Life On The Planet

Quality Time

(Tiger in the latrine on the Ingalls Homestead.)

Penitent Me

(I cropped the photo in order to hide the Aladdin costumes that are STILL at my house. Don't ask.)

Time has lost all meaning so I'll just tell you that Sal got to go to Philmont.

Wow, right?

He left the week before dress rehearsal week for the play of which I was stage managing/ costume sewing/ stage mothering.

Wow, right?

Half-way through the week-of-the-play, we had a teensy power surge due to a fuse box issue which was beyond my understanding of electrical appliances. The house did not burn down.

Good, I know.

Something happened with our internet connection. I was in the middle of a-very-busy-week.

So, whatever. Right?

Play finished. I tried to fix the internet problem, only to discover that as I had assigned the Salamander to set up the system in the first place, HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW THE PASSWORD. And he was on top of a mountain with spotty cell coverage.

Oh, the mortification.

Needless to say, he has returned.

I have internet.

(I probably should have taken the fifth on this one.)

Twisted Melody

I make it back to Memphis after a long day of taking Sal to camp. My leg is cramping. My back is in spasms. But it doesn't matter. My favorite Police song is playing, and I'm almost home.

Though I've tried before to tell her...

Of the feelings I have for her in my heart

I'm fifteen minutes from stretching out on my sofa. I may just be able to con someone into rubbing my back. I can almost feel the pillow under my head. I'm singing at the top of my lungs. Oh, joy. Oh, happy, happy day!

Do I have to tell the story...

Of a thousand rainy days since we first met

And then I see a guy standing on the side of the road. I'll spare you the details. Suffice to say that from this day on, whenever I hear "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," I'll think of this song instead...

Thanks, Mister. Thanks a lot.

Mr. T

When our veterinarian, Dr. R. came over to see to Sunday, she gave Twinkles a check-up.

According to Dr. R., Twinkles is a he.

Ever since then, the boys have been aggravating Butterfly over Twinkles' less-than-manly name.

They've started calling him Mr. T., and, naturally, we've had our fill recently of Mr. T. impersonations. Bunny-style.

"I pity the fool that forgets to clean my cage."

Butterfly is not impressed.

Mr. T. er, Twinkles was quoted as saying,

"Stop that jibba jabba and get me some carrots."

Boy and Dog Learn Lesson

Dog Sunday has been keeping us busy. She has gotten over most of her separation anxiety. She has learned many new tricks; she can sit, down, beg and jump on command. She is cute and fluffy - in other words, she is awesome.

However, she does like to eat things she shouldn't. We try to keep things picked up, but now and again something slips by us and gets chewed on.

Today, she learned the hard way that everything in the world is not food. Tiger left three rolls of gun caps (You know, the little red paper rolls you put in toy six shooters that stink and make a loud BANG?) on the coffee table.

Dog chewed on gun caps. Cap exploded.

Lesson learned.

Words From The Sage

Words from The Sage (a.k.a. Butterfly): "When you bite your tongue and make it bleed, don't drink lemonade right after."

Ninja Handyman

Tiger and I were leaving for his evening activity. I opened the door, and stuck in the screen was an advertisement for a local handyman. Apparently, Tiger had caught a glimpse of the handyman earlier, because when I told him what the flyer was about he sighed with relief.

"I thought it was a Ninja," he said.

Yeah, Yeah. I Know.

But believe you me, I got lots of 'scuses for not posting. They're all really important 'scuses, too.

(Hang nail.)

I could go on for HOURS! I could rant. I could rave.

(Whiny cat.)

I could have you in tears over my reasons for abandoning you. I could make you feel guilty for not posting for me!

(Dryer lint.)

You know, that's not a bad idea. Next time I start slacking, somebody jump in and start tap dancing. Okay? Great.

(Burnt waffles.)

I'll post more soon. Promise.

(Dust mites.)

*Excuses contained within parenthesis and strategically placed throughout post are for humorous purposes only. I've got really good excuses.

**Really.

My Father's DNA

Remember the Mom Song that everyone linked to awhile back? One of the best lines in it is when she sings, "It must be your father's DNA." I think it's my mother's favorite part.

My mom likes to begin sentences with, "Your father...." Like I had a choice in the matter! Jeez.

Not to change the subject, but have you heard me whining about my ears? No? How did you escape?! My family would love to know!

I have been having trouble with my ears. I am on my third, yes, I said third ear infection this year. (My second childhood is evidently upon me.) I have two weeks of antibiotics left, and if they don't work it's off to the E.N.T. for me. 

Tubes were mentioned.

I'm thirty-eight years old and possibly about to get tubes for the first time in my life.

That should rate at least a sucker and a Winnie-the-Pooh sticker.

So, I called my mom to tell her. "Well," she said, "Aunt S. had to get tubes in her ears recently."

Aunt S. is my father's sister.

Mom was right! It is all because of my father's DNA.

I don't know why I ever doubt her.

Payoff

There comes a day, a joyous day, in a mother's life when, after years of terror and dread, of begging and pleading, of diligent training of her children, she can awake from an afternoon nap safe in the knowledge that...

she

won't

have

to

call

poison

control!

I have arrived, my friends.

I have arrived.