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