash licked his ass, signaling the meeting was adjourned."

Oddly enough, she hasn't written back.....

Maybe this is why I don't have a job.

Friday Off...

Dorkfish has been on a 4-10's schedule at work for over a year now. This means that instead of cramming 60 hours of work into five days, he now tries to do it in four. So naturally, he has felt compelled to go in on his 'Friday Off' to finish up the stuff he wasn't able to get finished in the 16 hours he worked every day for the last four days.

(Work too much, maybe?!)

Ahem.

Now that the boys are both in school all day, he has decided to start actually taking his 'Friday Off' to "spend time with his lovely wife"...

As I type this, he is vacuuming the house and I am hiding in my office.

You see, Dorkfish has the affinity for cleaning which I do not possess. It has taken almost ten years of marriage for me to finally recognize the piles on the counter that he deems 'clutter'. No, I am not yet bothered by them per se, but I do see them now. Fortunately, I am fully capable of ignoring them.

He seems to think that on his 'Friday Off' he will 'help me clean the house'...

I am sure you are seeing the stand off starting. He's standing at one end of the living room with a vacuum clutched tightly, staring at me as I attempt to stealthy pick up my laptop and sneak out. Our eyes meet. He has that 'cleaning twitch'. Silence falls over the living room. A dog-hair tumbleweed blows between us as the puppies scatter to their beds.

Then I claim to have to pee and lock myself in my office...

Send. Help.

Woof.

Dorkfish and I have had this running battle, argument, standoff about certain 'duties' around the house. I don't mind doing manly chores such as taking out the trash, fixing toilet leaks or mowing the grass. I typically do most of the cooking and I don't argue about cleaning up the mess after. But there are some things that I feel he can handle on his own. These include, but are not limited to, ironing his own clothes and packing his lunch. I typically provide enough dinner so he will have some for lunch the next day and see no reason he can't throw that in a bag himself. I have been chastised by my grandmother for not doing these things, but honestly, this isn't the 60's people. We are (or should be) equals in this house.

So when I spoke to one of his coworkers the other day and found out he had made a smartass comment about packing his own lunch, well, let's say I got creative. Apparently, she asked him what he was doing for lunch and he told her that he had to go to the cafeteria since his lovely wife hadn't packed his and then told her, "It's like having a dog and barking yourself." For those of you who don't speak 'smartass' that means I don't do my job...

Naturally, this makes me realize I need to step up to the plate and provide my lovely husband a lunch meal worthy of his service. He needs nourishment that will carry him through the day and ensure he doesn't tire while toiling away making tricity...



You're welcome, sweetheart.

Cat and All

Few things in life are more entertaining than listening to my grandmother tell a story. She can't tell a joke to save her life as she always forgets the punch line, but when it comes to a true, here's-how-it-all-went-down story...she's the master.

Last week, my neighbor T-racy, My Beesh and I were privy to one of Mam's famous story telling sessions. We had been discussing pets, specifically cats, and Mams chimes in, "Oh, that reminds me. Did I tell you Ethyl died? Well, she did. It was the oddest thing though. She had left behind this old cat she loved to pieces and so the family put the cat to sleep and buried her with it." She pauses, as all good story tellers do to allow that last statement to sink into the mind of the listener. As we all sat in silence and disbelief she continued, "Yep. My friend Betty had warned me before I walked in that the cat was in the casket, but I thought it was a stuffed cat or something. Nope. I walked up to pay my respects and there laid Ethyl, cat and all."

Only my grandmother...

House Dumb

Well, we did it. We all survived track out. My grandmother, Mams, made a guest appearance for a week here and that provided PLENTY of blog material... Honestly, my head is still spinning from some of those stories. But first, last week was Bonus's first week back at school. He is a big second grader; which apparently means he has to dress nicer than those white-trash kids in first grade. He actually expects me to iron his clothes. IRON.HIS.CLOTHES. I don't even iron Dorkfish's clothes (a daily power struggle around here...)



Deuce started last week as well. But he only went on Monday as part of their staggered entry program for kindergartners. Today was the BIG!DAY! for him. He chose his outfit, which included a button up shirt, denim shorts and a pair of green skull and crossbones socks. The hair, you ask? Yes, it was spiked in a faux-hawk. He boarded the school bus with his brother at his side and a spring in his step. One can only pray he returns home with a tiny bit of that left.



I am sure you all are asking the question that every single person has asked me lately... "Amo, what are you going to DO with YOURSELF?!"

Listen people, I lead a very exciting life. Just this morning I was taking a shower and pondering big things such as, "Why does the dog hair pile up at the baseboards and float through the house like tumbleweeds on the prairie?", "Does the roughness of your tongue determine exactly how many licks it would take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" and "Is my left arm cleaner than my right because I always wash it first in the shower?"

Exactly when do you think I have time for a job or anything else to keep my mind occupied and sharp?! Pffft.

So, to celebrate my First Day of Freedom in Seven Years (Freedom Fest for short), I went to the dentist. I know, exciting eh? But to be honest, this is the first time I have been able to go with out planning it around a four-hour, three-day-a-week preschool or bribing a friend to watch them. So, yes, it was kind of exhilarating. Don't worry, the FOUR SHOTS OF NOVOCAINE took care of that moment of pleasure, but didn't damper the Freedom Fest spirits! Apparently, my body metabolizes novocaine rather quickly, so by the time I left there, I was numb up to my eye sockets and have a new appreciation for Tammy Faye Bakker.

(By the way, a mango-strawberry smoothie isn't the best choice for one who's lips won't allow them to use a straw and the cold sensitivity is of light-socket proportions. justsoyouknow)

Determined to not loose all of my day, I went to the bank to make a deposit. Again, the first time without a kid in tow. As I sat down at the desk of the branch manager, I immediately apologized for my lisp and assured her it was because of the novocaine and had absolutely nothing to do with alcohol or my kid's absence. Her jaw dropped, her eyes became huge and she said, "What are you doing driving?!"

*blink, blink*

(This may have been the point where my brain exploded...)

Gaining all my composure and trying to hold back all of my smart ass I said, "Because I don't usually drive with my mouth?..."

So this, my friends, has convinced me that staying at home during the day will in fact NOT make one 'house dumb'.

Now where are those damn bonbons?...

Five Lessons from Week One

Week ONE of vacation:

1. Humidifiers are not toys.

a. Humidifiers can catch on fire for unexplained reasons.

b. If the flames coming out of the humidifier don't burn you, the steam will.

c. Please don't act surprised when mommy is upset because she had to run naked through the house to the sound of "MOMMY! THE HUMIDIFIER IS ON FIIIIIIRRRRREEE" and she arrived scared and angry. She was angry because she was scared. The fact that she had to make that 'do I believe him and leave the bathroom with no clothes on' decision was also part of the angry.


2. Smores can be made in the microwave.

a. The directions should be followed closely. There is a HUGE difference between 15 seconds and 30 seconds. (That HUGE difference translates into saucer-sized marshmallows and chocolate oozing everywhere.)

b. The oozy chocolate and exploding marshmallow are quite hot. Not nearly as hot as the flaming humidifier, though.

c. One should really save smores for the campfire so the flying, burning marshmallow can be enjoyed in the safety of the woods.


3. When mom says, "JUST GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE FORTHELOVEOFGODANDALLTHATISHOLY!" She doesn't mean "Please come ask me when I am fixing breakfast/snack/lunch/snack/dinner/snack/dessert" or "helping you find underwear". Mommy's vacation doesn't start until you go back to school. If you keep bugging mommy she will continue to find unpleasant chores for you to do.

a. Cleaning your room is not an unpleasant chore. You made it; you clean it. This rule applies as soon as you are no longer in diapers.


4. When you are asked to clean the toilet, do not tell mommy you will after breakfast/snack/lunch/snack/dinner/snack/dessert. (See example 3.)

a. Yes, you are correct in your assumption that cleaning the toilet is your unpleasant chore. No, you are not allowed to complain any longer.

b. If you continue to complain, there will be more unpleasant chores ahead. The marshmallow explosion in the microwave is looming, after all.


5. Spending the entire day in your pajamas is perfectly acceptable on vacation.

a. However, when your mom is stopped in the yard by the neighbor and she says, "Oh, please excuse my outfit. We are cleaning today/washing clothes today/bathing dogs today", do not throw her under the bus by saying, "But you said we didn't have to dress since we weren't going anywhere!" She will find another unpleasant chore. I promise.

A (Bent) 'Tail' of Two Puppies: Part 3

Despite my initial concern that another puppy would increase my workload (IE potty training) exponentially, I simply had to have him. After all, who could pass up ANOTHER! SNUGLY! PUPPY!?!


Welcome Flash!
(Thunder, curled up behind him, is obviously happy with the new addition.)

But I kinda forgot to let Dorkfish know that I was going to get the other one. I mean, he had already agreed that it would be a GREAT IDEA probably be okay to bring him home. Ironically, I remembered this little detail as soon as Sheshe asked me what the hell I was thinking...

So when Dorkfish came home, I did the only logical thing. I hid Thunder in the bathroom and acted like Flash was Thunder. I mean, eventually he would probably notice we had two puppies, but he does work A LOT.

After all, their markings are very similar with their white paws and white marks on their necks.


Thunder is on the left and Flash is on the right.
(And yes, they do cuddle like this constantly.)

The only big difference is that Thunder is fawn colored and Flash is red. Oh, and the little 'bent tail' thingy... But otherwise, they're almost like twins! Heh....

He had been home about twenty minutes when he did a double take and said, "Hey, I thought your were gray..." BUSTED. So I brought Thunder out and he was overcome with joy, giddy, less angry than I had imagined.

But over the past few months, he has really taken to the little guys. I mean, he hardly complains when our "special dog", Thunder, poops in his closet. The crate training is finally going better too. The first night, they both cried like babies. Dorkfish wasn't nearly as heart-broken as I was over the sadness emanating from the tiny box. "Can't you do something about that?" he said in his overly sensitive voice. "I certainly can. I can put them in bed with us and they will hush immediately," I responded, because I am an enabler a great dog trainer. "Don't even think about it. Can't you put a blanket over their crate or something?" he growled. "Um, I hate to break it to you, but they are puppies, not parrots."

The rest of the house is adjusting well too. Molly even shared her bed!



All together now..."AWWWWW...."

But only that night. I am pretty sure she hates puppy breath.


Yes, she is in their bed which is half the size of hers...

In all, we are all loving the new additions. Even My Beesh can't help but snuggle with Flash!


Although he hates it when I call the puppy by his full name, "Flash Dance with the Fancy Pants." snicker

A (Bent) 'Tail' of Two Puppies: Part 2

Out of all the puppies in the litter, I knew Thunder Pup was the perfect fit for us as soon as I saw his bent tail.




Apparently, it was wrapped around his leg in the womb and the vertebrae in those two spots are completely twisted. His bent tail does nothing more than give him character and in my opinion, makes him a perfect addition to the quirky two and four leggers we have around here.

Not long after bringing him home, I noticed he seemed to have some vision problems. He would miss balls thrown, run into furniture, etc. After a thorough examination by both my vet and a canine ocular specialist (yeah, those aren't cheap), we found out his ocular nerves are undersized thus resulting in poor vision. In his right eye, he can only see light, no movement, and the vision is poor in his left eye. Apparently, this is a pretty rare condition and since the puppies are born with poor vision, they act like normal puppies. In fact, if you didn't know about it, you would just assume he was clumsy and a 'very cautious runner' as he totally runs like his emergency break is stuck. Fortunately, the vision won't get worse over time and Thunder Pup doesn't seem to be bothered by it at all. So truthfully, this was good news to me.

Before we even got home from the veterinary hospital, the breeder was calling me. The veterinarian had called her to let her know one of her dogs was a carrier for the disorder and she was mortified. Honestly, I believe she was more upset than anyone else. After all, only in the Davis household would we end up with a half-blind sight hound. Typical, really.

After a long conversation, the breeder tells me that she wants to give me Thunder Pup's brother, who she had kept to breed and show, as a 'helper' for Thunder Pup. My initial response, was 'no way'. I already had enough work with my 'dependent puppy' and couldn't envision taking on another one. After all, Thunder had become a constant companion:


Yes, he is sitting on my feet as I use the bathroom.



I don't think he liked the water, but the thought of being on the OTHER! SIDE! OF! THE! GLASS! was just too horrible.

He also spent most of the winter riding in our clothing:


He seemed to prefer my puffy coat over all the others.

He wasn't even picky on who's coat he was in:


I never said My Beesh had good taste in sports teams... *snicker*

But in all, he was fitting in to the Outdoordogs household perfectly.


Dorkfish was actually more excited than he looked.

In fact, I think he was my cure for mono.


Sorry for the fuzzy photo, but the picture would have been just as bad if it had been in focus.

But honestly, could this household really handle ANOTHER PUPPY?!

To be continued...

A (Bent) 'Tail' of Two Puppies: Part 1

After my mom passed away, I decided that the next dog we owned would be an Italian Greyhound. Mom had owned two and they were the best dogs. (Okay, one had health problems and the other preferred to potty inside.) But their dispositions and attitude and cuddlebility (totally a word, hush) was just perfect. This would be our next pet.

I am a firm believer that there are too many homeless pets out there and adoption is typically the best option. However, the last dog we rescued was a German Shepherd who was terrified of kids and being left alone. Not really a good fit for a growing, busy family. Also, considering my mother's pet store (probably puppy-mill) dogs both had health issues, I decided that it would suit our family best to find a local breeder. When I found that the most recent litter had been born the day after my mom's birthday, I was convinced it was time.

Time for the scheming to begin. Heh.

So, I casually mentioned it to Dorkfish. "Hey, baby, don't you think Molly would be happier with a companion?" I would ask while batting my eye lashes.

Sadly, his response was always the same, "When Molly dies, we aren't getting any more pets."

Fortunately for us, I am an optomist and realized that what he was really saying was, "We better get another dog before she dies because we will be too forlorn to get one after." It's a good thing I can translate 'man talk'.

I had already gotten my animal lover, Bonus, excited about 'helping Molly by getting her a puppy' so that was sorted. Deuce hasn't ever really taken notice of animals, so we left him out of the equation. I even took Bonus to the pet supply store so we could discuss all the things a puppy would need. As we walked in the door, he spotted the kitten adoption area. Immediately, he was struck by a little, black cat that he just knew Molly would love. Ironically, this little encounter sealed my 'gotta getta puppy' campaign...

As soon as Dorkfish got home that afternoon, I cautioned him that Bonus had found a kitten that he REALLYREALLYREALLYREALLY WANTED and to proceed with caution. When Bonus came in and began his kitten begging, Dorkfish said the phrase I know he now wishes he could take back, "Bonus, I would rather have a puppy than a kitten." (In case you need translation, that means 'I want a puppy'.)

SOLD!

The next step was to figure out how to pay for this puppy and smuggle it into the house. Ironically, this step worked itself out when I told my bestie "My Beesh" as I lovingly call him, that I wanted to get the family a puppy for Christmas. I'm still not sure if he bought the puppy because he loves us and considers us his family or to get 'one up' on Dorkfish in their 'I got you first' game... Regardless, the 'gotta getta puppy' plan all came together nicely and I picked up 'Thunder Pup'! Our first 'new addition'...



To be continued...

200th Post! (But really, who cares?...)

You know how organized, well-planned, REAL bloggers other bloggers do a GRAND! GIVEAWAY! or offer a SPECIAL! DEAL! for their 200th post?

Yeah, I ain't them.

And that's why you love me.

So, my 200th post is going to be about sick kid crap from this week.

But at least it will be funny...

Remember last winter when the ENTIRE HOUSE contracted mono except Deuce? Yeah...we had a mono scare this week with him. Fortunately, it turned out to be most likely be a coxsackie virus. (Say that without snickering. Yes, I'm 12.) I think my favorite part of the entire adventure was when Dorkfish tried to convince Deuce to eat dinner by telling him he wouldn't get better without eating and that meant he would have to go back to the doctor to get blood drawn. Honestly, the kid was 12 hours away from that exact fate, yet I had managed to keep him from realizing it. Until. Then. (In case you're wondering, he did not eat his dinner. But he was terrified of going back to the doctor...naturally.)

The positive side to his week-long illness is being surrounded by concerned friends. For example, when I told my friend Carebear we were concerned he had mono and couldn't figure out how he didn't get it when we were all sick she said, "Well, it says something about his immune system. You better get him in boys scouts cause if we have a plague that wipes out all human kind, he is gonna live a few months by himself...he should know how to shoot a squirrel." (Touching, isn't it?)

Now that we are almost twenty-four hours fever-free, I feel confident in complaining that I only have FIVE MORE DAYS of him being in preschool and this whole sick thing has cost me TWO DAYS OF FREEDOM. Selfish, possibly. Self-preservation and his own safety, ABSOLUTELY.

You Can't Fake the 'Look'

In a hilarious twist and a perfect ending to the 'tooth saga', Bonus brought home his Spring pictures yesterday.

Let me just warn you, the apple doesn't fall far from the Dorkfish Tree...



But he obviously was paying attention when I showed him how to hide the beaver teeth.

Obviously We Are Paying Good Money

Yesterday, I was sitting at the gazeebo, waiting on Bonus' bus. One of my neighbors, who is also the boys Sunday school teacher, stopped by.

Her: "Oh, did I tell you about Easter Sunday and what Deuce said?"

(This always causes great fear, an overwhelming sense of dread and a teeny bit of nausea...)

Me: (flinching) "Um....no? Do I really want to know, though?"

Her: "Oh, yes! It was adorable!"

She then went on to tell me how every symbol they held up to represent a different part of the Easter story, Deuce knew. She held up a piece of cloth and he told them that it was the linen they used to wrap His body. They held up a nail and when all the other kids yelled, "NAIL!" Deuce went on to explain that they used it to nail His hands and feet to the cross. Apparently, Deuce not only could answer all their questions, but gave lengthy descriptions as well.

I have to admit, I was feeling pretty good about my parenting until she said, "So we asked him where he learned all this and do you know what he said?"

(This is the point in the conversation where the nausea returns...)

Me: "Um....home?" (hoping....)

Her: "No, he said that he learned all this from his preschool. He calls it the Jesus School."



Yeah...oops.

All I Want for Christmas is My...well, you get it.

We have finally hit the tooth-loosing stage in the Davis household and let me say, it's about damn time. Bonus was so proud when the first one came out and he got to experience the magic that is the tooth fairy. Well, until I screwed up and he found it in my drawer the next morning...

While we're on the subject, this 'tooth fairy gifts' crap is something we all need to agree on. Giving your kid $5 or $10 per tooth is really just making the rest of us look like schmucks. I mean, what do you expect the rest of us to say when our kid comes home and asks why the tooth fairy cheated him out of $9? I will just go ahead and tell you that telling your seven year old that the tooth fairy must have needed it for gas and whiskey isn't an acceptable answer. So let's just get on the same page, drop a buck every time and move on. Mkay?

Lately, we have been having some 'dental issues' around here. Specifically, Bonus's front teeth started bucking out when his upper pallet hit a growth spurt. At first, it was kind of funny and he started calling them his beaver teeth. Then the novelty wore off and I found myself coaching him on how to hide them for picture day. I mean, look at those things:



For the record, he wasn't even trying to show them off....

On Easter, Deuce helped him out and kicked one of those bad boys out. Bonus was pretty angry yet I don't think I've ever seen Deuce prouder, "Momma! I knocked out one of Bonus's beaver teeth and he didn't even thank me!" Truthfully, that was the only way it was coming out since the kid wouldn't let us near it.

Sadly, that sigh of relief quickly changed to panic when the remaining beaver tooth went all hillbilly on us:



You can hear the banjo music, can't you?

I begged for an entire week for him to Just. Pull. It. Out. PLEEEEEAAAASE! Nope.

Then, a miracle happened. It was totally one of those awe-inspiring, hearing-angels-sing kinda moments. The dog jumped up and knocked it out. (Best. Dog. EVAH.)

So now we have this:



And as scared as I am to say it, I believe this is a grand improvement.

Now we just have to wait for the obnoxious adult teeth to come in and pray his lips will cover them...

Pat on the back or slap upside the head...you choose.

I have to admit something. I came *this* close to screwing up Easter this year. In my defense, Deuce was off all last week and we went to the beach for two days. When we got home on Saturday, I ran to the store and fought all the other lazy-ass procrastinators for the last two bunnies. Sadly, even the boys noticed their baskets were pretty empty. However, I had succeeded in pulling it off another year and was patting myself on the back until Bonus said, "Hey! Let's go look for eggs!" (Naturally, there were none hidden.) So, Dorkfish ran to the store and bought candy which I stuffed in eggs while hiding in the bathroom. (My original plan of robbing Deuce's birthday pinata, that we forgot to bust at his party, and use that candy was vetoed by Dorkfish... Sheesh.) As soon as I stuffed all the eggs, he made them start cleaning their room while I hid them. Yeah, they were so very thrilled...

This morning, I received an email from a good friend. She had screwed up Easter and was looking to me for support and suggestions. Feeling pretty smug that I had pulled off my own near miss, I emailed back some suggestions. But I believe we all know what happens when you begin patting yourself on the back... (That part is what we like to call 'foreshadowing' boys and girls.)

Twenty minutes later, Bonus goes in my bathroom to brush his hair and finds the tooth he had put under his pillow last night for the tooth fairy. Hearing the drawer open, I began my running-through-sand sprint to the bathroom in hopes I could divert his eyes at the last second.

No. Such. Luck.

"Momma, why did you take my tooth?" Bonus asked with a quivering lip.

"Baby, I didn't take it. I don't know HOW it got in there!" I said in a pitch only a dog could hear.

At that point, I began concocting a story about the dog scaring the tooth fairy and Dorkfish finding the tooth and hiding it in my drawer. A pretty pathetic story, honestly, but it worked! He woke up this morning and found a dog bone under his pillow that the 'tooth fairy had left for Molly'. The tricky part is that he wants to call her and thank her now...sigh.

So I believe the lesson for us all to learn here is two-fold: 1. When a friend asks you for advice, NEVER, and I mean NEVER, congratulate yourself on a job well done. 2. Try not to focus on WHY that friend chose YOU for that specific question...or the irony of the 'karmatic smackdown' you received.

Only. Deuce.

In a rare Amo-moment, I am actually posting twice in one day.

Simply because this is too funny to not post RIGHT. NOW.

A couple weekends ago, some girlfriends and I got together and were discussing what age was it no longer appropriate to allow your male child see you naked. Unanimously, we all decided that the age was best determined by the individual child. Bonus is seven now, but he has never stared or made any comments that would make me feel uncomfortable, so we haven't been overly cautious with him.

And then we have Deuce...

This afternoon, I am laying in the bathtub in hopes it will help my aches and Deuce comes walking in. We are having a conversation about our favorite colors and whether it matters if he chooses to play with the white or blue trucks. At this point, feeling weak enough to circle the drain with the bathwater, I was just agreeing with him.

Suddenly, he looks at my body like he has never noticed it before and says, in all seriousness and with much concern, "Momma! You have a piece of carpet on your penis!"

Only. Deuce.

Sick Day at Davis Ranch...always a laugh a minute.

So I'm sick again.

Naturally.

This time it would appear to be a sinus infection that my body can't quite fight as well as it should thanks to the mono. Before you say anything, I realize that you can't actually 'give' someone a sinus infection, so I am not attributing this one to Dorkfish. Well, not entirely. You see, I did find THIS in the cabinet last night when I thought I was going to DIE unless I got some rest:

Exhibit A:


Yeah, that empty bottle coupled with there only being ONE advil in the jar leads me to believe that this may be my last post...

Ironically, it would appear that Deuce is already preparing for my parting. Today, when I was finally able to lay down and get a short nap in, the phone rang. It was Sheshe. I answered and in a concerned tone she said, "Hey, are you okay?"

Me: "Yes, I'm napping. Why?"

Sheshe: "Well, I have your son here with me..."

Me: "What?! Wait, which one?! Bonus is in school..."

Sheshe: "Yeah, it's the little one. He said that he tried to wake up mommy and she wouldn't wake up. So he came here. He also has a cane because his leg is broken."

So Sheshe brought him home and I laid the guilt on THICK. After she told me that she had explained that he did the right thing by coming to her house, I went with the same line. When he got out of timeout for lying and wandering off, I sent him to his room to clean up.

Me: "Deuce, do you understand why mommy got so upset?"

Deuce: "Yeah, I do. Because I scared you."

Me: "Yes, buddy. You did. Now get your cane and take it back in your room too."

Deuce: "Um, mommy? The broken leg was a lie too..."


It's going to be a long day...

It's My Fault for Getting a Degree in Journalism...

Me: "So, Bonus, how did you do on your spelling test?"

Bonus: "I did great! Got them ALL RIGHT!" *insert cheesy, fake smile*

Me: "Oh, yeah? How do you spell 'four'?"

Bonus: "F-O-W-R."

Me: "Um, no."

Bonus: "F-W-O-R?"

Me: "Um....again, no."

Bonus: "Yeah, I probably missed that one."

Just in Case You Test Positive

Being stuck at home with mono has given me the opportunity to catch up on some things that I have been wanting to get around to for some time now. In one sense, this has been good, as I have been able to accomplish much more from a 'resting state' than one would assume. So I figured that some of you, who I may or may not have infected, would enjoy a list. You're welcome. Oh, and SORRY, in advance if you're sick. I can bring a box of hamburger helper or something...

Things One Can Do With Mono:

~ Finally finish ONE book that your neighborhood book club was reading.

~ Pretend you aren't the turd in the punch bowl when you attend said book club and everyone looks at you like you're Typhoid Mary.

~ Catch up on your blog that you have sorely neglected in the past few weeks months.

~ Finally start editing photos and putting them on your flickr page.

~ Beg your friend to set up your photography website before you die. (This one is still in the works...RIGHT, MY BEESH?!) ahem.

~ Stalk people you used to know on facebook and then decide to not friend them since they made fun of you in high school. (Quite empowering really...)

~ Come to the startling realization that a seven year old can go through a hormonal spike that is worse than ANY teenage girl.

~ Find that you no longer care about your swollen spleen and liver since the wine helps you care less about the screaming seven year old.

~ Realize that your ten-year-old hound dog truly CAN and DOES sleep anywhere and constantly. Ironically, she would do much better with mono than the rest of us.

~ Ponder the great mysteries of life, such as 'Why people "like" their own comments on facebook' and 'Why does my presumed intelligent four year old run, screaming, through the house with a busted soda can spraying everywhere'...

Another Deuce Short

Since it's Friday, I decided to make some peanut butter blossom cookies. (No, Friday has nothing to do with it, but it seems wrong to make cookies for no reason; so there.) Deuce loves helping out in the kitchen, even with his obvious aversion for food, so I was letting him and My Beesh unwrap the kisses.

My Beesh lines up the kisses and asks, "Hey, Deuce, what is this?"




Deuce takes a long, hard look at the design and says, "I dunno."

My Beesh, in an attempt to stir his memory starts pointing to individual kisses and saying, "Dancer, Prancer, Comet, Cupid... Any idea buddy?"

Deuce's face lights up and he yells, "STATES!"

*sigh*

Last night, we took the boys out to get some pizza. I don't believe I've ever mentioned it on here before, but Deuce is quite possibly the PICKIEST eater in. the. world. Despite my begging, pleading, threats and punishments, he won't even try a single bite of any food that he deems 'icky'. The term 'icky' appears to apply to just about any food, lately. Peanut butter is too 'icky' because of the stickiness, noodles are too 'icky' because they squiggle, etc. Cheese, however, is okay as long as he can't see it peeking through the pieces of bread. This is a very important detail in the Life of Deuce. I have now resorted to making grilled cheese sandwiches and ensuring the cheese is pushed in fully between the bread to make certain there is no visual stringiness...

Laugh if you must, but once you find something that works you go with it. To be honest, I'm a bit proud of some of my recent endeavors. For example, I finally found a way to get him to eat cheese sticks! Granted, it involves me 'sandwiching' together individual cheese sticks and cutting them into little 'cheese stick sandwich bites' and hoping he didn't see any of it...

Hush.

But last night, when I served his cheese stick bites, cut into one-inch squares thankyouverymuch, he looked down with disdain and said, "Um, I think I asked for triangles...ugh."

That's the point where your head explodes and you find yourself speaking in tongues, just for those of you out there without kids...

I believe that, through gritted teeth, I explained that this was all he was getting and I didn't give a flying kitten if he ate it or not.

Two minutes later:

Deuce stood up, holding his fork in the air with a 'one-inch square cheese sandwich bite' pierced on the end and exclaimed, "THERE'S SOMETHING GROSS IN MY FOOOOOOD!!!!"

At that point, the entire restaurant came to a hush.

I leaned over to inspect the carnage and there, sticking through the cheese I had so carefully hidden was the offending object. I put my head in my hands and mumbled through my fingers, "Deuce, that is the tine of your fork."

He sat back down and said to the table, "WHEW! It's okay everybody. It was just my fork. You can keep eating."

Go Forth and Read

Guess what? I posted for the THIRD! DAY! IN! A! ROW!

Yes, the sky is falling.

But more importantly, this one ISN'T about mono or Dorkfish trying to kill me.

My dear friend, Jenny, asked me to do a guest post on her blog called Great Little Stories. I was flattered since my stories are neither great nor little...but I guess she ran out of bloggers or something.

So Go! Read! and while you're there, look around a bit and if you're in the mood, give me a little comment love so she doesn't think I completely messed up her blog...

Click HERE to read it.

Thanks guys!
Amo

Tada! Mother's Intuition and All That...

Soooo....Bonus' doctor called today. (You know that's never good.) He said his test results came back and guess what?!

Yeah, mono.

Joy.

Not that I was surprised or anything. In fact, that's the whole reason I INSISTED that they do the blood work even though he said he didn't have the 'classic symptoms' and was only doing it because I insisted.

But I guess I'm a bad mom for making my kid go through that when just sat there and watched them stick him. The kid never even flinched! That's a high pain tolerance, friends. (Or the makings of a serial killer...) Either way, I was impressed.

So now we are on Deuce Watch 2011. He has no symptoms so far but it is honestly just a matter of time. The incubation period is 4-6 weeks and we were all sharing food and drinks back then. But I guess the bright side is that they won't ever get it again!

Well, that and when their friends get sick with it in high school I can say, "Oh honey, you don't have to worry about getting 'The Kissing Disease'. You got it from your mom."

Snicker.

An Epiphany for a Sucker

It's taken four and a half years, but I think I've finally found a useful purpose for Deuce.

Yes, he is awesome at comedic relief. Just this morning he said, "Momma, I don't want to go to school anymore. I already know everything." When I asked exactly what he meant he said, "If you put a bottle of ketchup in water, it floats. See? Everything. I got it."

How can one argue with that logic?

He's also been offering me money for letting him have candy. How many of YOUR kids offer you bribes for treats? Hmmmm? I didn't think so.

But actually, that is just what keeps me from LOOSING IT when he gives me attitude. I think his useful purpose may be taking care of Bonus the Bitch.

You see, it would appear that my mono has now spread to Bonus. While I can honestly tell you that the kid is sicker than he has ever been in his entire life, in complete disclosure I have to admit that he is also being more hateful that I ever thought possible for a seven year old. It would appear that he realizes the gravity of his illness and my feeble state (both in a physical and psychological sense) and has chosen to be nice to only me. I can only assume that this means he has a good sense of survival.

Every time Deuce walks in the room, he comes to check on Bonus. "Can I do anything for you, Bonus?" he asks with the sweetest voice; petting Bonus on the head. Bonus' response is sadly always the same, "NO. Go Away. Stop. Touching. Me." I never knew kids snarled either... Weird. Anyway, the constant drone of "My finger hurts BAAAAAD/my knee won't MOOOOOOVE/my big toe is falling OFFFFF" has kind of taken it's toll on my compassion. Don't get me wrong, he's sick. I am doing everything in my power to keep his fever down, keep him hydrated and comfortable but at the end of the day, I am sick too and it's wearing on me.

In ultimate desperation, I believe we may have just had a break through. While having a moment to myself and catching up on some blog reading, Bonus started his pleas for anything he can fathom. When I didn't jump up to get the thermometer SINCE I CHECKED HIS TEMPERATURE TWO MINUTES AGO, Deuce came to the rescue. Then, Deuce brought him more water. Then, Deuce offered to get him another pillow.

That's when the epiphany occurred. Maybe, just maybe, if I hide in the office long enough, Bonus will give in and let Deuce help him. Maybe this will be the turning point in their relationship. Maybe Bonus will finally realize just how much Deuce loves him and wants to help him...

Maybe that scream resonating from the living room is saying otherwise...

Sigh.

Just Bring Krispie Treats to the Funeral

I have spent the last NINE days in a supine position with the silly assumption that 'I can't possibly feel any worse.' Amazingly, it is possible to feel immensely worse every time you wake up... (I have to say, Mr. Mononucleosis is a bastard. Yes, I did give him a proper name as I feel confident that he is not one to upset.) On the rare occasion I feel as if I can tackle some simple task such as a shower, I get smacked in the face with a big ole healthy dose of 'respect for the virus'.

This has, naturally, put Dorkfish in a difficult position. Not only does he have to deal with my whining, he is apparently the one who brought this hot mess home. Yes, as I predicted in my 'he's trying to kill me' post, our physician confirmed that he did indeed have the virus first and is now on the backside of it. Ironically, he wasn't NEARLY as sick as I have been with it.

Which obviously means that he is trying to kill me.

I have to admit, he has been quite patient with my 'can you get me' pleas. Well, until tonight. I decided that only a rice krispie treat would make me feel better at this moment, so I asked him to make them. He was washing the dishes and said, "Well, I'm busy cleaning the kitchen now. SIGH."
So I waited.
Patiently.

Five minutes later: "How about now? Can you make me some treats now? I'm sick you know."

Him: "Yeah, I noticed. I will get them in a minute."

Me: "Do we have rice krispies? Marshmallows?"

Him (through gritted teeth): "Yes. SIGH. We have all that. But I am a little busy right now...."

Me: "Oh, so maybe you could make them in a minute then? I mean, you're gonna have to wash the pot and all anyway..."

Him: *blink, blink* (slight twitch)

"Oh LOOK! We're out of BUTTER!!! Sorry, honey."

So I texted my neighbor, Cameron: "Can I borrow a stick of butter? Dorkfish is using our lack of it as his excuse for not making me rice krispie treats...I'm rethinking his nursing abilities."

In under thirty seconds, Cameron was at my door. Dorkfish opened the door, looked at the butter and glared at me.

Grinning from my deathbed the couch, I said, "Now where are my krispies, beesh?!"

Feeling pretty smug, I enjoyed about half the pan. Sadly, the joke was on me when Bonus ATE. THE. LAST. ONE.

Obviously, that one is in on the 'get a new mommy' plan...