things that start with the letter V

It’s that time of the month again.  No…not that time of the month…I mean book club/game night. 

The usual crowd was in attendance.  Mrs. Jones, Miss Congeniality, Mrs. Weenie and her sister Eenie Weenie, and the only man—token Tom.

And about Tom…

I would almost feel sorry for him if not for the fact that most men would actually pay money to be a fly on the wall at one of our book club meetings, and Tom has a standing invitation.  He is such a distinguished Southern gentleman and there he is, every month, socializing with a group of soccer moms, housewives, and chatty Kathy’s.  A competitive bunch for certain.

Tonight’s opening topic was laser hair removal.

I don’t know how we got on the subject, but there we were.  And no one was talking about eyebrows, upper lips, or legs.  No we were discussing things that start with the letter V.  Two people from our group had recently gone in for a consultation with a laser wax specialist.  I didn’t even realize things like this existed.  Not the laser hair removal of the nether regions…I was aware of that.  I make it my business to know all about the alternatives to the self bikini wax.  Not that I’ve dabbled in this method of hair removal.  I’m not quite that brave.  But I was aware of its existence.  What I wasn’t aware of was the extent to which these establishments go to sell their “product.” 

Apparently there is a full presentation, completely with full color graphic drawings of the entire “region” in question, (as if we don’t know what our crotches look like, with and without hair, respectively.) 

I have it on good authority that the drawings border on Medieval porn.

As it turns out, the pictures are designed to give you an idea of what different “shapes” might look like.   So, as I understand it, you can have a permanent cutout of a butterfly, a heart, a star, a Z, or even a dollar sign, carved into your pubic area. 

That may be all well and good for a temporary fashion statement, but fashion is fleeting.  I could only wonder what one would do if the whole vintage 70s look came back after you’d had permanent hair removal.  And honestly, you would surely be pretty embarrassed to be the only granny in the nursing home with a $ carved into your crotch.

Ironically, the game for the night was “The Big Taboo.”  Although, we had presumably already tackled the taboo portion of our evening, we teamed up to play the game anyway. 

The teams were the same as last time.  Miss Congeniality, Mrs. Weenie, and I were on one team.  Mrs. Jones, Eenie Weenie, and token Tom were on the other. 

It wasn’t planned that way—we split the table down the middle, with a team on either side.  If you remember last time, Mrs. Jones was very upset to have picked so unwisely when playing Pictionary, and she blurted out, “I got stuck with these two last time,” before she realized what she was saying.  She quickly backtracked before her team devised a mutiny. 

Taboo as a game was entertaining enough, but the real fun was in the back and forth barbs between the two teams.  We couldn’t help but accuse Mrs. Jones of cheating after each round.  Not because she was, mind you, but because she would get up in arms that we would accuse her.  There is a certain amount of stress in any competitive game, but as Mrs. Jones assured us (or rather insisted on Googling to prove her right) there are two kinds of stress…the good kind, and the bad kind.  The game banter fell under good stress, so surely my blood pressure has been lowered several points tonight!

Remember, Mrs. Jones likes to win, so any time her team slipped behind she would scoop up another chip full of corn salsa, exclaiming that we were, “making me eat!”

I could be here all night enumerating all of the clues that reminded me of sexual acts—most of them were far from it—but I won’t go there.  As usual we had a wonderful time, running over the scheduled time by almost an hour.  And I managed to be on the winning team yet again.  Mrs. Jones may be the most competitive of us, but make no mistake…I like to win too.  Especially when I’m on a streak!  I wonder what game we’ll play next month.  Not that it matters…I’ll win that one too.

Until the next time…I’ll be milking my win for at least a few days.

the one that got away

I took another trip in the time machine tonight, visiting 1981 with a few friends.  We were reminiscing about all of the gorgeous guys we had terminal crushes on back in high school. 

For me there was really just one.

Many men have failed to strike my fancy due to the incredible standards I had placed on the opposite sex.  A standard set by the one boy I could never attract in my youth.  He was tall, and handsome, and perfectly muscled—he was gorgeous and he knew it.  But he would have never given me the time of day.  I wasn’t drop dead gorgeous enough at fifteen.  I didn’t have a perfect body, or perfect hair.  I wasn’t put together or sure of myself.  I had yet to blossom, and he was a full-fledged hottie. 

But I think there is truth in the old adage about beautiful people peaking too early.

It’s a well known fact that some of the best looking girls from high school have long since lost their shimmer in the years since graduation.  And on the flip side, some of the most under developed, quiet, shy girls blossomed into beautiful, vivacious women. 

The same appears to be true about the men.

I hadn’t seen or heard from this dream boy since my freshmen year of college.  He was just as beautiful that last day I saw him as the first day, several years before.  I debated finding him on Facebook to “friend” him.  But in the back of my mind I knew, no matter how much I had blossomed since that last time I’d seen him, he would never agree to friend me.  I was just nowhere near his league.   

When I told my friend this, she asked me to hold on while she went to find a recent picture of him from the photo gallery of a friend of a friend. 

I couldn’t wait.  This was the one that got away…the unattainable prize!

This is one of those times that technology can destroy a perfectly good fantasy, or as I like to think of it, ground one back in the sanity of reality. 

The boy that I had lusted after for years had changed since last I saw him.  He wasn’t built like an athlete anymore.  He was paunchy…and bald…and he had moobs—man boobs.  And something I couldn’t see from the photograph, but there was no doubt it was true…he was still completely full of himself. 

I was suddenly very glad I didn’t marry that one.  Not that I had a chance…even the most remote chance…but still, I sighed with deep relief and leaned over to kiss my husband.  I was the lucky one.  And truth be told…Mr. Dreamboat could have done way worse than to have won me.  The poor guy is going through a nasty divorce, so I hear.  He started out with everything going for him, and ended up a cliché.  Isn’t that just sad? 

Me on the other hand…I have the world on a string.  And I got the real prize.

And a wicked headache.  I hit my head on an open cabinet door this evening.  Hard enough to see stars.  It just goes to show you that you can do a lot of blossoming, but you don’t really ever change. 

Until the next time…I’ll be getting a bag of ice for my head!

what are you thankful for?

Home Alone.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in the house alone.  But it is the first time I will have to take the puppy out in the middle of the night without benefit of a man at home to rescue me if I run across an errant spider in the night.

Surely I will survive one night. 

I just need to be sure not to make any of the same mistakes I’ve made before.  I definitely don’t need to lock myself out of the house in my underwear again. 

Major rule should be: Do not go out into the night without pants, and/or a house key.

If I could find away to stay inside for the entire night I would do that, but Indy will have to pee at some point.  And I can’t derail my potty training efforts by letting him go in the house…can I?

No.  I can’t.

In the mean time, I have kept myself occupied by playing a game of wits with a pair of old high school friends via instant message.  My competitive streak has kicked in and I have nothing prepared for the blog.  I was too busy trying to come up with things I’m thankful for in alphabetically order.  For the letter U, I was thankful for underwear...clean ones. 

I have to give the credit to my good friend Christine, who came up with the game, and kept it relatively clean. 

Still, all things being relative...we were now up to the letter V, and old friend (and class clown extraordinaire) Chet came up with, “vagigi.”  I’m not sure if we should have allowed that.  It’s not technically a word.  And it was only a slightly veiled sexual reference.

But since it was just a game, and he was operating a computer after drinking three whole beers, we let him have that one.

The game was fun, but the best part was reconnecting with good friends from another era.  I just love  technology.

It’s funny…I’ve often heard it said that we have traded the art of letter writing for our impersonal technology.  But I disagee.

The art wasn’t in the pressing of pen to paper.  The art was in the expression of thoughts and feelings into the written word.  Via the medium of email, and instant messaging, we are more readily able to express our feelings and emotions to people with whom we would have otherwise lost touch.  Perhaps some of the formality of the letter writing has been lost to the casual messaging, but the contact is still there.  It is an interactive conversation that gives me the feeling of someone being on the other side of that little “window” waiting to comment on my thoughts as quickly as I have them. 

On a larger scale, my blog itself is a product of technology.  Oh, I was always a writer.  As far back as I can remember.  But without the internet, much of my work would not have an audience.  My written word may have been lost in obscurity. 

Like my old friends—buried in my little used memories.

I’ve said it before; Facebook is like a time machine, transporting me back to places and people long since lost or forgotten, and allowing me to find them again.  Friends and family are invaluable commodities, especially in these economic times.  There is something to be said for social interaction, and camaraderie.  After all…what good is old fashioned letter writing if you don’t have someone to write to?

Until the next time…I’ll be writing a few letters, the new fashioned way!

you do realize that cloak doesn’t make you invisible, right?

Attack of the winged creatures in the night. 

No, I’m not talking about bats.  I’m referring to hornets.  The kind with stingers.  Are there any other kind?

For weeks we had been tracking a hornet’s nest in one of the bushes in our side yard.  It started out small, but over the course of the past month it has grown to epic proportions.  It reminds me of a mummy’s head, and it is easily as large as mine! 

But the mouth on that head is spewing hornets, not metaphors. 

Ordinarily, we would have probably just left it alone.  Let the hornets run their course and move on in due time.  This was my husband’s initial response to the invasion.  His “green” mentality doesn’t allow for any deviation from the “no poisons” vow he made to the environment.  But this particular nest is sandwiched right in the middle of our mini apple orchard.  And at the rate that it has been growing, it may have consumed the entire crop of apples if we didn’t do something about it.  Not to mention the fact that picking apples in close proximity to a wild band of spear carrying renegades didn’t sound in the least bit appealing.

The first course of action was to phone an exterminator to come remove the hornets ecologically.  I didn’t have the heart to tell Mike that the exterminators would most likely just spray the hell out of the nest with toxic chemicals until there were no signs of life. 

But it didn't matter...the bug people wanted $150 to remove the nest. 

I started doing the calculations on how many cans of Raid we could buy with $150.   We could probably buy the spray and an entire suit of hornet proof armor for less than $150.  It’s no wonder the bug people make a killing! (Sorry, bad pun, but I couldn’t resist.)

Armed with the power of saving money, Mike broke down and bought a can of bug killer—specific to hornets and wasps—and debated how exactly he would approach the task. 

Weeks went by—at least two of them—and still the nest grew. 

It wasn’t until my husband had a run in with a single hornet in the backyard while walking the puppy that he had the notion to attack.  The lone hornet lit on the ground near the puppy and my husband tried to stomp it with his shoe.  He missed.  The hornet took that as an attack that required retaliation.  He aggressively pursued my husband until he managed to retreat back to the house and safety. 

That’s when he came to tell me he was going to kill the nest tonight!

I knew there was going to be trouble when he brought home a six pack of imported ale after a long stretch of non indulgence.  I just didn’t realize I would find it so entertaining. 

I was sitting on the sofa when he came out of the bedroom a few hours later, carrying my favorite chocolate brown fleece blanket and a chainsaw helmet with a mesh face mask.  He was ready to do battle. 

My husband donned his “protective” gear and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.  He looked like a kid playing dress up, and he was either Obi Wan Kenobi, or one of those guys from Lord of the Rings.  I could easily see the holes in his plan, and I feared that if I could see them from across the room, the mob of angry hornets would have no trouble at all seeing them up close.

“Are you ready to go kill hornets?” He invited, with a big stupid grin on his handsome face. 

Honestly, I was ready to settle in for the night, but I couldn’t exactly let him go out there alone to fight evil in his cloak and helmet. And someone had to have the phone ready to dial 911 if things got out of hand. 

Armed with my BlackBerry set as a video recording device, and a wind up flashlight, I followed Obi Wan into the yard.  He held a tiny battery operated flashlight in one hand, and the spray can in the other. 

After two test sprays, he moved into position to shoot the poison into the entrance of the nest.  I don’t know if it was the heavy rain a few hours earlier, or the dead of night that kept the flying attackers at bay, but they did not make it out of their nest to man a counter attack.  I could see them moving, but they hadn’t taken flight. 

The entire ordeal lasted less than five minutes.  Mission accomplished!  The can was empty whether the hornets were dead or not.  I made a hasty retreat just in case.  Most of my video was obscured by the pitch black of night.  And thanks to a bit of dragging in the mud, my blanket is now in the wash, and I am doubtful it will be ready for bed when I am. 

But at least no one died!  All in all a pretty good night!

Until the next time…I’ll be shivering under the ceiling fan without my blankie!

too many cooks in the kitchen, and no one made pie!

Day two of mushroom-gate. 

The puppy survived the night completely unscathed.  I, on the other hand, was exhausted.  The only sleep I got was plagued with nightmares about being chased by mushrooms—and no, I didn’t eat any myself.  The first thing I did upon waking (after taking the puppy out to pee) was to hit the laptop for another round of Google, followed by a phone call to the vet as soon as they opened. 

The consensus was that I should stop worrying as the puppy was behaving like a completely normal puppy, both eating and drinking as well as playing. 

But, given the fact that I can never just let anything go with a “most likely everything is fine”, I escalated the issue to the University of Georgia mycologist to identify the remains of the mushrooms in question. I emailed the pictures and waited for a response. 

“It is very unlikely that the mushrooms were deadly.”

So…twenty-four hours had passed and no ill effects from the mushrooms.  The vet, my husband, and the University of Georgia were all urging me to relax.  Even if the mushrooms were poisonous, I induced vomiting fairly quickly after he ingested them, and a day later he was acting normal. 

So I took a deep breath, closed all but one of the Google pages on mushrooms, and went on with the rest of my day.

I had forgotten what it was like to have a house full of kids.  Both of the teenage girls were home, and they brought a friend.  Add one almost twelve year old, and you have a recipe for disaster.  I may be exaggerating.  There were no disasters, but there were definitely too many cooks in the kitchen.

And by that, I’m not talking about cooking dinner. 

Raising a puppy requires dedicated concentration, and a well defined plan.  That plan can be easily derailed when others in the house decide to go all rogue dog trainer on you.  Especially when they didn’t read the puppy training book and they don’t understand the methods you have become so devoted to. 

Too many cooks in the training kitchen makes for an overdone dog.  Or an underdone one.  I’m not sure.  I think I need to enroll in puppy kindergarten.  Or find something more interesting for the girls to do. 

Perhaps I could get them to organize the kitchen cabinets, or bathe the cats.  That should keep them busy!  Maybe I just need to do all of my puppy training at six am.  It’s not likely I’ll find any teenagers up at that hour!  Of course, I’d rather not be up at that hour either.  But sometimes you have to make those kinds of selfless sacrifices.  I’d better get to bed if I’m going to get up that early tomorrow.

Until the next time…I’ll be coming up with excuses to sleep in!

there is absolutely nothing magical in those mushrooms!

When they say…induce vomiting…it sounds a whole lot easier than it is!

My puppy, the adventurer, decided to take a romp into the garden this evening and sample a few of the wild plants growing up there.  I was supervising the whole time…in other words…I was teaching him the meaning of the phrase, “leave it!”  

He has not yet grasped the full meaning. 

Leave it, to Indy means, “eat that, and the stuff next to it, and while you’re at it, have a few rocks too!”  But other than serving to completely set my overprotective instincts into high gear, his grazing is, for the most part, harmless. 

That is, until he unearthed a low growing crop of wild mushrooms this evening.

He had a bit off a few mushroom caps before I realized what he had, and I fished into his sloppy little mouth to retrieve what I could, but he managed to swallow two of the pea-sized caps before I could stop him. 

I immediately flew into a frenzy, scooping up my twenty-two pound puppy, and made a mad dash for my laptop to Google all things mushroom. 

There is a lot of information about mushrooms online, but very little of it was useful.  My next step was to call the emergency vet for some advice. 

That’s when I was told to induce vomiting. 

Why is it that you can never find the hydrogen peroxide when you need it?  And who knew you could swallow it?  I tried to swallow a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar once after reading about the health benefits, and that caused an immediate gag reflex in me, and I promptly threw it up along with everything else I’d ingested that day.  I would have rather tried that, but I’m nothing if not a rule follower when it comes to the health of my children (and my puppy) so I grabbed the puppy again, and hopped into the car to drive the mile and a half to the drug store to get hydrogen peroxide, and a medicine syringe. 

My puppy was not happy with me after the first dose, but he was really irritated after the second one fifteen minutes later.  He gagged a little, but didn’t vomit.  He’s better than me…I lost it on one dose of the vinegar, and that’s actually meant to be eaten!  He managed to hold down two doses of the peroxide with little more than a few stomach gurgles and a groan. 

I forced myself to be patient, while I watched for any symptoms that might be caused by mushroom ingestion.  I took Indy for a little walk around the yard, hoping to encourage puking.   

It didn’t.

I finally took him back into the house where he drank and then vomited several gulps of water, but no mushrooms.  I tried to watch for lethargy, but since it was his normal naptime, I was forced to panic at his every twitch in his sleep. 

While he slept beside me on the sofa, I continued to Google mushrooms, poison, pet emergencies, dangers in the yard, and other assorted topics that further fed my paranoia. 

More than three hours had passed since he had swallowed the two tiny brown parasols, and I was still sitting beside him, listening to his stomach sounds, and cleaning up the occasional upchuck.  I had never before fished through the regurgitated stomach contents of my dogs, but there I was, picking through the puke looking for a needle in the haystack.  Or rather a brown dirt-like cap amongst the brown mush of partially digested dog food.  And while I was doing this, my husband continued to remind me that the mushrooms may have been perfectly edible.  He picked a few of the suspicious fungi and brought them in, contemplating eating them himself. 

I have to admit, a small part of me wished he would eat them so I would know for sure if they were safe.  I didn’t want to worry myself to death over possible harm to my puppy.  But my intelligent, rational side nixed the idea and I went back to Googling. 

There are a lot of different kinds of mushrooms.

I couldn’t make heads or tails out of any of them.  The vet told me that if puppy was going to get sick, I would see it occur in the first three hours.  My husband assured me that the most dangerous of mushrooms looked nothing like the ones we found in the yard.  And I managed to convince myself that the gurgling in Indy’s tummy was from the two doses of hydrogen peroxide and not the magic mushrooms. 

Still, I don’t suspect I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.

But then again, what’s new?  I don’t have a job to go to in the morning.  I can afford to sleep in.  With my luck, the puppy will be fully recovered by six in the morning and my “sleeping in” will turn into another early morning round of puppy chasing.  I promise I won’t complain.  I really do love my puppy.  He’s the sweetest thing ever! 

I just need to work on the whole, “eating everything in sight” issues.  Why couldn’t he just eat my shoes like a normal puppy?  Oh well…there’s always tomorrow!

Until the next time…I’ll be on the all night vigil!

a new chapter

Writers are quite familiar with new chapters.  Books are filled with them.  I find that it is very exciting to reach the end of one, and the beginning of the next.  It takes you from here to there, signifying progression, growth, oh…and it moves the story along. 

So moving right along…

I have entered a new chapter in my life.  It was a big step, and not just a little bit scary, but it was absolutely the right decision to make for me and my family.

Today, I resigned my full time position as a business banker to devote myself completely to being a full time writer.  I don’t really feel different yet. I was already on a leave of absence, so nothing will change in the morning when I wake up at four-thirty to take the puppy out for his first pee of the day.  But at the same time…somewhere deeper down…I will be a different person.  The definition of “me” has officially changed.  I won’t introduce myself as a banker first and a writer second.  I will introduce myself as “writer”.  The fact that I am also a wife and a mother is inescapable, especially when my cell phone rings and the sound of, “mom…mom…mom…mom…” emanates from the speakers. 

It does this quite often.

So I suppose this means that in the morning I will need to take my new job seriously.  No more surfing the internet for forty-five minutes, followed by thirty minutes of Facebook, followed by more surfing the internet, followed by reading the comments on my blog.  No, instead I will have to write something new. 

A new chapter perhaps.

Today—before I was considered a full time writer—I was a full time errand runner.  Today’s errand?  Taking a bag of poop to the vet for Indiana Jones, the English Mastiff puppy.  Good news…no worms!

Mike and I also made it to the weekly farmer’s market first thing this morning, and I spent the next two hours shelling so many purple hull peas that the underside of my fingernails has become a permanent inky purple hue. I did this while watching Animal Planet’s naughtiest dog episodes.  A lot of them!  I now feel qualified to train, at the very least, my own dog.  

I don’t think I liked the whole pea shelling activity so much.  All things considered, I think I’d rather transport dog poop in a hot car.

My husband cooked a very nice dinner using those peas, so I guess it was worth it in the end. 

Today was a lovely end to a marvelous chapter.  I will miss it dearly while delighting in the newest adventure. 

After all, new chapters are wonderful adventures.

Until the next time…I’ll be making things up as I go along!

is anyone out there listening?

Sometimes it seems as if no matter what you do, nothing goes right.  You can have a wonderful weekend, you can accomplish many great things, but then you wake up the next day and suddenly it feels as if the world is out of balance. 

Today was a day like that.  

Housebreaking the puppy was quite a challenge today.  Indy actually slept through the night and went potty outside upon waking, which was encouraging, but he had several accidents throughout the day. I think he is asking to go out, but his subtle requests have eluded me.  He doesn’t ask as adamantly as what I am used to.  He must think I’m not paying attention.  I know how he feels.

I hate when it seems as if no one is listening. 

Are you out there?  Can you hear me?

My husband and I seemed at odds all day today, and for no apparent reason.  There was no cause to be angry or frustrated, and yet we were.  The day was spent, for the most part, at home—where we managed to complete several tasks that had been on our “to do” list for far too long.  There were no angry teenagers, or unreasonable requests from any of the children.  And yet tensions were high all day.

It was just one of those unexplainable things that happen in life I guess. 

Tomorrow is a back to normal day for the family.  My husband has to work, and I have a few important appointments to go to.  Holiday weekends, despite being great fun, are often very draining.  I think I’m actually looking forward to a little vacuuming and some laundry.  

It just might be time for a little more excitement, don’t you agree?

Until the next time…I’ll be planning a field trip with my posse.

happy birthday america!

Independence Day

It was a day for family.  We had a lovely picnic planned at home. Grilled burgers, homemade potato salad, fresh cut fruit, and all the trimmings.  Too bad the three older kids had other plans. 

No matter…

The rest of us ate on the front porch and enjoyed the cool evening air, thankful that the cool nights had come back, and sighed with contentment. What could be better on the 4th of July than a quiet evening at home? It was right about then that our youngest child (recently back from her international travels with her mother) said..."We're going to the fireworks tonight, right?"

Right.

So we gathered up the food and put everything away. Put the dogs to bed. And pulled the folding camp chairs from their perch atop a shelf in the garage. Well, Mike got those down. I'm not fond of spiders and I was convinced they were crawling with them. We piled into the family sedan and off to the next town over to see fireworks.

Parking is at a premium anywhere near the lake and we waited until 730 to even decide to go, so there was little chance we would be sitting at the lake. Instead we found ourselves parked at the Baptist church off Lake drive.  We weren't alone. It was a veritable tailgate party in the church parking lot.  The church ladies in their Sunday best, sipping "lemonade" out of red plastic cups.

And then there was us, killing time in the car before braving the bugs and the rednecks on the far shore of the lake. We could only listen to the 1812 Overture so many times before my husband was ready to walk along the road to secure our spot under the pines.

Have I mentioned how much I hate bugs? And I walked off without my organic bug repellent. We hadn't even reached the clearing along side of the bridge and I was already defending myself against a mosquito attack. My flip flops were starting to give out from the loose gravel. And my family was several paces ahead of me. I struggled to keep up as we made our way through the throng of tattoos, rebel flags, Chevy trucks, Budweiser cans, and Dixie cups to find an unoccupied spot in between a line of pine trees. The view would be slightly blocked by the trees in front, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Right about then, that decided how much I loved my husband for bringing the web covered chairs and I shook mine vigorously until I was sure it was free of multi-legged creatures and sat down.

I wasn't in my chair for 5 minutes when I got bit by the first fireant. I was sitting on the outer rim of an ant trail. I checked my chair and then my husbands and gasped. There was a big black beetle looking thing on the back of his chair. I wasn't worried about him, but I needed to know if my chair had bugs on it so I screeched, "there's a big black bug on the back of your chair! Quick check mine!"

It was a rivet.

But there was still the matter of the fireants. I kept my feet up as much as possible.

Even in the open air I was being choked out by cigarette smoke and bug spray.

The fireworks were late...as usual…but not disappointing once they got going.  I couldn’t help but wonder if the entertainment was really worth the trouble, but I pushed back those thoughts and let myself enjoy the show. 

I’ve seen a lot of fireworks in my days, but there is just something about sitting in the woods with a bunch of strangers that makes you keep repeating it year after year.

I always say I'm going to leave before the end, to get a jump on the traffic, but I never do.

The mass exodus after the fireworks reminded me eerily of a horror movie. Like the end of the world or something—hundreds of people walking along the side of the road aimlessly. But we weren't really aimless. At least not my group. None of us had to pause to vomit over the side of the embankment after drinking too much. We didn't even remember bottled water, and I was suddenly parched. 

The people in front of me tripped over a dead bird. I thought it was a cat at first but then I noticed the feathers.  We still had a ways to go to reach the car.

Getting out of the parking space was too easy. We drove effortlessly around the church to the back of a long line of cars, stalled on the way to the exit.  The road was bumper to bumper traffic in all directions. And we weren't moving. Thankfully we had lots of gas and I didn't have to pee.

That's when the woman in the pick-up truck adjacent to us started singing. She was knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. And I was more than willing to give her a hand getting in. I have never in my life seen so many white pick-up trucks in one place. We had apparently gone to see fireworks in a parody of the movie Deliverance. I was suddenly wishing for a little zombie action. But since zombies feed on brains they wouldn't have had much to eat there.

I've decided that fireworks bring out the dumb in people.

I suppose I am included in that, since I was just as entrenched in the traffic, scratching my bites, and wishing for a bottle of something that wasn’t water. 

Oh well…it was a birthday party after all.  And if you can’t celebrate your nation’s birth, what can you celebrate?

Until the next time…I’ll be looking for the calamine lotion and taking a Benadryl with my “lemonade”

saturday was a gas!

Fourth of July eve.

That’s how I referred to today, although I could have said, the Fourth of July “observed”.  Our little town always has the fireworks show on the third of July.  I haven’t really discovered why, but I’ve gotten used to it over the years. 

Despite my best intentions, I didn’t go to the fireworks. 

My kids went without us.  They’ve grown up to a point where they don’t need me around to watch things blow up.  It’s sort of sad, but at the same time, I wasn’t up for artillery fire this evening.  I had a long day.

I really need to get the puppy’s sleep schedule worked out.  He fell asleep early last night and woke up at three am to go out.  It was a rather quick trip…he did his business in the tall grass and headed up the back steps to search for more bugs.  I think I should have named him Renfield, with all the bugs he eats on the back porch. 

I scooped him up and carried him back to bed.  He wasn’t interested in his crate at this point, so I pulled him into the bed with me.  It was something I did when my kids were babies, and it worked just as well then.  He stayed asleep until seven.  But at seven, it was time to get up for the day.

Mike baked bread while I staggered around after the puppy, making sure he didn’t get into too much trouble.  I’ve learned the subtle signals that puppy is about to eliminate on the floor.  The problem is, I seem to see those signals all the time.  He can’t possibly have to go all the time, can he? 

I think he can!

We took him for a ride in the car this afternoon and had to open the windows repeatedly to clear the air.  There is nothing like a well timed puppy fart to remind you what’s important in life!

For me, it’s sleep.  I think I might hit the sack a little early in preparation for the middle of the night trip to the potty.  And as it turns out, I have another chance at the fireworks tomorrow, the next town over actually sets them off on the fourth rather than the third.  Can you imagine?  I think I smell an excuse to grill hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill! 

Until the next time…I’ll be listening to the bombs bursting in air!

this is what writers do

The blog will be a little short tonight.  I’ve spent most of my creative energy on another project today.  I have found myself uniquely inspired.  A book that I have been working on for some time has finally found the focus that has eluded me for so long.  I’m excited, and energized, and I feel that I need to get cracking on it right away.  I bounced my ideas off my husband, as I usually do, and he was quite impressed.  This has been the culmination of several years of work, and for the first time, I feel I am ready to write it all down.

Amazingly, my inspiration came to me from a most unexpected direction.  It was my very own puppy that gave me the missing link that I have been searching for all this time.  I wish I could blather on further about the story, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. 

This will be a completely different book for me.  It’s not funny, or romantic.  It’s an old fashioned thriller with a twist that hasn’t been done before.   I really can’t wait for you to read it.

I will put up a teaser chapter when I reach a point that seems appropriate. 

But until then, you can check out the other teaser chapters in the books section of my website. 

I hope everyone has a wonderful Independence Day weekend.  We’re going to the fireworks Saturday night…it should be exciting. 

Until the next time…I’ll be preparing a family picnic!

raiders of the lost park

I think it may have been said not to long ago, that a person has a tendency to live up to their name.  In fact, that their name defines them.  I think I may have even been the one to say that.  (click here to read "my name means what?")

And it’s true. 

When my son named his puppy Rowdy, we warned him that he may be setting himself up for more excitement than he was ready for…and his puppy has lived up to his name…and then some!

So, it should be no surprise to me that naming my English Mastiff puppy, Indiana Jones, would bring about its own set of challenges.

Just to recap…my husband is working diligently on creating a backyard garden to grow as much of our own food as possible.  He has recently torn out old shrubs, cut down trees, and is planting many varieties of vegetable matter.  This alone poses some risk to the puppy.  There are dangers lurking in the yard, dangers that call to a puppy’s sense of adventure. 

Especially a puppy named Indiana Jones.

Indy, as we like to call him, has discovered a treasure trove of jiffy peat pots (small pouches of dirt created to start plants from seed) that my husband discarded in his compost heap when they failed to yield viable plants.  He has decided that he needs to collect them all and shake the dirt out of them.  Probably to see if they are filled with treasure. 

They aren’t.  That’s why they were discarded.  But that hasn’t discouraged our puppy from checking each and every one.  And of course, I have to stay close to his tail to pull each one from his mouth before he swallows them.

This is exhausting for me, but quite enjoyable for him.  It is the first place he goes when we take him outside.

Once I tire of protecting him from the dirt, I carry him to the lower part of the yard, where he has discovered a place he can get under the house.  It would be the one part of our house that does not have a basement under it.  Instead it has a crawl space.  A crawl space filled with creepy crawly things.  I can’t follow him into this place.  Not because I can’t fit—I’m sure I could if I approached from a crawl position—but I can’t go into a dark place where spiders live.  My puppy seems to enjoy the webs. He prances into the dark cave and brings webs back to me.  This place must be sealed up immediately!  But it will have to wait until the weekend. 

I have more pressing matters. 

My puppy has decided that the cat’s litter box is a treasure box filled with sand for the digging.  We keep the litter box in the laundry room for the express purpose of keeping it away from the dogs.  We installed a cat door for cat access.  Indy has discovered that he can get in through this opening and it his favorite activity.  I found him lying on the floor in there with his “treasures”  more than once.

Luckily, he won’t always fit.  But until that day comes, I will need to block the door. 

It seems that just as one mission is thwarted, he discovers a fresh adventure. 

On the upside—there always has to be an upside—I think I’m losing weight chasing him.  And the more I lose, the more he gains.  He has gained another pound since Monday.  At eleven weeks old, he weights nineteen pounds.  It’s a progressive weight program for me.  My challenge continues to grow until I can’t pick him up at all.  By then I should have reached my goal—a well behaved puppy, and smaller waistline. 

It can’t happen soon enough for me. 

Until the next time…I’ll be chasing the puppy under my bed where he has discovered the land of the lost socks!

important thoughts to live by…especially when you’re tired.

I had a very long day today after a very long night last night.  Maybe I'm just a little punchy, or maybe these things are important life lessons.  Either way, I hope you enjoy them!

Never assume that a puppy is finished going potty.  For some strange reason, puppies have an infinite ability to pee on the floor. Usually behind a chair.

Never run out of paper towels when you have a puppy.

Never take a puppy outside without your shoes or pants on. Not even when you are just too tired to put them on.  Not even at night.  This will ensure that said puppy will run into an area that requires you to give chase.  Shoes and pants are a must for this!

Never stay up so late that large quantities of caffeine are required to stay awake.  This will backfire on you at the end of the night.  And through much of the morning as well.

Always bring an extra shirt to the movies in case you spill your drink in your lap.  The shirt will soak up most of the liquid and cover the wet spot in your crotch.

Never spit your gum out of the window of a moving vehicle.  The wind will almost always change direction blowing the gum back into the car, and into your hair.  Probably somewhere that you can’t readily see or reach.

Always check the thread you are replying to before replying.  You might be sending a message meant for one person to a large group.  This could be very bad! 

Always check the recipient of a text message before hitting send.  Simple errors can cause complex problems.

Never send or reply to emails when you are tired or drunk.  Or drunk and tired.  Or on medication. 

Always secure the lid to the blender BEFORE pressing the liquefy button.  Especially when the blender is full.

Never assume that because you didn’t go to bed until three am that the puppy won’t wake you up at four-thirty like every other morning.

Never write your blog while you are partially unconscious from lack of sleep. 

Never ask your husband to post your blog for you while you are unavailable to edit said blog.  The results could be disastrous.

Never stay up all night long two nights in a row!

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping! A lot!

News from the front...of the Vampire War...

These updates are posted as they were sent/received on 06/29-30-2010. My name is Michael C. Dean and my wife is a social vampire phenomena victim. I love her and I carry on my own vigilance for what I believe at http://www.suburbhomesteader.com/

My wife's life this evening is spelled out below:

Blog update 7pm:

Arrived at the theater at 5:30. Line already wrapped around the lobby. People at the front had pillows and blakets. Nice to know my obsession has healthy limits. Twilight (1^st movie) to start in 15 minutes. Its gonna be a long night!

Update 815:

1^st movie half over so of course it’s bathroom break time for the small bladder crowd. I can make it at least 2 more hours even if I am jacked up on diet coke popcorn and M&Ms.(Can’t see a movie without snacks right?)

Update 845:

Wet crotch while watching Twilight is from spilling Diet Coke in my lap. Twice! Didn’t anyone bring napkins?

Update 915:

First movie over and I really need to pee. But line will be horrible so I will wait. My plan is to break in the middle of New Moon so I will be prepared to enjoy Eclipse without interruption. Thanks to candy and caffeine, I am still wide awake. I will likely pay for this night for days!

Update 1015:

Still have to pee. Hard to drag myself away from the movie. Emergency bladder capacity kicked in. Will need to go soon. Eclipse doesn’t start til midnight. Good news is I’m still not tired

Update 1030:

Went to restroom finally. The lobby is insane! The sound is almost deafening. I’m very glad I’m in a nice comfy theater instead of still waiting for the midnight show in line. This might be as crazy as the time I shopped for Furbies at 4am on the day after Thanksgiving.

Update 1115:

Can hear the screaming through the walls. Over the sound of the 2^nd movie. The other auditoriums are waiting for midnight. We are too, but we are at least distracted by the end of New Moon.  It like New Years Eve. The countdown is started and the Eclipse begins at the stroke of 12. It’s a good thing my bladder is empty!

Final Update:

2^nd movie has ended and the mad rush for the bathroom and cigarette breaks for the crowd. I will be staying in my seat as patiently as I know how, waiting for the clock to tick down to midnight. After this update I will officially be on radio silence until sometime after 2am. I would like to thank my husband for posting the blog for me tonight. Love you honey!

See you in about three hours!

return of the roadside beaver

Back a month or so ago I wrote about a happy go lucky beaver that I saw along the roadside as I was sitting at a traffic light on my way to pick the girls up from a friend’s house.  He was eating someone’s unwanted French fries and just enjoying his life, and he became a metaphor for everything unhealthy in MY life.  He was just there to remind me to be happy and healthy and carefree.  And I was certain that I would never see him again.  Fate would take him from the world leaving nothing but an unattractive road ornament in his place. 

I was wrong.

The beaver was back!  I saw him again today…still foraging on discarded food scraps…still dancing perilously close to the fast moving traffic on the busy road…still reminding me that life is beautiful thing waiting to be lived…maybe even a little bit dangerously. 

Admittedly, I’m not much into danger.  I won’t drink milk after the sell by date.  I refuse to eat leftover pizza that wasn’t immediately refrigerated.  I won’t even honor the “five second rule” when I drop an M&M!

But I suppose there are other ways to take risks in our lives that don’t actually risk our lives.  Because, let’s face it, I’m not about to eat junk food found on the side of the road, and I’m not inclined to play on the edge of a busy street—no matter how exciting that might be! 

Still…I’m sure my life has many surprises in store for me that I haven’t even considered at this early stage of the game.  After all…I just got a new puppy.  And if that isn’t fraught with peril on a daily basis I don’t know what is!  I have a slight fear that I may not survive his infancy if he doesn’t let me get a little more sleep! 

And, I’m going to need a lot of extra sleep during the day tomorrow if I’m going to survive the insanity of the midnight opening of Eclipse tomorrow night. 

There are some risks that I am more than willing to take!

Until the next time…I’ll be standing in line!

um…wasn’t there supposed to be a manual with this new puppy?

Chapter One: Are you ready for a puppy?

I bought a guide to raising the perfect puppy and read it from cover to cover.  Ok, so I skimmed chapter one.  I knew I was ready for a puppy.  I didn’t need someone whispering to me all the reasons NOT to get a puppy.  Or all the problems involved with owning a puppy.  I wasn’t born yesterday.  I’ve had puppies before, and I’ve successfully (so far) raised a few human children as well.  Although, at this moment in time, I will admit that I’m unsure which one is harder.  I certainly don’t remember my children attempting to chew the Persian rugs at a few weeks of age.  They may have attempted to set fire to them much later, but I was at least given some time to adjust to them before they became destructive. 

The puppy gave me exactly 24 hours before he decided that all bets were off and the house was his to do with what he liked.  First on my do to list tomorrow is a trip to the pet store for some bitter apple for the furniture and the rugs. 

Thankfully, his tirade only lasted a few minutes.  It was as if he had multiple personality disorder and he was channeling the yellow Labrador from that movie.  He’s back to being the sweet puppy I brought home yesterday, but I’m waiting for that crazy puppy to come back at any time.  I can’t let my guard down.  I need to sleep with one eye open.

Or stay awake all night—which is sort of what I did last night.  I was so pleased that the puppy went straight to his bed at eleven when Mike and I were ready to retire for the night that it never occurred to me that he would wake up promptly at four AM ready to party and to pee. 

Not necessarily in that order. 

So I walked the dark yard in my nightgown and my flip flops, certain that I was going to run across something in the dark that would freak me out far more than being outside in my pajamas.  After ten minutes amongst the mosquitoes and night crawlers, the puppy went potty in the grass.  Yay Indy!

I was ready to climb right back into bed.  So were the older dogs, who despite the early hour were perfectly willing to make an unexpected trip to the yard, but headed straight back to bed when they were done.   

Indy had other things in mind. 

Already I was a failure as a new mother.  My puppy did not sleep through the night.  He wanted to drink some water.  And play with a ball.  And drink some more water.  And play with a stuffed chicken.  And drool water into my lap. 

Thirty minutes later I noticed my puppy losing steam. 

I scooped him up and took him back to his bed.  He willingly climbed in and went straight to sleep. 

Apparently, my puppy snores…almost as loud as my husband.  And I was officially wide awake and it wasn’t even five o’clock in the morning yet.  I tried to fall asleep, and maybe I even did, but I had the sort of dreams that make you feel like you’re awake even when you’re not.  And then I was awake again.  It was six-thirty, and puppy was ready to get up. 

Another trip to the yard in my nightgown. 

This time without my flip flops because I couldn’t remember where I left them at four-thirty.  The sky wasn’t quite as dark this time.  It did have that eerie early morning look that I don’t recall seeing in quite some time.  Morning has never been my friend, especially THAT early in the morning. 

I think the puppy peed in the yard again, and I was happy to scoop him back up and take him back to bed.  He was less happy to go back to bed than I was to have him there.  His sleep schedule was quite obviously not in tuned with mine…or the other dogs for that matter.  They chose to skip the six-thirty yard run as the novelty of the nighttime trips had worn off two hours earlier.  They stayed in the comfort of their own beds, and I longed to stay with them. 

I did manage to get the puppy to go back to bed but it was short lived.  At seven-thirty he was hungry, and the sun was fully up this time, so the other dogs were more than happy to eat some food if I was willing to dish it up. 

It was a beautiful morning.  It wasn’t even that hot at seven-thirty.  I was so taken by the way the sky looked at that hour that I grabbed a rake and raked a few weeds and leaves while I was out there.  This must be what it’s like for real farmers on real farms…getting up early to feed the chickens…and milk the cows.  I don’t know…my husband might just be on to something after all.

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping in shifts!

how is getting a puppy like giving birth?

Is it even possible that I am sore all over from getting a puppy?  It’s not like I carried him around all day.  I only carried him around part of the day.  But tailing him throughout the entire house all afternoon trying to catch him in the act of peeing on the floor is exhausting. 

For over a week I have had this grand plan that I would pick up my ten-week old puppy and immediately embark on a training program that would make him the envy of all the other dogs in the neighborhood.  I might have to scale back my expectations just slightly. 

As of ten-thirty Saturday night, we are hit or miss on the potty training.  The wood floors were a hit, and the grass was a miss.  I did actually get him to go outside several times, but if the state of my paper towels is any indication (I’ve gone through an entire roll of the quicker picker uppers) we have a lot of work to do. 

I feel as if it may be a very long night!

On the other hand, he is just about the sweetest puppy ever.  After less than a few hours in the house, he was coming to his name, the other dogs had accepted him into the family, and the ninja kitty carefully stalked him while keeping a safe distance from the intruder.  Joey was kind enough to share one of his stuffed toys (he drew the line at sharing his tennis balls) and Cybil has allowed him to move about the house freely.  So he is definitely one of the family—and all things considered, he still pees on the floor less than Cybil, the geriatric incontinent Labrador. 

We named the puppy Indiana Jones—Indy for short—and he is already living up to his name.  He is quite the adventurer, as his birth family had informed me and I have now witnessed on my own.  There are a lot of things I never would have noticed that Indy has discovered on his archaeological digs.  It took me two hours to figure out how the Swiffer pad kept coming off the Swiffer wet jet.  Indy had pulled it off.  The Swiffer is now put away.  I may have to puppy proof a little more tomorrow. 

For now, I need to grab a nap while the puppy is sleeping.  He will probably get me up a few times in the night to “go out”.  Which roughly translates to, I will be standing in the yard watching him sniff the grass and chase the crickets and then cleaning up the mess on my floor. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a new baby…or a new puppy for that matter…I had forgotten how tiring it all is.  Tiring, but well worth it.  And if all the running around I did today is any indication, I will be losing weight too! 

I might need a new pair of flip flops.

Until the next time…I’ll be grabbing a few hours of sleep before the next diaper change!

damn bug!

I found a body in my powder room this morning when I went in to clean.  It was a large rust colored corpse with many legs. 

The bug was belly up on the floor as if it had been attacked from behind by something with claws.  Kitty treats for everyone!  I didn’t want to think about it, so I quickly vacuumed the body and went about my cleaning.  

Fast forward a few hours later…I was on the complete opposite side of the house where I was loading the dishwasher for the first cycle of the day.  I opened the cabinet under the sink to fetch the dishwasher detergent when something rather large darted out. 

A mouse?

No…a bug!  A very big, Florida type bug!  Inside my house! 

It looked suspiciously like the corpse from this morning.  I ran for the vacuum.  I was going to suck him up and dump him back where he belongs…in the yard.  But when I got back with the vacuum, he was gone.  I did a quick search in the cabinet with no luck.  I scanned the adjacent cabinets and the floor.  No bug.  But I was certain he was still there somewhere.  Hiding.

New mission for the day: Find the damn bug!

After several hours of scouring the lower cabinets in my kitchen with a strong solution of organic “green” environmentally safe cleanser (if my husband asks that’s what I used), there have been no further bug sightings.  I’m convinced that he is still hiding, waiting for nightfall so that he can creep around the baseboards in search of whatever it is bugs search for along the baseboards in the dark of night.  He won’t find it.  I’ve cleaned the heck out of my kitchen.  There is nothing for a bug to feast on, nowhere safe to hide.  My cats are on patrol, and he will be found.  Oh yes, he will be found.

I have a thing about bugs.  Not quite a phobia, but definitely a strong dislike.  And finding two in one day (even if one of them was dead) constitutes a bug problem in my book.  It’s all this rain we’ve been having—and the ridiculous heat—driving the little creatures into my house.  But I refuse to obsess over a damn bug.  I’ll leave that to the cats.

I have other things to obsess over. 

My new OCD fixation of having a sparkling clean house is paying off.  My husband is thrilled with the results.  Everything seems more balanced and stress free in our house.  Still, it has its moments.  I had to restrain myself from cleaning the shower again at midnight last night.  I didn’t do it…I may have OCD, but I’m not crazy. 

Maybe a little crazy.

I put a plastic fork in the dishwasher today.  I wasn’t even planning on saving it, but I didn’t want to throw it away dirty.  I don’t know why, but it just seemed like the thing to do.  Although with this bug problem, I suppose I can’t be too careful about having food items in the trash.  Mike has me composting everything that is compostable.  Apple peels and egg shells are.  Plastic forks are not.  So I took it out of the dishwasher and threw it the trash. 

Tomorrow is the day the new puppy comes home.  I feel almost like I’m having a new baby.  I bought him a new bed, and a new collar, and a new leash, and I have thoroughly puppy proofed the house.  Now I just have to get a good night’s sleep so I can get up at seven-thirty to make the two plus hour drive to the remote reaches of Tennessee to pick him up.  I shouldn’t complain.  My husband drives that long to get to work most days.  Atlanta traffic and all that.  But still, I’m not used to getting up that early.  I think I’ll shower tonight.  And if I shower, I’ll probably have to use that daily shower cleaner to make sure the shower stays clean.  It’s a vicious cycle.  But hey, I’m on a roll!

Until the next time…I’ll be puppy proofing the car!

maybe just one…

A wise old friend once told me that I should drink more.  And an even wiser family member said that it was the best advice ever.  I wouldn’t be very smart if I was disregarding good advice everyday…would I?

But a smart girl doesn’t mix drugs and alcohol.  So I’m skipping the medicine tonight and having a few (light) drinks.  As anyone who knows me well will tell you…I’m a light drink kinda girl. 

I’ve got to say…the best part about taking advice is when it works.  I feel completely relaxed this evening.  And it was a busy day too. 

Alexa started her new job today. 

She’s working at my favorite shop, My Girlfriend’s Boutique, in Kennesaw, Georgia.  The very place I bought the crazy pink sweater. 

The best part about her having a job is that she doesn’t tell me how bored she is all day.  Summer is a double edged sword.  The kids are chomping at the bit to have school over, but the minute summer break starts, they complain about having nothing to do.  So I have become the unofficial “cruise director” for the teenagers.  And I’m running out of ways to disguise housework as a fun activity.

Today I managed to squeeze a few hours out of the day to have lunch with my sister and hit up the pharmacies for more coupon deals.  She had to show me all of her “loot” from her morning of shopping.  I imagine it’s pretty funny to see two grown women leaning over the trunk of a car checking out the piles of deodorant, tampons, and body wash like some sort of bizarre drug deal gone very wrong.  We probably looked like we’d robbed a drug store.  It would almost be funny to have a policeman try to investigate the scenario as we tried to shield the goods from view—not because there is anything illegal about deodorant, but it does melt in the hot sun. 

My sister may have gone a little overboard with her purchases.  She did very well on the savings, but she doesn’t even wear contacts.  What is she going to do with two bottles of contact solution?  I didn’t even ask.  I didn’t want to ruin her shopping buzz.  I just said goodbye as she zoomed off to find another pharmacy to plunder with her rolodex of coupons. 

I had every intention of ignoring the house today after the thorough cleaning I gave it yesterday, but after being outside long enough to feel the effects of the ninety-plus degree weather, I decided that I would find something to do in the air conditioned house.  Climbing a ladder to clean the tops of the kitchen cabinets would ordinarily be the last place you would find me, but not today. 

Today that was exactly where I was.                       

It’s amazing how much grease finds its way to the tops of the cabinets.  Even completely across the room from the stove!  And the grease on the top of the cabinets is much harder to clean than any other grease I’ve ever cleaned.  It’s a very good thing I had nothing better to do today than to climb a ladder and wash the tops of my cabinets.  Who knows how bad it would have gotten if I had cooked bacon even more time!

Tomorrow I’ll have to clean the counters and floors again.  I’m sure bacon grease dust found its way down there today.  And I need to finish puppy proofing the house before Saturday.

But for now, I’m just relaxing with my husband.  I’ve had my one blueberry lemonade wine cooler and I’m feeling the effects of the thimble full of alcohol that was probably in there.  (I told you I was a lightweight.)  I’ll probably sleep well.  And a good night’s sleep is exactly what the doctor ordered. 

Until the next time…I’ll be dreaming of my new puppy!

you might have OCD if…

I may just be getting into this whole “housewife” thing a little too much.  I decided this right about the time I was scouring the shower (for the third time this week) while I was actually taking a shower.  I thought it was a good idea at the time—multitasking, you know.  And my shower is really, really clean now.  But maybe I should try to slow down.  Relax a little. 

I can relax tomorrow.

Today, I was on a roll.  I have vacuumed my floors at least twice.  I may have vacuumed one room three times.  But it’s deep into shedding season and my remaining Labrador and my two long haired cats are shedding like mad! It seems as if the minute one room is clean, I see a fast moving tumbleweed of cat fluff rolling by, and I feel this sudden compulsion to get it!  That’s when I run to get the vacuum and quickly suck it up!  There is just no way to get it all.  I have to face that fact. 

I dusted every surface that I could reach without climbing up a ladder.  It’s amazing how high cat hair can climb without the cat attached to it.  I’m not sure where the cat hair stopped and the spider webs started.  It’s a good thing I was home to get them.  And it’s a good thing my vacuum attachment has a long reach. Who knows how long they were up there!  These things tend to build up when you work all day and don’t have the time to clean every inch daily. 

Being a wife/mother/writer is a definitely a full time job!  Even if the pay isn’t great.

Pay or no pay…I’m working on making my house cleaner than the day I moved in!  As of right now, I don’t have a single dirty dish left to wash.  The laundry has been done, folded, and put away.  Even the cat boxes have been cleaned and washed.  I would have washed the cats if I could have caught them.  And if I had the proper tools I would have swept out the chimneys.  It’s that time of year after all. 

I never knew that I was a neat freak until I took a medical leave from work.  It just goes to show…there may be a little neat freak in all of us. 

Then again…it could be all the blood pressure medicine I’ve been taking. 

I ran into a friend at the grocery store today, and she suggested I take up drinking.  Apparently it’s good for stress relief and keeping that OCD at bay.

I don’t know…it could work…but I think I’ll leave the drinking to those who don’t know how to properly use their OCD.  I’ve got mine completely under control!

Time to clean out the refrigerator!

Until the next time…I’ll be rearranging the vegetable drawer!