Canine Bootie Shorts April 2013

I've always made fun of those people who dress their dogs up, cook them special meals, and take them to the vet to get their teeth brushed. I'm a hypocrite. Just weeks ago I resorted to a canine version of "bootie shorts" with Depends stuck in them to keep my two dogs from peeing on my couch, my pool table leg, my rug...and anything else that might seem like an appealing urinal for these mutts. If it weren't for my daughter Charli's strong attachments to Max and D'Marcus, I'd have blessed two other lucky families with an old, grouchy, neurotic Schnauzer and a sweet, adorable, dumb-as-a-rock long-haired doxie. They are making me crazy. Max was the perfect dog for almost 9 years--never pooped or peed in the house--unless he ate a carton of chocolate coverd almonds from Trader Joe's, for instance. Then we adopted D'Marcus from the shelter. Max's testosterone kicked in and he decided to show everyone who the alpha male around our house was. He pees on purpose. D'Marcus, on the other hand, pees submissively. If he thinks you're mad or disappointed with him, he flips over and turns on the spout. So we have to reprimand him in a syrupy sweet quiet voice...."D'Marcus baby, get off the table please. Put the steak down for mommy...good boy." My son said, "I'm gonna try that. Next time you're mad at me, I'm just gonna flip over and pee."

I have become the person I've always made fun of, only worse. A dog in a tutu beats a dog wearing bootie shorts with Depends stuffed inside anyday.

Night Before Christmas: The Real Scoop

T’was the night before Christmas when all through the townhouse Were strewn Legos and Cheerios and laundry all about

If Santa thinks the house isn’t quite clean enough

He can do it himself when he drops off the stuff

There were Pillsbury slice and bake cookies prepared

Will St. Nick be impressed?  Probably not, but who cares

The kids were at last in their IKEA bunks for the night

Following a small skirmish—OK a big fight!

“The shepherds and wise men should stand in a neat line

Facing Mary and Jesus with Joseph tucked behind.”

“He’s the Lord!” screamed the middle child, “A circle’s the thing

With Christ in the center so all can see the baby king”

Each yelled in his turn where the Prince of Peace should lay

And lo the nativity scene went flying in the midst of the fray

“Up to bed—NOW!” was my gentle request

“This really is no time to get PMS.”

I drug myself up the stairs to the bed

Dove in and pulled the covers up over my head

I had just dozed off when I heard a big crash

Probably those big rats again in the trash

So I nudged my hubby to go see what was up

“Not tonight, dear,” he mumbled, “Four kids is enough.”

I said, “I’ll go check,” as he continued to snore

So I went downstairs and looked out the back door.

The sight that I saw caught me quite by surprise

Not rats at all, but St. Nick in disguise

He wore navy Dockers and top siders for shoes

And a Tommy Hilfiger polo in green and blue hues

There he was sprawled out on his back

I knew it was Santa because of his sack

I cracked open the door and stuck out my head

“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” he said.

“I fear I must do something I really do hate

It seems I’ve been injured…I must litigate.”

There was no jolly suit all done up in red

No, his suit was to be filed in court instead

“I have a good lawyer, and he’ll fight for me.

After all, it was at work I sustained injury.

This Tonka truck you left right here in my path

Caused the tumble which seriously injured my back.”

We heard a loud engine and both turned to see

His eyes filled with panic as he looked toward the street

“That’s my hummer you’re towing…you don’t know who I am!”

And despite his bad back, he jumped right up and ran.

“Where’s your sleigh?” I called, thinking this was quite shady

“Come on, get real.  This is Southern Cal lady.”

So away flew Santa on this warm Christmas night

Chasing his hummer as it was towed out of sight.

The moral of this story is easy to spot

This Christmas be thankful for all that you’ve got

Be patient with the kiddoes in spite of their mess

And go get some pills for that wicked PMS.

New Home for Sugar?

Yesterday a potential new "mommy" for Sugar (our adopted 1 1/2-yr-old dog) came to visit. I thought we were exhibiting a rather appealing image...until my 8-yr-old daugher got home from a sleepover. Apparently, whatever she ate at the sleepver had given her abundant gas. Sitting on the wooden piano bench in our living room, the sound was difficult to ignore. I apologized for the sound and smell, and we continued our conversation about Sugar. The flatulence continued. But the loss of dignity didn't stop there. I had been painting Charli's room, so I was wearing  baggy red paint-stained sweatpants held on by a rubber band at the waist. Charli decided to pull off the rubber band which was one of her ponytail holders. As I bade farewell to Sugar's potential adoptive parent, I held my pants up with one hand and apologized once again for the farting. I can only imagine that this woman is thinking, "I have to save Sugar from this crazy family!" So be it. Amen.

Painting Tips

I painted my 8-yr-old daughter's room this weekend. I learned a couple of things that might be helpful to you. First--taping off the room is not a myth but something professional painters actually do that saves time and hassle.

Second--if you find something that looks like painter's tape in your garage, it may not be painter's tape. Don't wait until the room has been painted to find out. It may be electrical tape, in which case, much of the paint you worked hard to apply will come off when you rip off the tape.

Third--don't use "as seen on TV" tools in your painting. They may fall off on your head as you paint your 10-foot ceiling.

Fourth--if the "as seen on TV" tool falls off on your head once, don't assume it won't fall off again. It will. And maybe it will be on your 8-yr-old's head. They don't like having paint washed out of their hair.

Fifth--when using tarps to protect important pieces from paint splatter, include the carpet as one of the surfaces to be covered.

Sixth--IF your child is of the Rain Man sort (don't rearrange or change anything--EVER!), don't paint the room. Regardless of their pleas (even if they request that you paint it Wild Wisteria and Crystal Aqua) keep it the same...the furniture, the knick knacks, the stuffed animals, the play kitchen, the paint--everything!!! Otherwise you will come home from your birthday mani/pedi to a distraught, ungrateful child who can't sleep in their room because it's ALL DIFFERE NT! Even if they recently complained and griped about the Daffodil Yellow you painted before they ever sprouted an opinion, know that they will immediately recant---"I LOVED the yellow! Why did you change it?????"

In addition, I would suggest right up front (as opposed to later after several failed attempts)----moving all furniture away from the wall, transporting a tall ladder to the room, and buying a reliable extension pole so the applicator doesn't fall on your head.

Happy Painting!

Party Like It's My Birfday!

Today I turned 46. It was a great day. It started with sleeping in and then a couple of hours with my spiritual formation group. They blessed me with flowers, balloons, goodies to eat, and candles to enjoy at home, one of which is burning right now, filling the room with the scent of sunflowers (do sunflowers have a scent?). Then I came home and put Charli's room back in order after spending three days painting! Her room is now the color of all things Hannah Montana. If you'd like to replicate--go to Lowe's and buy Wild Wisteria and Crystal Aqua. Yeah. It looks just like you're imagining. She's 8, so it's rad. And BTW, why would you NOT decorate with a giant Scooby Doo stuffed pooch? My plan was to spend two to three hours reflecting, reading, journaling. Uh huh. In another life maybe. I was on the phone straightening out medical insurance stuff for a while, then I moved on to washing dishes, then on to Charli's room. When she came home from a roller skating field trip and had a meltdown because I had rearranged her furniture, I decided it was time to run away and get my birthday manicure/pedicure. And because I like to live large, I got my eyebrows waxed as well.

When I came home, Chip had prepared dinner, and three of my dear friends and neighbors came over for Chip's special Benihana chicken fried rice and mojitos. I know. Mojitos aren't a typical pairing with Asian cuisine. I'm a redneck and Chip is from New Mexico...give us a break. The conversation was wonderful and sprinkled with memories of times we've spent together as well as new stories that helped us know one another a bit more.

At some point during this day, each of my four kids and my husband hugged me and said, "Happy birthday , mom. I love you." OK, Chip didn't say "Mom" cuz that would just be creepy. But you know what I mean. It just doesn't get any better. My sister-in-law called. She's like the coolest perrson alive...flew the U2, was a pilot for United and Emirates Airlines and is now in med school. Join me, if you will, in a prayer that she will do something with her life. Honestly, the coolest thing is that she loves us and our kids even in the middle of her crazy busy life.

I am overwhelmed and so very grateful for all the birthday wishes through Facebook. I didn't even know how to log on to Facebook a little over a year ago. Now I'm thinking what a great resource of encouragement it can be. I am so encouraged to know that I have all these friends who will join me in rejoicing, mourning, laughing...praying.

So what is my prayer today---my 46th birthday, just three minutes from the day after my birthday? I pray that this time next year I will look more like Jesus than I do today---more loving, more gracious, more wise, more giving, more compassionate, more resolute in what is right, more willing to serve. That is my prayer at midnight on my 46th birthday.

Brownies and Saving the Planet

We had company this weekend, so I made a 9x13 pan of brownies...for them, of course. Each time I pass by the pan, or walk through the front door, or go to the bathroom, I'm reminded that I don't want to be a wasteful person. I want to do my part to save planet earth. So when I enter the kitchen and see that jagged edge of a brownie, I simply must shave that off with a knife and eat it. People want their brownies to be even...straight on the edges. If they're not, people may pass them right by and they would go to waste. That's not good for people or for planet earth. Waste is not good. There is a corner in the pan of brownies that is a bit too done and crunchy. I pass by and think, "No one will want that piece." I carefully remove it with a butter knife that has been left in the pan...just in case. I go back to my housecleaning and then remember that there were a lot of messy crumbs in the bottom of the brownie pan. I return to the kitchen and do my best to clean up the mess in the pan, removing every last crumb and eating them so that nothing is wasted and the remaining brownies will be enticing to those for whom they have been prepared.

Only a few brownies remain in the pan. They are perfecty square on the edges. No crumbs clutter the pan. All the crunchy corners are shaved off so that only soft, chewy brownie bites beckon to passersby.

I've been cleaning house all evening. I think I deserve a treat. And I really don't want people to feel obligated to eat those brownies and end up raising their blood sugar or feeling guilty about over-indulging. I should go finish off the brownies and wash the pan. That's really best for everyone--the planet, our visiting family members, the universe at large. Here's to saving the planet.

Top Ten Ways to Know Your Daddy Is a Redneck

If you can relate to three or more of the following, your Daddy may be a Redneck. Based on actual events of a California girl who proudly grew up in a trailer in the boondocks of East Texas.

10. Entertains family at supper by suspending his dentures from top of his mouth.

9. Asks for one more Miller Light cozy for Father's Day so he can have one in each room of the trailer house.

8. Has an unusually large tattoo of an eagle on his upper arm artfully camoflaging the naked lady tattoo your mama insisted he remove before their wedding.

7. Describes his ultimate dream home as "double-wide."

6. Uses the same pocket knife to pick his teeth and peel your apple.

5. Gets teary-eyed when he talks of passing down his NASCAR ashtray as a family heirloom.

4. Local hardware store is his favorite denim outfitter.

3. Everyone counts on him to shoot the main course for the church potluck.

2. For your high school graduation he dressed up by removing the shells from his hunting vest.

1. You often told your pre-school friends, "I can't play...I'm helping my Daddy skin a squirrel for dinner."

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!

Puppy Sleeps Through the Night–-Seriously

I told you I'd keep you posted about how the night went with little Harper the foster dog. She slept all night long. Started out in Charli's room snuggled up with her and halfway through the night Charli brought her to my bed because, "She's not breathing right, Mom." Turns out she was just dreaming like dogs do. Once she got to my room she snuggled right back down to sleep and didn't budge until I got up this morning. No exorcisms needed. NO potty accidents in the house today either. As far as puppies go, this is a perfect one. I asked Charli if she wanted to keep Harper, and she said,"No, puppies are a little too much for me." Meaning--"I really don't like having to watch her constantly and take her outside to go potty every 45 minutes." Her heart is now set on a chocolate lab. Maybe it's because of the word "chocolate"-- and who can resist that?!

If you're in the SoCal area and looking for an awesome puppy, she's the one. If you're interested, let me know and I'll hook you up.

The Dog Nazi

Today I met the Dog Nazi. My 8-yr-old daughter Charli and I went to a pet adoption event with over 600 dogs, including our own precious Sugar who needs a quieter home than ours, blah, blah, blah (read my post If Carpets Could Talk). In the process of checking out the various doggies available for adoption, we met some wonderful, giving people. We also met some who LOVE dogs...and apparently HATE people. This poses a problem when it is typically PEOPLE who want to adopt DOGS! One in particular grabbed Sugar and proceeded to clip her toenails. Charli said, "I don't want you to do that." The lady, let's call her Bruno, barked (ironically), "I have to do it. Do you want her paws to hurt?! That's what happens if her nails get too long." She scared me. I wondered what would would happen to Bruno if her nails got too long? Should I grab her fingers and chop off the tips until she squirmed and squealed? For her best interest of course.

Running a close second to the Dog Nazi was another lady with some small dogs looking for homes. I asked how she thought a particular dog would do with my alpha male Max. You would have thought I'd asked to set up a dog-fighting ring with her petite pooches. "That is completely your responsibility to make sure your alpha behaves correctly with other dogs."

I thought I was a dog lover. I thought I was a reasonably good dog owner. I'm not. I'm scum. I don't deserve a dog. I don't even deserve to live. Maybe they should even take my kids.

I can't go to any more of those super adoption events. It's not good for my self esteem. I may meet another Dog Nazi, and I just don't know if my heart could take it.

New puppy--what?!!!

Went to an adoption event today to try and find a more suitable home for Sugar. If you didn't read my previous blog entitled If Carpets Could Talk, rest assured Sugar is not one of my kids. Not only did I leave the event with Sugar, I added a 4-pound mini something-or-other puppy, yes puppy, to the mix.  She has peed on the floor twice and registered her unequivocal objections to the crate. She's so stinkin' cute, but I just don't know if I have it in me to housebreak a dog right now. I will let you know tomorrow...I am typically evil when awakened prematurely in the morning, which will likely happen when Harper (Charli's name for her) decides it's time to start her little doggie day. I am also evil when I step in dog pee first thing in the morning. So I may be calling for an exorcist tomorrow. Oh, I forgot to tell you. This is a "trial" foster period for Harper. There is absolutely no obligation for us to be her forever home. We're just giving the real foster family a break.  As I watch her pitter-patter around the house sniffing, I'm reminded how much I HATED housebreaking our neurotic mini-Schnauzer Max eight years ago. Every moment holds the potential for a potty accident. I just don't know if I'm up for the challenge.

More to come...

If Carpets Could Talk...

They'd say, "Please sell the dog that keeps peeing on me!"

It's a love-hate relationship with our adorable adopted terrier-yorkie mix Sugar. We've given it 7 months, but the little sweetie has been traumatized, and we soon learned she is terrified of teenage boys, noise, and alpha dogs...all of which are permanent fixtures in our home. The fact that she hides behind the printer stand 90% of the time is reason enough to find her a better suited family--one that is quiet, lethargic and female.  But add to that the ever-increasing yellow stains on my bedroom floor from her insistence on carving out a spot of her own in the shadow of our neurotic, possessive alpha male schnauzer Max, and our patience level has reached its breaking point.

Tonight I was driven to vulgarity (who me?) when I found yet another wet spot on the carpet and stomped into my daughter's room ranting, "That's it! I'm done! Get in bed Charli so we can pray and I can go clean up dog p***!" When we said our prayers, Charli said, "Mom, can we pray that Sugar will get a good home?" "Yes, we can. And fast." I'll sign off for now since there's a wet spot on the carpet just awaiting my arrival.