Pearls of Poopdom

This is our dog, Pearl.  Those of you who know me well, know that Pearl is not exactly my favorite pet in the world.  On top of having ZERO personality, Pearl is kind enough to share many wonderful things with us, as a token of her deep and abiding love.

I frequently wake up in the middle of the night, to her feral screams to go outside.  No, not to go to the bathroom, but rather, to go check on whatever area of the yard she is currently digging in.  You know, just to make sure that the hole is still there, along with whatever dead animal carcass she has buried there to save for later (like 2 am, for instance).

There is also her absolute refusal to poop on anything other than cold, hard surfaces.  We have a lovely and large front and backyard with plenty of grass.  Does she go there like a normal dog? Noooooooooooo.  Her poo is deposited on our front porch, back porch, driveway (resulting in frequent pancake poops with tire tracks going through them--making it REAL easy to scrape up and leaving my car smelling like a traveling toilet) and patio.  Fun times.

She poaches my other dog's food constantly, making it so I have to watch them both eat until they are through and play food police.

Her indoor pooping capabilities are legendary.  Her stomach is very sensitive.  If she eats anything but her specific, super-expensive dog food, she gets sick (see above reference to carcasses).  She prefers to spread the wealth when going indoors.  Providing hours of fun going room to room (but only on our expensive rugs--she has verrrrry good taste), locating said poo and cleaning it up.

The kicker is that she killed a hummingbird.  She. Killed. A Hummingbird.  I love hummingbirds. I do not like Pearl.

But Pearl is old.  Too old to give away and too old to teach her anything new.

When I find her like this, a little part of me gets excited.  Maybe this is it for her?  Has she finally gone to the great dog kennel in the sky?

But then she moves, gets up, goes outside and takes a dump by the backdoor.

Dangerous Bling

My Mom could not come to Colorado to visit me and celebrate my big (40) birthday with me.  Work and other matters are keeping her in Dallas.

She sent something else in her stead, and I just have to share it with you.  See these bracelets?  They are from Hermes.  Hermes!  Hermes!  Something about those orange boxes with the brown logo, just kills me.

They are F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S!  I will wear them all the time.  I swear.

Upon opening them, Victoria (aka the Bad Seed), asked if she could have them when I die.

If someone finds me unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, look for her.

  

Wearing these bracelets.

Slow Ride, Take it Easy...

You, sir.   You with the Obama stickers all over your Prius.  I am talking to you.  

You, who made me late to my tennis match this morning.  Remember me riding your bumper the whole way up the road? (Sorry, Grant.)  Yes, that was me.  In the black Acura MDX, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and spewing obscenities under my breath.  Right behind you the whole way.  I know that you have gay pride.  I am right with you, brother.  Happy for all kinds of love.  Go rainbows!  And unicorns!

I, too, envision "whirlled peas".  It would be nice for us all.  Let's "coexist".  I respect everyones beliefs as well.  Your sticker with the "Impeach Bush"  was also a lovely one.  I share the same sentiments.  Can't say that I am totally behind you on your choice of music.  I tend to go more 80's and disco and some good ol' rock and roll.  Obscure bands are really not my style.  

Overall, however, I felt it all.  Like almost kindred spirits.  Close.  Oh, so close.

I only wonder, why, if we shared so many things, could you not have also shared my desire, nay, desperation, at going just a bit faster.  Perhaps the speed limit of 45 was just too much for you?

25. Is. Not. Cool.

Welcome to Denver, Democrats.

Now speed the hell up, will ya?

Recycle Hell

I am working on "green-ness" (are you reading this KK?).  See below:

curly cue light bulbs that make your skin color look like puke: check

Shaklee cleaning products that are good for the environment but have no scent whatsoever: check

washing clothes in cold water even if they don't get out all the stains: check

turning all lights off if we are not in the room: check

purchasing all organic products (cha ching!) : check

using canvas bags at the grocery store: check

planning all driving trips to conserve gasoline: check

Recycling seems to be somewhat of an issue.

I think, that if you want to encourage people to recycle and conserve energy, you should pick it up more frequently and not have to have light bulbs that make your skin look like puke and sound like high pitched sirens when you turn them on.

Just a thought, people.

Sneaky Seventeen Year Old

A few weeks ago, my brother and sister-in-law and niece and nephew, came to stay with us for a couple of weeks.  They live in London, and we had a great time seeing them.

Prior to their arrival, I went to Costco (I love you, Costco.) to buy two cases of Diet Dr. Pepper and Fresca along with many other staples.  About 4 days into their visit, we noticed that almost all the Dr. Pepper was gone.  We launched a formal inquiry amongst the children and, not surprisingly, NO ONE had had more than one a day.  Hmmmmmm.  This was looking shadier by the minute.

We let said "formal inquiry" go (too much trouble and we we probably were drinking at this point) and purchased even more sodas, but this time we adults were ON TOP of the situation.  Monitoring every last drop that entered the children's mouths.  

The day after they left, Grant went down to the bedroom which was occupied by my nephew (Ryan, are you reading this?), to straighten up and look what he found in the bed side table drawer when he opened it. 

Mystery solved.

An Open Letter to the Olympics

Dear Olympics,

I have enjoyed you daily (hourly) now for nearly two weeks.  I missed your opening ceremonies because I had to go to a black tie event, so maybe I keep watching you obsessively due to guilt.  I stood and yelled and did cheers for Michael Phelps. I wondered aloud as to how his suit stayed on, despite his record-breaking swims.  I watched gymnastics until I thought my eyes would dry up.  I yelled at the Chinese people for having 5 year-olds compete (16,my ass!).  I watched almost every sport on every channel (Curling on TNT, anyone?).  Now I am tired.  I am tired of staying up until midnight watching random sports.  I am tired of crying every time the American National Anthem is played (people, I am a Mexican girl and I love this country).  I am tired of getting up in the morning with puffy eyes and a new little wrinkle. You have overstayed your welcome and it is time for you to leave.

Go away now.  Please.

Love,

Lisa

Too Soon

It has started!!!  My phone rings and I see the kid's school name come up on caller ID. For a brief moment, I toyed with the idea of not answering it, because I KNEW what faced me at the other end of the line.  Sho' nuff, it is John calling to tell me he has twisted his ankle on the very. first. week. of school.

I tell him to ice it and call me back in 10 minutes.  

Ring, ring...

Hello?

Hi, Mom.  You asked me to call you in 10 minutes.

Okay.  Did you ice it like I told you to?

Yes.

Can you walk on it?

Yes, but it hurts.

Is it swollen?

I don't know.

Well, can you look?

No.

Why?

Because my shoe is on the other foot and I can't see it.

Can you take your shoe off?

My feet stink.

I'm coming to get you.

Bottels of Wine

Victoria e-mails me all the time (she is 9 1/2 years old).  This was a recent e-mail from when I went to a friend's birthday party on the night that she went to the "before school picnic" to find out what class she was in.  Please excuse the grammatical errors, as she is going into 4th grade.  Let's hope that the tuition we are forking out, pays off...

dear mom you might not get this message today??? i hope your having a great time!  you probably are!  i cant wait intill your here!  i got mrs. darling! i was kind of dispointed! but then i thought about it it dosent matter what teacher you get! and on the bright side i'm getting a locker!  i wish i could know how you get your locker!  john told me that you pick a color star and you raise your hand and you pick a locker! but thats in mrs.reiners class! love you!  victoria

p.s. how many bottels of wine did you drink???!!!!!!!

grammatical errors: countless

cuteness level: extremely high

content: average

the fact that your daughter knows that you are a lush:  priceless

Bearly Capable

Victoria:  Mom, where is Dad?

Me: At work.  Why?

Victoria:  I need for him to sew up this bear.  His insides are falling out.

Me:  I can sew it for you.

Victoria:  You don't know how.

Me:  Victoria, I can TOTALLY sew that up for you!

Victoria:  He will look like Frankenbear.

Me:  No, he won't.  Give me the bear.

Victoria: (Bringing me the workout shirt that I recently sewed up.)  

When does Dad come home?

Nunkle

I have always said that my feet are the best part of my (whole) body.  The toes go from bigger to smaller, they are very well shaped and have no corns or any other weirdnesses (is that even a word?).  You may think you are looking at two different people's feet (with the same fab Cajun Shrimp pedicure from OPI), but you would be mistaken.  The right foot does not belong to Shrek.  It is my swollen, ugly foot.  Why can't the swelling just stay in the calf, where the injury occured?  Why must my right ankle look just like Sister Rose Helene's ankles at St. Monica Catholic School?  She scared me.  Boo.

Please Stop

John wants his Dad to stop smoking cigars, so he employed some serious guilt-inducing cuteness to get his point across.  This is about as useful as me asking him to stop riding his motorcycle.  

Seriously, is that not the sweetest note ever?

I Can't Get No....

Satisfaction.  

My kids went back to school full time today.  John is in 5th grade and Victoria is in 4th.  For the time being, I am happy with the peace and quiet in my house and the fact that I now have more free time to get things done.  Except for the fact that I am LAID UP IN BED, all of this sounds good, in theory.  

I foresee (I am clairvoyant) homework struggles, increase in alcohol consumption by the parental units, and early bedtime complaints in my future.  I call it atonement for getting 7 full, kid-free hours...

Down and Out

I think I tore a little of my calf muscle on Monday night.  I was losing miserably in tennis and went for a drop shot and literally went down to my knees in pain.  I forfeited the game and hobbled up to drink 2 glasses of wine (completely necessary, given my condition), ice my leg, and take my children home.  Yes, I drove after two VERY lilliputian-sized glasses of wine, with my children in the back seat.  Gasp.  I proceeded to drive home with my injured right leg (I am talented that way) and down a VERY large glass of wine and put the kids to bed, all before my husband got home from a business dinner.  I stopped short of bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan, but only due to my injury.

My husband, who is not a doctor, but has earned an honorary degree off of University of Online Medical Journals, has put me on bed rest and ordered me to keep icing and compressing and elevating my leg.  He has hidden all of the pain pills in the house, knowing how fond I am of them.  Anyone who knows me, knows that I have a hard time sitting still.  As I perused the internet (for the 83rd time this morning), I noticed the large number of people who blog.  Some for fun, some for a living.  So here goes my attempt at beating boredom and staying away from the kitchen.  Enjoy my ramblings...