Paper or plastic?

When you have pets, you always walk the fine line between love and hate. 

There's nothing like the nudge of a snout under your hand as your dog asks for a scratch behind her ears.  Velvet fur, so snuggly.

There's nothing like tripping over your dog as he lays down directly behind you with the stealth of a commando as you stand at the kitchen counter making dinner.  Doh!

Max is growing really fast.  He's huge in comparison to the little pup I brought home five months ago.  I really need to get on his obedience training, because I suspect I've been lulled into a false sense of security in regards to his behavior.  It's only a matter of time....before ____.

He has decided lately that chewing is fun.  So, so, fun.  Being a lab means being a chewer, and I was prepared for it. 

I wasn't prepared for him to chew thru two garden hoses, one the day after I bought it. "You owe me ten bucks, dog,"  I said when I discovered the stump of the hose still attached to the faucet this last time.  (Pat, pat on the back for not springing for a more $ one!)

He's an I'm-bored-you-left-me chewer, I've noticed, so unfortunately for him, I can't leave him out of the crate if I'm not home, not even for a few minutes. 

Barbie can testify to that.

She's given up her hands and a huge chunk of hair to the cause.

Obi-Wan can testify to it.

He lost his head, a leg, an arm, and both hands.  (I call him our 'shark attack victim.')

I found pieces of pink plastic; springy, circular pink plastic in the living room last night as I was doing the evening routine before bed of "if they don't see me throw it out, then they won't miss it."  What is that, I wondered, mentally cataloguing all the springy pink plastic things in the house.

I found out this morning, it's one of their dog toys....minus a nub.

It doesn't stop at plastic either.  Both dogs are particularly fond of paper products.  Paper towels, kleenex, <ugh> whatever they find in the kids' bathroom trashcan, it's all fair game. 

Sometimes, it looks like it snowed in the living room.

As I open the back door, and issue a command they are becoming more and more familiar with--"OUT!"-- I have to wonder.

The next time we are scooping up dog-doo in the backyard, will I find paper, or plastic?

A rose by any other name would not smell as sweet

Ryan pulled me aside the other night, while I was making dinner.

He does this alot these days, and I have to stop and listen, or risk offending him as he is telling me snippets from his day.  In a stream-of-consciousness kind of way, so I have to pay attention. 

Usually, it's about what went on in his classroom; what was for lunch (and how he didn't eat it, but ate "crackers"--I don't even want to know what that truly means, I am just gonna call it even that he ate);who got in trouble/and why; that kind of thing.

I'm puzzled, this time, though, because he's pulling me way aside, and whispering. 

"Mommy, do you know how you came into my class today?"

"Yes."  I'm thinking we're gonna have a huggy, thanks-for-coming moment here.

"Well, from now on when you come into my classroom, would you please not call me "Sugar" and call me Ryan?"

Guess I'm not having a huggy-moment.

"I did call you Ryan." 

"No, you called me Sugar.  And a kid, he made fun of me.  He said "Ryan" and when I looked at him, pointed at me and called me "sug-ar".  I don't want anyone making fun of me, so remember, call me Ryan.  You can still call me Sugar at home."

Awww.  He's killing me, he's so serious, so cute.

"Okay, I'll try.  I promise to try."

Ryan.  Ryan.  Ryan, I say to myself the next time I come to class.  And I bite back the syllable "sug" the second I see him.  "Sug-  I mean, Ryan."  (I whispered in his ear, 'Sorry.  I goofed.')

I knew this day would come, just like Ben-Ben ran it's course.

I remember why I call him "Sugar" in the first place.  He was three months old, his first Christmas, all roly-poly and just beginning to show us more personality.  I started calling him my little sugarplum, and it got shortened over time to "Sugar."  We all loved it, he was a sweet baby and it suited him.  Not to mention how much my husband's Southern relatives loved it too.

Tomorrow, I have to go to the school, and I'll probably be in Ryan's class at some point.

I wonder if he'd be put off if I asked him to wear a nametag?

Because he's always going to be Sugar to me.

She's got style

I never know what I'll encounter when I come home from work. 

Some days, it's like a whirlwind has made it's way thru my living room, with games aplenty, popcorn, kids everywhere, and dishes in the sink.  Laundry stacked and unfolded, and a chorus of "Mommy's home" to greet me.   Mr W hiding out in our bedroom, just holding the fort.  It alternately bugs me and charms me to see it.

Imagine my surprise, on Monday, when I came home, and things were relatively picked up.  No chorus of "Mommy's home" although I got hugged ferociously by Ryan and Ben.  I head down the hall, and peek in the bathroom as it sounds like Audrey is in the tub.

Nolan was giving her a bath.  Cute!  A Kodak moment.  Mr W came around the corner, and was surprised to see me standing there taking it all in.  I convinced the Princess to get out of the tub, and we put her new lotion on, and I got her dressed. (Sundress, turqoise polka-dots)

I'm in my bathroom, touching up as I'm heading out the door again, when she comes in and points at my shirt.  "You need to change, Mommy."

"What?  Why?"

"We don't match."  Oh, fabulous.  No, no, I don't want to do it.  I don't want to match.  Sometimes, we do match, by accident, that's ok.  But....

Let me back up a minute.  Years ago, one of my friends that was getting married had us wear these Laura Ashley cotton dresses.  They were cute for her midmorning wedding, I felt very proper with my matching hat and gloves.  While I was in the Laura Ashley store, picking up said dress, I looked around, and saw all the cute prints, and <gasp> matching Mother-daughter ensembles.  Oooh, I daydreamed, wouldn't that be cute, to match my darling little girl's dress to mine?  Wouldn't we be just so "tea and crumpets" dahling, as we went to church or something?

Yes.  Right. 

However, as I tried on said dress, I realized I am not built for that particular style of clothing.  Nope.  Although I did wear the dress a couple of more times, hoping to transform myself into a WASP-ier version of me, I came to realize that the two of us were not meant to be, and I gave it up.  And realized that I don't want to match my darling daughter, should I ever have one.  And now that I do have one...

I can't understand how some women do it.  Maybe it's cute, on some level, and maybe I'm just getting old.  It looks great in pictures, but it's just not me.

And here we are, just the other day--in match-land.

How do I disappoint a three yr old, so excited to match her Mom? 

I don't.

"Sweetie, I don't think I have that color, or at least that color clean, in my closet..." I begin to protest as she marches off in that direction.

She opens the closet door, and I'm so amused, I'm giggling.  "There, Mommy," she says, pointing up, up, up to the top shelf of my closet.  Oh.  Yeah.  I forgot I washed it.

On the top shelf, there sits my turqoise sweater.  She knows my clothes, and where to find them, and knows her colors, too.

I put it on (it's not a heavy one) with the cami underneath like I always do.

"Now we're ready to go,"  she says to me, beaming.

I look up helplessly at Mr W, who is also quite amused by the exchange.  He doesn't say it, but I know he's thinking "You wanted a girl."

I got a girl, alright.  It appears she's a stylist-in-training.  I could do worse.  I mean, at least she's not colorblind, and I'm not wearing anything with a Barbie on it.

Yet.

Seven Things

I'm feeling the love.  I got tagged, more than once, with this "seven thingie" so I'm doing it.  With a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

Seven Things

7 Things I Plan to Do Before I Die

1.  Guide the kids to purposeful adulthood, with lovely spouses that don't hate their MIL, who love them buckets.

2.  Visit Italy, and stay for longer than 2 weeks.  Staying at some little Nonna's house, learning how to make fresh pasta.  (So much for my future as an international supermodel.)

3.  Scuba dive.  In Hawaii.  (This means me overcoming a handful of fears, so maybe just visiting Hawaii will have to suffice, and I'll pretend to surf instead.)

4.  Bet it all.  Let it ride.  Whatever you say in Vegas.

5.  Visit some national parks, like Yosemite, in different times of year.  Winter/summer, that sort of thing.  I want to see the sequoias, wake up under the Big Sky, and walk trails in the Pacific Rim.   Catch some lobsters.  Have a drink in the Keys.  You get the picture.

6.  Due to my love of baseball, I'd like watch games in different cities...parks to be named later. 

7.  Spoil my grandchildren.  I'm gonna be the cool Nana who's hot.  (Chantal tells me that's called a cougar. lol) 

(Honorable Mention:  Run a 1/2 marathon.  I'm working on this...)

7 Things I Can Do

1.  Drive a carload of children, and not raise my voice. 

2.  Read a book in a day.

3.  Get attached to someone in five minutes.

4.  Shower so fast no one notices I'm missing.

5.  Be a good friend.

6.  Pull out an amazing factoid out of thin air, but forget where I placed my keys.

7.  Procrastinate, procrastinate, procrastinate....

(Honorable mention:  Cook up a storm.)

7 Things I Can't Do

1.  Stand on my head.  Oh, I brag about it, but nope.  (As in, "I could do that, one hand tied behind my back, standing on my head...")

2.  Spend an entire day not smiling about anything.

3.  Be really, really mean on purpose.

4.  Ride a motorcycle.

5.  Resist chocolate.

6.  Get up and not brush my teeth right away.  (No need for dragon breath when I'm waking people up.)

7.  Complete a task, start to finish, uninterrupted.

(Honorable mention:  Say no.  To Mr W.)

7 Things that Attract Me to the Opposite Sex <only 7? lol>

1.  Sense of humor.  It goes a long way. 

2.  Nice eyes.  Green or blue preferred, but I willing to go on a case by case basis...

3. No pancake ass need apply...I like big butts and I cannot lie...lol, jeans need to be filled.

4.  Politeness.  I know, I know, we're all women who CAN, but it's nice when someone opens the door for you, or pulls out your chair, or does those little niceties that we're not supposed to care about anymore.  I notice them when they aren't done, so I've come to realize this is important.  (A hand on the small of my back as we are making our way through a crowd makes my knees weak.)

5.  Hands.  (No one wants to have their delicates mauled by a stray hangnail.  Eww.)  Hmm.  Grooming, posture, it's a total package....with the exception of scruffy, scruffy is allowed, on occasion.

6.  Height.  He has to be taller than me (a measly 5'5" is all I am, so this one is pretty easy.) 

7.  Scent--a man who smells goooood.  Bury-your-face-in-his-neck, follow-him-into-a-dark-corner-good.

(Honorable mention:  A good deep, gravely voice...)

7 Things I Say Most Often

1.  "Share with your" <sibling>

2.  "No, I don't know what's for dinner."

3.  "In a perfect world...."  (____would happen)

4.  "Yes, I'm insert kid name here Mom."

5.  "In a minute" tied with "Wait your turn"

6.  To spouse:  "I told you that already...."

7.   "Chingada muchacha/cho jodida/o!"  tied with "What's that.....(noise, smell)?"

(Honorable mention:  As I'm closing the bathroom door:  "Privacy!" Yeah, this one really works..)

7 Celebrity Crushes <again, only 7?> in no particular order

1.  Hugh Laurie.  You can bet I'm counting down to the second season of House (Sept 13th).  I recently found out via TV Guide that he's British.  Oy.  An accent, too?  :D

2.  Steve Martin.  Funny.  Adorable.  Goofy.  Nice voice.  Good writer.

3.  The best reason to watch the Food Network, Tyler Florence.  He cooks, and looks adorable doing it.

4.  Ed Burns.

5.  Mmmmmel.  (Gibson, as if there were any doubt; even though it appears he's thinning on top.)

6.  Who can resist the big dimples and down-home appeal of Matthew McConaughey?  I love to hear him talk.

7.  I hate to admit it, but Brad Pitt.  I resist, and then things like the photo spread in a GQ a couple of months ago show up, and I'm all "phwoar"  about him again.  

7 People I Want to Do This

Oh, relax, people.  I learned my tagging lesson, and besides, this thing is making the rounds so much that I'm sure I'll get to read everyone's 'Seven' that I would've tagged anyway.  Play along, if you want, and leave me a link.  :)

Marked woman

I'm a marked woman.

Well, a tagged one...I've been tagged with the "Seven Things" going around jland.  

I haven't managed an entry in a while, but I did manage to help Mr W install a ceiling fan into Audrey and Ryan's room without filing for divorce, so I think that is quite an accomplishment. 

Don't get me wrong. We work well together, it just that, well, we don't work well together.  Anyone that has attempted any home repair/projects with their spouse probably knows exactly what I mean.  You know, when "did you read that in the instructions?" becomes fightin' words?  When you start wishing your godfathers were Bob Vila and Norm Abrams?

I also discovered this weekend that I suffer from ADD the second I step into Lowe's.  "Look at that...oh, I need some shelves for Ben and Nolan's room...maybe I'll look at some paint for the bathroom....light fixtures!  look at the pretty lights!"  Thank goodness I stayed out of the nursery; because the sight of all those plants reawakens my inner green thumb (that I must remind myself is nonexistent) and I come home with 30 bucks worth of plants to kill in addition to the landscaping plants that will wither on my porch before ever being set in the earth.

There are other stores I suffer ADD in...Michael's (so many projects, so many plastic bags sitting in silent judgement in my closet), JoAnn (sigh, were it that I had a place to stick a sewing machine, Mr W would move out for sure), Barnes and Noble, Officemax/Staples...scrapbooking stores...

Yes, scrapbooking stores.  I have ooodles of photos.  I want to scrapbook, to turn out those perfect pages that those supremely anal-retentive women turn out, of Bobby's first tooth, but I just can't make the time.  So I go there to touch all the paper, lol. 

Let me just answer now, the tactile thing, yes, it gets me in trouble all the time...ahem.

So, 7 things, huh?  I'm putting it in my next entry, cuz it's a bit long...