I spent the last two hours cleaning and rearranging Miko's room. My back is begging me to spank him for the pain and suffering it just endured. I uncovered items that left me dumbfounded. Speechless, even.
Carefully cut out scraps of magazines stuffed in pencil bags, one of Maridee's dresses from last summer, my old journal filled with notes, schemes and pictures that I DIDN'T WRITE OR DRAW, a martian action figure missing a leg, an hour later...his leg, the tiny bird we lost from the Advent Calendar in 2010, one slipper...never found its match, 6 zhu zhu hamsters that wouldn't shut up once they were unintentionally activated, an old wallet full of one dollar bills, a baby Jesus, my mom's pocket notebook with our Christmas gifts listed and my grammas meds list, a wad of hair that I can only assume had been neatly trimmed off a pony's tail and a disembodied bobble-head which was really just the tip of the iceberg.
I feel as though I am living with the human version of a trash pilfering raccoon or one of those birds that make their nests out of the underwear they steal off some old lady's clothesline. What the crap is going on here??
Monday, March 12, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Dog vs. Man
This past Saturday night we had one of those adventures that would have went viral if our lives were being followed by cameramen. It all started when the Holmbergs left our house at around 1am Friday night. Max had apparently been counting beers and after making careful calculations, he plotted out his next move in Operation: Beer Makes People Forget To Latch Gates.
The Holmbergs were on their way out when Max approached them under the guise of "The friendly and pretty husky just wants to say goodbye. What could be more charming than that??" And once the Holmbergs predictably let their guards down, he side-stepped past them, did a little twirl and with a teasing flounce of his tail, dashed right through the gate.
We spent the next 30 minutes in the chilly drizzle trying to sweet talk him back. Or at least close enough to grab him and bring him back forcefully. Which was, incidentally, the real plan. As if we could have even formulated a plan at that hour and with that amount of beers involved. I would point out here that I had not been drinking, I'm just useless either way.
Meanwhile, Max was making a game out of running straight at Holmberg and Roy until the last second when he would fiendishly dart to one side and laugh at their fruitless, lurching grabs. Sort of like a dog's version of the classic Chicken game. In an effort to be strategic, Holmberg and Roy decided to try their own deception and played the Statue game. This is the part where they stand very still and act like they aren't interested in the escaped husky barreling towards them like a maniac. Both sides committed to keeping up their charade until the last possible nano-second. And Holmberg warning Roy in all fairness, "Dude, I'm totally going to dive on your dog so I'm just letting you know. I'm gonna dive on him." And Roy slowly nodding in understanding and consenting, "Dude, do what you gotta do. Get my dog back before my wife comes out here and kills us both."
And the triumphant winner? It's Holmberg-1, Max-0.
Dude totally dived on that dog.
The Holmbergs were on their way out when Max approached them under the guise of "The friendly and pretty husky just wants to say goodbye. What could be more charming than that??" And once the Holmbergs predictably let their guards down, he side-stepped past them, did a little twirl and with a teasing flounce of his tail, dashed right through the gate.
We spent the next 30 minutes in the chilly drizzle trying to sweet talk him back. Or at least close enough to grab him and bring him back forcefully. Which was, incidentally, the real plan. As if we could have even formulated a plan at that hour and with that amount of beers involved. I would point out here that I had not been drinking, I'm just useless either way.
Meanwhile, Max was making a game out of running straight at Holmberg and Roy until the last second when he would fiendishly dart to one side and laugh at their fruitless, lurching grabs. Sort of like a dog's version of the classic Chicken game. In an effort to be strategic, Holmberg and Roy decided to try their own deception and played the Statue game. This is the part where they stand very still and act like they aren't interested in the escaped husky barreling towards them like a maniac. Both sides committed to keeping up their charade until the last possible nano-second. And Holmberg warning Roy in all fairness, "Dude, I'm totally going to dive on your dog so I'm just letting you know. I'm gonna dive on him." And Roy slowly nodding in understanding and consenting, "Dude, do what you gotta do. Get my dog back before my wife comes out here and kills us both."
And the triumphant winner? It's Holmberg-1, Max-0.
Dude totally dived on that dog.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Uninvited House Guest
My parent's house was recently visited by a 'possum that had decided their attic would be a lovely space for his new art studio and quickly began nightly renovations. Naturally they were not pleased with this noisy, ungracious, inconsiderate and non-paying renter. After all, they hadn't had one of those since I moved out. They spent several nights laying awake while this little fellow busily scratched out his new floor plan, presumably right above their bed.
Desperate times call for desperate measures and my resourceful dad hatched a plan for eviction. I had no trouble figuring out his method when I showed up the following weekend and the scent of moth balls nearly knocked me back out of the front door. It was quite apparent that he had purchased a whole bucket and had sent someone up into the attic to sprinkle them around like bunches of tiny Easter eggs. LETHAL Easter eggs. Easter eggs that smelled like death and a thousand retirement home closets. It may have actually worked if the scent hadn't been strong enough to drive my parents out of the house first. As an alternative to moving out, they removed the excess moth balls and the smell eventually dissipated. Well sort of.
About a week after, my dad went out to the front yard to investigate why his dogs were going nuts and he found them pouncing around the base of a large tree. He grabbed a flashlight and his pellet gun and peered up into the darkness. Staring back at him with a face that he would later describe to me as "kind of cute" was a 'possum. Without further ado or any warning to put his tiny 'possum hands where he could see them, my dad took a shot. The critter dropped like a rock. End of story? Not quite. My dad would later mention to us that he was pretty sure that it was the same 'possum that had been in his attic. I asked him how he could possibly know such a thing and at that moment Roy casually pointed out, "The 'possum was juggling a trio of moth balls."
Desperate times call for desperate measures and my resourceful dad hatched a plan for eviction. I had no trouble figuring out his method when I showed up the following weekend and the scent of moth balls nearly knocked me back out of the front door. It was quite apparent that he had purchased a whole bucket and had sent someone up into the attic to sprinkle them around like bunches of tiny Easter eggs. LETHAL Easter eggs. Easter eggs that smelled like death and a thousand retirement home closets. It may have actually worked if the scent hadn't been strong enough to drive my parents out of the house first. As an alternative to moving out, they removed the excess moth balls and the smell eventually dissipated. Well sort of.
About a week after, my dad went out to the front yard to investigate why his dogs were going nuts and he found them pouncing around the base of a large tree. He grabbed a flashlight and his pellet gun and peered up into the darkness. Staring back at him with a face that he would later describe to me as "kind of cute" was a 'possum. Without further ado or any warning to put his tiny 'possum hands where he could see them, my dad took a shot. The critter dropped like a rock. End of story? Not quite. My dad would later mention to us that he was pretty sure that it was the same 'possum that had been in his attic. I asked him how he could possibly know such a thing and at that moment Roy casually pointed out, "The 'possum was juggling a trio of moth balls."
Monday, February 13, 2012
Is There A Doctor In The House? Or At Least Someone Who Plays One On TV?
Roy has been struggling with a cold for a while. Normally he can shake off viruses and infections with a shrug, a sniffle and an accusation that all the other sick people around him are "wussies". And while this is normally the case for him, over the course of the past few days he has encountered a glitch with his cold that was so unbearable that it drove him to measures he normally would not take. A glitch so horrendous and unthinkable that he would endure the cost of seeing a professional.
The man. He can't taste.
He's tried a number of flavory and savory foods to test his inability. He has suffered through meal after tasty meal. Today he could bear it no longer. He sent me a message that he was going to the Knapp Medical Center Minor Care Clinic in the hopes that their heavily advertised one-hour turn around would yield him some magic potion to return his ability to taste the Red Devil he liberally pours over most of his meals. He waited 2 hours in line behind an elderly gentleman by the name of Bruce Willis. No, not THAT Bruce Willis. The Bruce Willis that lives in Weslaco and walks with a cane. The same one that never made it past the sign-in desk for two hours or before my husband threw his hands in the air, gave a two finger salute in disgust and stormed out.
After two hours he left with his pride and his infection intact. Both unshakable in the face of poor customer service and a false advertisement of speedy attention.
Just now Roy ate two helpings of my potato salad and told me how great it was. He forgot that I know he can't taste a dang thing.
The man. He can't taste.
He's tried a number of flavory and savory foods to test his inability. He has suffered through meal after tasty meal. Today he could bear it no longer. He sent me a message that he was going to the Knapp Medical Center Minor Care Clinic in the hopes that their heavily advertised one-hour turn around would yield him some magic potion to return his ability to taste the Red Devil he liberally pours over most of his meals. He waited 2 hours in line behind an elderly gentleman by the name of Bruce Willis. No, not THAT Bruce Willis. The Bruce Willis that lives in Weslaco and walks with a cane. The same one that never made it past the sign-in desk for two hours or before my husband threw his hands in the air, gave a two finger salute in disgust and stormed out.
After two hours he left with his pride and his infection intact. Both unshakable in the face of poor customer service and a false advertisement of speedy attention.
Just now Roy ate two helpings of my potato salad and told me how great it was. He forgot that I know he can't taste a dang thing.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Former Blogger Re-Intro
I am a mother of four children. I have a 15 year old son, a 12 year old stepdaughter, a 7 year old son and a 2 year old daughter. I am married to a hunk named Roy and we are also the owners of a Siberian Husky named Max. I should add that although Max is impressively handsome and fiendishly brilliant, he barks like a girl. A Chihuahua girl. Seriously.
I used to blog heavily about 6 years ago but I got a life for a while and couldn't find the time to keep it up. That's a lie. I burned out. My favorite thing to do is write about my crazy life and family. I am also an amateur seamstress, a creator of baby gifts and a Kindle Fire addict. My drugs of choice are fantasy fiction, science fiction and comics.
Please put your seats in an upright position and enjoy the ride.
I used to blog heavily about 6 years ago but I got a life for a while and couldn't find the time to keep it up. That's a lie. I burned out. My favorite thing to do is write about my crazy life and family. I am also an amateur seamstress, a creator of baby gifts and a Kindle Fire addict. My drugs of choice are fantasy fiction, science fiction and comics.
Please put your seats in an upright position and enjoy the ride.
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