Friday, June 25, 2010

Crazy Dog Whisperer "Lady"

On our way home to Case deNowell yesterday, within 25 feet of our turn, we see a rabbit run across all seven lanes of Hillcrest.

Problem was, this brown piece of work couldn't have been a rabbit, unless rabbits have discovered growth hormones. So we all rubbed our eyes and took a second look.

Turns out, it was a dog. Chihuahua, probably.*

Regardless, it was FREAKED. It managed to make it past all seven lanes of traffic to our side of the street, so we pulled into the street just North of us and proceeded to try to coax this little animal to safety.

What we didn't immediately know, though, was that the Dog Whisperer was pulling in just behind us.

I was already crouched down, pursing my lips and making the kissie sounds that dogs seem to love when DW appeared.

She was wearing a blue dress and no shoes. And immediately ran toward Hillcrest, standing so close to the road that she was practically standing in traffic. She was trying to keep pace with Chi-chi's frantic moves and was running back and forth like some goalie at the World Cup. Except, she was totally out of shape and was trying to cover about four times the size of a normal goal!

At first, I thought we were a team. She was protecting the road, all "good cop" style, and I was flushing out the perp.**

Then she started yelling something about someone bringing 'the dog out of the car to "attract"' this overgrown rat-dog-thing.

The dog, meanwhile, is running in circles between crazy DW, me and Mike, who is about 30 feet behind me, sitting outside the car, criss-cross-applesauce, just watching the three-ring circus performers do their stuff.

Then, entering ring number four, is the "attractive" dog the DW seemed to think was the key to this whole mess. It is standing behind me, in middle of the residential street, attached to some poor guy who appeared out of the DW's car.

Rabbit-dog is now on high state of adrenaline mixed with "that other dog is SO MUCH BIGGER THAN ME!!!!" and is running between all four of us.

That's when rabbit-dog decides the best, safest place for him is in the middle of rush-hour traffic on Hillcrest.

And then the yelling starts. DW is frantically, REPEATEDLY, screaming "MOVE BACK. YOU'RE SCARING IT!!!" And, she is trying to cover about 50 feet of sidewalk, by herself, to keep the dog from returning to impending doom.

Literally, I had NO IDEA she was yelling at me. But, guess what? Stupid rabbit-dog is now wild-eyed berserk crossed with speed addict because, guess what? It thought she was yelling at HIM!!!!!

That's when I had a brain flash that this woman was "one of those".*** And, simultaneously, I realized "HOLY SHIT. SHE'S YELLING AT ME."

Instead of a snarky comment, my brain immediately went "Fine, Dog Whisperer Lady. If you want to kill this little beast, feel free." And I backed up.

And, guess what? She was completely incapable of guarding all 50 feet of sidewalk and that little dog raced back across Hillcrest to the other side.

By this time, we were all back in the car, shaking our collective heads, wondering how the rescue that started with sweet kissie sounds went so awry.

We circled the neighborhood and located another sweet elderly lady who stopped when the dog bolted in front of her truck. Alas, perp-dog had gone into someones backyard through a wrought iron fence.

DW? Did she circle back around and check on the dog? HELL NO.

All I have to say is "Girl. You got yourself some issues. And I don't think they are all dog related. Yelling at someone trying to assist and freaking out the being you are trying to help is just plain stupid. So, to borrow and old phrase, HERE'S YOUR SIGN."

It will be in the mailbox, should you ever decide to come by and pick it up.

*I don't know for certain because, like plagues, I avoid smallish, insanely bark-y dogs I could crush with my hind end if we met on the sofa under sad circumstances.

**I play a delicious "bad cop", if I do say so myself.

***First hint the DW had NO CLUE: when her dog was adding insult to injury and she was screaming at ME!

****Dog crazy. Kiss your dog on the lips crazy. My dog can do no wrong insane. And there just ain't no reasoning with someone like that when a dog's life is in jeopardy.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

The Big and Small of IT

Time: Morning.
Location: Kitchen.
Players: Mom and one unnamed son.

Son: Mom! (Pulling his underwear away from his body by the elastic and moving forward so I can see the contents.) When I wake up and I have to pee my penis is B-I-G. Then, after I go to the bathroom, it gets small.

He is totally excited about the fact that his penis gets big and gets small.

I'll check back with him on this in about 20 years and see if the small part is still as fun.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Sage Advice

"Sometimes when a woman falls for a guy, she (asks him to change), and he changes so much that she loses her Huck Finn, the rascal in the man she fell in love with. Men are willing to change to make you happy--but don't completely take the boy out of the man. You're gonna miss him." --attributed to Matthew McConaughey*

Mike reminded me recently that he is just a big kid at heart.

I'm so blessed to have a man who can do equally well at playing Wii as sitting in on a conference call with movers and shakers.

Just for the record, Mike is my favorite Huck Finn, ever.

But just remember, Hucky-boy, if you ever decide to PLAY Wii WHILE talking on a conference call, I might just have to go all Ramona Beasley on you and crank up the volume.


*Yes. The same Austin-dwelling, dope-smoking, naked bongo playing, how-in-the-world-do-your-abs-look-like-THAT? actor you were thinking of. When you reread the quote, you'll go "AHHH. Yes."

Thursday, June 10, 2010


We are, technically, at the end of week one of summer break. The first week doesn't really count because two of the three boys were away at camp.

I've purchased two rather large puzzles. Interest level: two out of ten for the kids most moments. One of the kids: zero any given moment.

We are still paying for a gorgeous pool in the backyard. Interest level: four out of ten, unless I'll get in the pool with them. Or Mike will get in. Which doesn't work during the day because, guess what kids??? He's PAYING for the pool in which you are refusing to swim!!!

We have an entire closet full of board games, cards, and things to build with. Interest level: negative fourteen. Again, unless I'll play every game with them so it's "fair".*

We only decide which friends we want to invite over about 5pm daily. At 8am, we can't even decide what we want for breakfast, much less suggest who we should invite as entertainment for the day. So by dinnertime, we've finally made a choice and can't, for the life of us, understand why Mom isn't on board with this concept.

NEWSFLASH: I am NOT the lifeguard, tour guide, and activity coordinator kind of Mom this week. I already know that, next week, we'll be at Vacation Church Camp 6.5 hours/day and I wanted this week to be free of unnecessary distractions, so I planned nothing outside of the house so I could let you kids run free and I could get caught up with things around the house.**

Apparently, my kids think this was the worst idea ever.

I'm beginning to think so, too.

One of the boys needs surgery to have his Nintendo surgically grafted to his hands. That would make it so much easier than the constant reminder that he needs to "Put that thing away." If he COULDN'T put it away, we wouldn't have a problem. Right?

One of my boys needs to figure out what the heck he likes to do, besides running around all schizophrenic at warp speed, moving from swimming to hammock swinging to catching lizards, then reappearing to declare*** "I'm bored. And hungry."****

The most content is the youngest, who is currently terrorizing, UM, playing at someone else's house. Of all the kids, he's been the most content just hanging out and going whenever the urge strikes.

Oh, summer. Please right thyself. It's a long, dang time until late August.....

*Read: So everyone feels like the game is being policed every second it is being played. No playing by ourselves because someone MIGHT cheat and then someone MIGHT get mad and then someone MIGHT quit. With all those mights, why even start without Mom?

**Like the week's worth of laundry from camp. Or dishes. Or pseudo-cleaning of Casa Nowell. You know, the stuff the "fairies" do while you are in bed or at school? Yeah.

***Frankly, my dear.....

****If I hear one more "I'm bored" or "I'm hungry", I'm going to throttle someone. Maybe myself. After all, if I passed out, that would probably require a trip to the ER, which would last several hours, during which I'd get free time to myself.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

From Diapers to Kindergarten

I was reminded recently, by a series of posts from people with children whose ages start at just slightly older than my youngest, that there is a time in life when you truly look at your kids and think "How? How did we get from the obstetrics wing of the hospital to kindergarten in the blink of an eye?"

Those of us with kids who've been in school for awhile now tend to forget those days pretty easily.

The changes coming in our kids have to do with missing teeth and growing feet and pants that could be worn in a flood, with the bottom hem never contacting the water.

The changes are from glow-in-the-dark cast to healed arm and from bicycle accident complete with purple/green/blue "trophy bruising"* to asking for a unicycle.

I guess you could say the changes become more subtle as kids grow. After all, you can't "see" bones expanding or reading levels changing or invisible hair sprouting on legs. Those things, all the sudden, just seem to appear.

But, for certain, my favorite change is watching my kids blossom in their love for Christ.

It is fun to hear them sing "Jesus Loves Me" when they are two or three. But it is priceless to hear them singing along with the Christian radio station, loving the music, when they are tweens.

It's great when they "Hear God speaking" to them and want to know more about Heaven and all the answers to the great "Why?" questions that the Bible doesn't answer and theologians bicker about.

Now that two of my three have professed their love for Christ, I am anxious for The Babe. He has two great brothers who love God and talk about it fairly often, so I'm sure he'll catch on to this early. And, he's about the age one of the boys decided to make the big announcement.

For now, I'll savor the words we sing every night** and the prayers we pray at mealtimes and bedtime and the questions and statements he makes about God and who He is.

And I'll continue to pray that he'll develop a love for God that is deep and strong and lifelong.

After all, I'm not a 2/3 kid of gal. I'm all in. And I want 100% participation from my family.

I'm sure God is working behind the scenes to help me be sure I reach my goal.

*Where does all that bruising come from? It kinda freaks me out when I ask Doo Man and he goes "I have no idea." Really? Every time I bruise I can tell you EXACTLY what stupid thing I did to cause it.

**"Skitamarink a rink a rink, Skitamarink a doo. GOD loves you." We still do the "Skitamarink...I love you", too. But I think our favorite is the former.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

My "Single Kid" Week

~~Before you cuss the author, please keep in mind that Blogger, as in this website, has had their heads up their rears for the last few days and no one could post anything. This was written last week and saved after an interruption (imagine that) and I couldn't post it until now.~~

One of the many benefits of having just one, miniature child at home this week is that we can pretty much go where the wind blows us.

Save T-Ball, his schedule is pretty much blank. And I intentionally left the schedule sans stuff so we could do whatever tickled our collective fancy.

His room now is the only one with decorations on the wall: artwork, shelves for his Legos*, even a shelf with hooks to hang all the hoodies we've accumulated over the last 10 years that have been handed down and now fit him.**

We managed to meet The Babe's only gastronomic desire of the entire week: Costco pizza.***

We even tackled Six Flags! An adventure that began at 11:45 and didn't stop until 5:45, a scant 15 minutes before the park closed. I hurt.

Even more amazing was that this little daredevil of a child, all puffed up at five, road the Shock Wave. Yes, the double-looped, all you can see is sky most of the ride, rollercoaster that most sane people look at and go "Upside down? NOT."

And he is also ready for school, having been to Parker Uniforms and to pay Fall tuition.

To cap off his week, in the car to pick up his brothers, he piped up and said "I'm just a good kid. That's it."

We agree, little man. Thanks for being so much fun and such a great addition to our family.

*Which I hung with painstaking accuracy. Read: this took a trip to Target and the Home Depot and several awful minutes of installation during which I almost cussed, but, by gosh, they are up, functional and STRAIGHT. Miracle.

**Translation: we have an unnatural fetish with hoodies. When I say "we", that is a big, fat royal we. In other words, it's really just me.

***At least it wasn't boxed macaroni and cheese. Bonus: got all my Costco shopping done while he munched out in the cart!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


So I am a Wizard of Oz freak. Love everything about the characters and the sets and the story and blah, blah, blah.

So, a couple of years ago, when I heard in passing that Wicked was coming to Dallas, I was really excited to buy tickets. Problem was, they sold out faster than a speeding bullet.

To add insult to injury, an acquaintance, who had seen Wicked before, managed to get tickets. And all up and shoved them in my face.*

So, this year, when I saw that Wicked was here again, I basically offered my left kidney** to Mike if he would get the tickets for my birthday.

Not only did he come through with tickets, but he managed to make it a double date with some of our favorite couple peeps. And, dinner before the show!!*** Oh my.****

And, can I just say, F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S.?

I now understand why so many people who have seen this show follow it around the country. Like musical stalkers. Wicked groupies. Sign me up!

Whatever the price of admission, even if you get gosh-awful, nose-bleed row tickets, GO. Really, you'll enjoy it that much.

Just beware the flying monkeys. Even at 43, they STILL creeped me out.

*Unbeknownst to her, I was an Oz freak. She soon found out.

**Hey. You never KNOW when you're going to need to take somebody up on an offer like that.

***An ACTUAL date. With no people under five foot. Except for me, because I'm
shrinking now that I'm past forty.

****Ten points for you if you made the Oz connection.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


On Sunday afternoon, Mike and I did the inconceivable: we drove 1.5 hours, unloaded two large footlockers and a cooler of pre-made, allergy-retarding food, and said goodbye to our two oldest kids.

And after our hugs* and "I'll miss you"'s, I about sprinted to the car. It was as if my feet had been replaced by wings. They, literally, were moving at a speed that is usually reserved for marathon winners.

The only thing that slowed me down? Mike.

His speed had nothing to do with his recent sciatic nerve flare-up. Or the fact that he recently hit the big 4-0. It had everything to do with his concern.

It's not as if we were dropping them off at "Purgatory Training Camp" or "Full Refund if Your Kid Gets Lost" or "Camp Friday the 13th". No, this is a solid Christian camp with years of experience.

But that didn't stop Daddy from worrying. Will they have fun? Will they find a good friend to bond with? Will they be homesick?

So, while he's being nominated for "DADDY OF THE YEAR", I'm running and calling, backward over my shoulder "They'll be fine. They'll make friends. LET'S GO!!"

See, as I was packing a weeks worth of three squares a day, I realized that we would be able to eat wherever we wanted, without fear of allergies, for an entire week. And, if I wanted to have a dessert or chicken or something full of blue dye, I could do it.

It wasn't until we were about 20 miles down the road, after I asked Mike where he wanted to eat dinner, that he made the connection. Up to that point, he hadn't realized our new-found freedom.

Once his brain embraced this information, he was giddy.

The Babe and I barely escaped whiplash once his foot caught up with his brain, after it had processed that we could eat Italian, Mexican, or Homestyle without a second thought.

This totally confirms that old phrase: The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

But, I have to update and augment that ditty just a bit. It actually should read: The way to start your vacation with a man is to remind him of all the crap he can eat once the kids are safely tucked away.

Sad but true.

*We are so past the kisses now. I'm lucky to sneak one on the cheek at bedtime.