Go to Sleep Mr. Perfect !

I was awakened by the sounds of a canine troublemaker frolicking in the living room last night.  Assuming it was Mack, and since a trip to the bathroom had now become necessary, I threw myself out bed, in a valiant attempt to halt any impending revolt in its tracks.

Mack and Norman were sound asleep, but Seamus, YES Seamus, the 11+ year old, hard of hearing, slow to NO moving, partially blind, one lunged, poster child for rule followers, and illustrious wise sage of the pack, was jumping lunging with attitude, around the room, with a couch pillow in his mouth, shaking it, for all it was worth.  

Nothing can describe this moment in time better than the immortal words of 3 year old despondent Tyler Griffis upon learning he was not allowed to play mini hockey at midnight: “Why is this happening?” 

As I stood in the dark, cold living room in shock, trying to come to terms with the treachery and pandemonium before me, thoughts raced through my mind.  

How did older than dirt Seamus manifest the energy to do this ??  

Was this a glimpse into the secret underworld of night ?? 

Does Seamus have an alter ego I don’t know about ?? 

One sadly, ever-present thought quietly nagged at me. In the blink of an eye, reality crash around me and the situation became crystal clear:  “OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO WET MY PANTS !!”

"GIVE ME THAT" I screamed, as I grabbed the damp pillow from the exalted one’s hairy mouth, and hobbled to the bathroom, as fast as my pretzeled legs could carry me.

  

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Check out www.TheMuddyPawsGroup.com to learn more about our rescued farm animals, our services, and how you can help.

ABANDONED

Yesterday I went outside to feed the animals.  While walking across the yard to the barn, there in the middle of the snow, all by itself, left apparently right where it fell out of a body, was a chicken egg. 

Did one of the new ladies fail to read the Policies Section of the welcome packet ?  

Was this the work of an AntiSnow Chicken sleeper cell or the youthful rebellion of someone with issues at home ?  

Did something happen during the trip to the nest or was she just lazy and gave up ?  

Stay tuned while we keep an eye on this unfolding situation.

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Battle of the Bedroom

Two months ago, after 34 years of marriage and many big dogs, it occurred to me that perhaps a better night’s sleep was possible, if you slept in a bed without 250 collective pounds of dogs surrounding you.

 

We put a gate on our bedroom door, and waited expectantly to arise each morning, spring out of bed, and face the day with a youthful and triumphant vigor.  Well apparently, mid 50’s is the gateway to broken down body hell, so that didn’t happen, but we kept the gate up anyway.  (Golden years my a$$) 

 

Surprisingly Seamus and Norman adjusted to the new bedroom ban, quite well.  Mack, on the other hand, is apparently more resistant to change. 

 

On random nights, he will intermittently head butt the gate, loudly sigh, grumble, and complain, then continue campaigning until he convinces the other two, that their lives are also ruined.  After a brief group discussion and airing of grievances, everyone begins howling.  The hounds from hell proudly sing the song of their people until they either lose interest, or mild-mannered Farmer Howard by day AKA Crazy Angry Bear when awakened at night, threatens to behead each and every one of them.  

 

The following mornings, Mack’s bored, disgruntled nighttime trail of woe is visible.  Throw pillows, blankets and random shoes are strewn about, any napkin left out is chewed up, and previous neatly stacked papers have been thoroughly schnuffled, and left to lie where they fell.

 

Who will blink first ~ me or Mack ?  

 

I recently purchased a new comforter for our king size bed.  I did not look for the perfect shade of Dark Mud to best hide muddy paw prints, slobber and dog hair.  I did not search only durable fabrics that contain words like “indoor/outdoor”, “waterproof”, and “lifetime warranty”.  I did not look for the laundry symbol that means: can survive frequent washing without 

disintegration.

 

I chose a high thread count, luxurious, HGTV design house worthy, absolutely crazy all white with a delicately stitched black border, comforter.  I feel like I sleep in a fancy hotel bed now.     

 

Game on Mack.  Your master bedroom days are over.  

 

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Potty Humor

As the curtain opens on today's peek into Norman Rockwell life, 

we find the Griffis Family gathered in the master bedroom. 

Howard has just gotten out of the shower, and is grumpy from a 

long, hot days work, Amanda is sitting in one recliner, on her 

phone, & I am in the other recliner, reading emails on my laptop. 

Tyler & Coles are downstairs yelling at the Xbox, and the clearly

biased refereeing of whatever game they are playing against eachother.  

The older two dogs have gotten over the daddy's home euphoria, 

but Max is still milling anxious to help Howard put his shoes on. 

Carson enters the room and asks when are we going to get Max 

neutered.  Thus starting a far too serious & lengthy conversation
regarding "can you get a dogs testicles stuffed or bronzed." 

As the group reaches an agreement that Carson will ask Mr. 

Morello for a price to stuff Max's testicles, Coles bursts on the 

scene headed towards the master bathroom, with a roll of toilet

paper, yelling:  I gotta Poop.

Captain Grumpy, who apparently has lived in a world without 

children for the past 23 years, yells  DON'T USE MY BATHROOM. 

Coles stops, sighs, and says fine I'll use Amanda's
   and walks towards her room.

Howard, undeterred, continues on his "it's my bathroom tirade", 

as Amanda catapults out of the chair, chasing after the future
bathroom wrecker, yelling NO you are NOT using my BATHROOM. 

Coles:  I GOTTA poop.

Amanda: use YOUR bathroom on the 3rd floor

Carson (from somewhere in the house): 

      He doesn't wipe anyway what's it matter.

Coles:  Shut up.  I'll just use dads and starts towards the
      master bath again

(this is really just a suicide mission as Captain Grumpy is still
  peddling his one man one bathroom story and plotting
  against all who cross his path)

Howard:  COLES  You are not using my #%^%# bathroom.
           Go use your own and
           IS THAT MY ROLL OF TOILET PAPER ?!?! 

Coles:(mildly annoyed at the stupidity of this question)
     No its mine I keep it in my room for emergency use.

Me:  (Ignoring the fact that my husband has an apparent
deep seeded aversion to sharing anything related to
personal hygiene & the fact that my son feels the need 

to keep a roll of toilet paper in his bedroom for
emergency use):

     If you went upstairs to get your emergency roll of
     toilet paper, why didn't you just use the bathroom
     next to your bedroom.

Coles:  (beginning to feel like a potty orphan, sighs,
            & heads back to Amanda's room)

           "fine I'll just use Amanda's then"

Amanda:  COLES I MEAN IT you are NOT using my bathroom

Captain Grumpy, muttering to himself, exists room to go downstairs

Coles:  Now standing with very odd posture and clenched
butt cheeks, holding onto his emergency roll of toilet says
"I gotta poop" as he makes his way towards my bathroom door.

He makes a break for our bathroom and Amanda asks

"why doesn't he just use the downstairs bathroom right next to the Xbox?"

Tyler, who has just entered the bedroom says matter of factly:  

"Oh there is a spricket in there, or occasionally in there "

as if every 12 year old runs from bathroom to bathroom with an 

emergency roll of toilet paper, on a quest for a guaranteed spricket 

free zone.

Carson (from somewhere in the house) OH BIG SISSY afraid of a bug

Coles:  SHUT UP CARSON

Captain Grumpy from downstairs with good hearing; 
        GET OUT OF MY %^&$$ BATHROOM

Amanda & I at the same time:    He's Not in your bathroom

Captain Grumpy:  Why does it sound like he is in my bathroom

Amanda: You're just losing it

FADE TO BLACK 

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knock knock

Around lunch time Saturday afternoon, the door bell rings. Resplendent from spending the morning cleaning, I go downstairs to open the door in my boxers, sweaty t-shirt, and with hair that looks like the cats played in it.

I push my way past the log jam of psycho  dogs, who are convinced the doorbell is code for attack, yelling at them to get back like a Neanderthal, and  open the door.  It appears to be some schmuck selling something, so I talk through the screen door and let the dogs continue their we are ferocious routine. ( I have found employing this tactic really helps the door to door salesman get to the point quickly.  )

Today's schmuck takes a step back and introduces himself.  He is some realtor from somewhere, who has a client, who wants to move into our town, really likes our house,  & he was wondering if we were considering putting the house back on the market.

Oh.                                                                                                                                                                             

WTF - not even an hour ago, I had just submitted today's answer for "should we stay or should we go" and it was "revisit this question in the fall."  Now clean cut go-getter real estate boy, has a client who really likes our house. 

Annoyed that I have to put this life changing decision back on the table, I confess all to captain real estate.  We plan to move, we are pretty sure we know where we want to move to, we can move, but with that being said, we are doing nothing to prepare the house to be listed again.  At that point Max, the special needs Great Dane, jumps up on the screen door, ripping the screen out, and hangs halfway out the door. 

"Allow me to introduce the puppy" I say to Mr. Real Estate Man, who has taken a giant step backwards and is now sporting wet pants.  He is just one of the reasons why we aren't ready to list the house, I lament, as I continue to unburden my soul onto this unfortunate poor man, now trapped on my front porch.

Do you have children Mr. Real Estate man?  Oh one sweet 6 year old girl who reads books all day. That's swell ... Teenagers live here - do you know what teenagers and their kind, do during the summer when they aren't working at their part time job, Mr. Real Estate Man ? Nothing.  Absofreakinglutely nothing.  Teenagers and their kind, sleep till noon, and then roam in and out of your house and mess it up, while on their cell phones making plans to mess up your house even more, later in the day.

Three dogs live here - do you know what dogs do during the summer while teenagers and their kind, roam  in and out of your house and mess it up Mr. Real Estate Man ?  Dogs get crazy and run amuck throughout  your house, spewing their little hairs everywhere.  And then, then, when crazy, hair spewing, running amuck dogs get tired and need a rest , they chew things up.

I went back to work full time - does your wife work outside the home Mr. Real Estate Man ?  Oh she stays at home, and you are a special education teacher.  Well I dislike her already, but you would love it here because this is a special education house, full of special education needing children, with a husband who is gone from sun up to sun down, but could use some special education, if he was here, awake, for more than a  few more minutes of the day.

But yes.  Of course your clients can come look at the house. Would you mind providing a  signed statement that they have spent a half hour looking at the pictures on line, that they acknowledge the house is on a corner,  and that they concede the back yard has a pool, yet doesn't have a garage.  If you can obtain the affidavit, then I'll just need a few weeks' notice to clean, spackle 5-18 holes in the wall, have a couple of rooms carpeted, make sure there are no stray children in the weeds outback, defrog the pool, and buy stock in fabreeze so I can cover up the last lingering smell of Spike the incredible pole vaulting dog vs. skunk

Wait, what do you mean you'll call me later .....

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A bump in the road

My journey continues ….

 but, I think I just fell off a cliff.

Carson came from his 2 day stint with
the marine recruiter.  He got an 85 on
his ASVAB test.  

That is a good score, and means just about
every job is now available to him . 

Alright, so he can have a good job, that will 

carry over to a good job in the private sector, 

when he gets out.  That's good. 

So he'll go in, get his training, become a man,
hoorah,  Semper Fi, then he's out. Alright.
4 years active, 4 years reserve, ok, ok,

Yea I got this.

And we're moving forward.

He comes home and hands me his
bio metrically signed contract,bindinghim to the armed forces for the next 8 years.

As I read over the straight forward contract
that screams YOU CAN BE IN BATTLE on
every line, I start to feel a bit of nausea
creeping in.

In an effort to refocus, stay positive, and
move onward, I say so what job        
do you think you want to sign up for?

Special Forces he says

WHAT  THE   F***

I’ll be in the bathroom throwing up.

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GOOOOD MOOOORNING MOM

So I am awakened this morning at 4:58 am, by the sound of the front door closing.  

(yes devil spawn - your mom is that good). 

I quietly go downstairs, and see Coles sleeping on the couch.  Ok #4 check.  

Amanda was sleeping out so #1 accounted for. 

Tyler was last seen in his room watching TV at 11:30 last night, and I am sure he 

is still in that exact spot.  So that leaves # 3 .......CARSON !

I am standing in the front hall lamenting the fact, that now I have to walk all the 

way up to the 3rd floor, to start a room by room search, when the front door opens again.

It is tonight's player. Hailing from Moorestown NJ, we welcome Carson 

He quietly shuts the door, and goes to lie down on the couch. 

Um Hello ?!?    

                                                                         

Yo what's up  (first clue - greetings are typically just a grunt)

What were you doing outside?

I had to get my phone.

Oh why was your phone outside ?

Yea  XXXX is out front, we were talking 

(second clue - you don't talk out front - you just are out front)

Oh   XXXX is here ? ... at 5 in the morning

Yea he didn't come in.   (and in Carson-ville, this somehow gives him extra credit)

So you were out front talking to XXXX, and getting your phone, in your underwear at 5 am ?

Ok that's lie. XXXX was not here.

So who's out front?

No one is out front (getting annoyed) why would anyone be here?

Oh ..I thought you said  XXXX was here.

(really annoyed) NO... No one has been here.  I haven't seen XXXX since I got dropped off.

Oh what time ?

12:30

Have you been drinking ? (this is always a fun question)

No not since I got home (another extra credit point in his world)

Oh.  Which was when ?

I don't know.

So why were you out front in your underwear at 5 in the morning.

I had to pee

Oh.  You know we have a bathroom inside the house

Then I don't know why I said that.

Did  you  only wear underwear out tonight ?

No I took my shorts off when I got home (as he looks at himself to confirm underwear is present)

Oh ..what time was that ?

12:15

Was  XXXX out with you tonight  (same person of front porch fame)

What ?!? (getting annoyed again) Why would he be there ?  I was with XYXY.

5:05 AM   GAME CALLED

( due to early hour, and one parties lack of desire to continuing messing with
inebriated kid, in favor of going back to sleep for another hour).

Final Score   Carson - 2 invisible points that do not exist

                      Mom -  1 point because he didn't pee on the couch.   WINNER 

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ALERT CODE RED

So last night Amanda & I are in the back yard just hanging out with the dogs.

2 siblings are walking down the street that runs alongside our back yard, and as they pass by, their talking escalates into arguing. 

"you ain't telling me what to do"
"oh yes I am"
"well I’m gonna tell ..." etc.

The dogs hear the unidentified voices, initiate code Red, sound the alarm, and race to the fence.

Max and Seamus run to the fence you can see through, to assure the borders have not been compromised, but Spike the incredible pole vaulting dog (who is chained up), has another tactic. He jumps up, reaches the top of the 6ft fence and balances atop it.

The kids start screeching like the apocalypse is upon them.

"OHMYGOD HES COMING OVER DA FENCE"
"$%^ THAT DOG CRAZY"
“HES COMING OVER DA FENCE”

Spike, following the shock & awe rules of engagement, pauses at the top for 5 seconds, then jumps down, goes as far as the chain allows (the curb), and keeps barking.

The kids continue with their apocalyptic shrieks.

Amanda races out of the yard to unchain Spike and return him to base.

The girl (maybe 8 or 9 yrs.) standing with her hand on her hip, keeps yelling at Amanda, "you needs to put that dog in da house".

Amanda, choking back laughter, brings Spike to the gate and waits for me to open it. I can't even move because I am laughing so hard.

Max unable to see anything from his vantage point goes to Spikes last known coordinates, and jumps up on the fence.

Imagine our little friend’s horror, as the Loch Ness monster of dogs slowly appears above the fence; with a large head, neck and 2 paws, fully visible, and starts barking at them.

Boy - OHMYGOT THERES A BIGGER ONE
GIRL - no words just screeching
BOY - DAT ONES COMIN OVER DA FENCE TOO?!?!
GIRL - more screeching
BOY - YOU GOT CRAZY DOGS WE GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE
GIRL - hand back on hip, "You need to put DAT dog in da house"
GIRL – “You just need to put DAT dog in da house”

Max stops barking at them but remains in his position, and continues to observe.
The girl is getting more demanding and waving her finger -
"you NEED to put DAT dog in da house"

Amanda tries to speak "he is ....." and she can't utter any more words without laughing, so she waves her hand in a circle two times followed by a wave towards the back yard, which may, in some cultures, be the universal sign for "stop you’re screeching, that dog can't jump the fence".

The little girl just keeps repeating her order, and as always the case in war, there are no winners, so I pulled Max down from his command post and drug him in the back door. Amanda took Spike in the front door, where we discovered Howard, Tyler & Carson in hysterics, who had all been watching the melee from different levels in the house.

Just another day.

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One leather neck jar head - coming up ?

So I finally let the marine recruiters in the door tonight.   In typical fashion, there was much commotion & yelling as Howard and Coles wrangled the 3 barking dogs into the back yard, while trying to assure them, we were not under attack. 

The words "oh there are two of you - just swell" tumbled out of my mouth, while I walked down the stairs to greet the Sergeants, whom we shall call; Care Bear, & Napoleon.  Amanda, who had provided a moving "thou shalt not kill" lecture earlier, yet pledged her undying support, pinched my arm. 

As the shouts from the back yard grew intelligible, it became apparent that someone had once-a-freaking-gain, left the gate open, and Seamus was on the lam. Amanda sprang into action, blocking my potential escape route, and insisted SHE would go chase down the disobedient, one eyed, hobbling hound.  (she had trouble catching him - but that is another day's story)

She politely dodged the recruiters, dashed out the front door, & promptly fell down the front porch stairs, in an exceptional display of unskilled grace and bungling magnificence. I, however, was left stranded in the hallway, to choke down laughter, therefore shattering my "I'm from the dark side - fear me" demeanor (said in a Darth Vader voice), that I had put on, especially for the occasion. 

I led our villains into the dining room, through the tumbleweeds of dog hair, over the dirty floor, and offered them a seat at the table.  I almost felt a little something, as I watched them set their pristine white hats down, on my table full of dog hair and various dirt marks. 

I  sat down with my hands folded, mouth closed, staring at their leader, Sergeant Napoleon, and waited to be sold my used car.   Napoleon pressed his hands together, puffed out his chest, and asked "well mam, what questions do you have for us?"   I leaned forward slightly and said,  "I'd like to know exactly what it is you want from me tonight?"  And yes there is a tiny honor a 47 year old woman receives, when she makes a 27 year old pale at her dining room table.

Sergeant Care Bear took the lead and started explaining what the recruitment process was. I had done my own research, didn't really have questions, but was anxious to see what was in the "Now Get The Mom To Sign" hand book, so I just listened.  I think Napoleon took my silence as it not going well, and commandeered the conversation. 

As he gave me the "sign now - you'll get better choice of the jobs" propaganda, I started to lose interest.   But when he used the  "I am a recruiter, but I don't care about the numbers" line, my car salesman hating - alter ego took over, and I said in a polite Sybil voice "well if you don't care about the numbers,  then you aren't doing your job". 

I swear I saw the Care Bear hold back a smirk, as Napoleon got a little hot under the collar and replied, "Well I AM doing my job mam, and blah blah blah".  And since NO WHERE in the mommy rule book it says you need to fight fair, - I pretended to listen intently, as I got up, went over to the door, and let Max the giant Great Dane inside, to sniff his slobbery jowls all over them.

I told my dining room jar heads, that I respected what they did, believed they would make an independent, successful man out of my devil spawn, thought all their bureaucratic BS was nuts, that I have grave concerns about their superiors ability to make good decisions, and that they will never have my permission to talk to #4. I signed the necessary paper, and my son is now an official US Marine Recruit

(who has the option to change his mind up until 30 days before deployment .... just saying .....)

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Oh dog balls

Dear Gentle Reader, today's story may be a bit uncomfortable for some, but in the name of science, I feel I am duty bound to proceed.

We are the proud owner of an, I believe 8 month old, special needs Great Dane puppy.  (Do not let the fact that he has only been here 7 months & I have already lost track of how old he is, and am calling him Clyde (the last great Dane's name) 75% of the time, lead you to believe, that he is not, a more or less, cherished  member of our family.)

Yes he has chewed up to 5 holes in various walls for unknown reasons, yes we have bid adieu to a room or two of carpet, yes he takes stupid to a whole new level, yes all residents and several used to be frequent guests, have needed a bath towel to take care of unfortunate drool incidents, and  yes he does have a 12 inch long tongue that somehow always seems to fall out of his mouth, and  flop on your arm when you pet him.... But in our happy twisted little circle,  he is probably most widely recognized, for his ever growing, soon to require their own zip code, no no special place, future puppy holders. 

While we have always had large breed male dogs, we have also always done our part to stop the leg humping epidemic, by promptly neutering Fido on his 6 month birthday.  But when we got Max, the breeders, who have been raising Danes for 15 years said, they believe it is better for the pups
to get a full years worth of testosterone to help keep them healthy.  It sounded reasonable, so we agreed to hold off until his first birthday - with the clear understanding that one wrong move and it
would be under the knife!

We now spends bits of our time observing, with frightened awe, Max, as all of him, continues to grow, and grow. Several family members have been known, on occasion, to take a picture or two, of the aforementioned subjects, and throw them into the family group text, and yes maybe once I did send a close up, with no identifiable extra features to a certain offspring, who got on my nerves that morning before school, but this is all uncharted territory, done in the name of scientific research.

So as we watch, and wait to see what will happen next, we debate which fruit, the aforementioned objects closest resemble, (we have been at Kiwi for almost a week now, for those of you playing along at home).  Oh and rest assured, there is no need for stolen glances, sneaking a peek, or awkward invasive maneuvers, good ole Max loves nothing more than to spend his non chewing, drooling, down time, sleeping on his back with his legs spread wide open for all the world to see. 

Be careful if you ask me how the new dog is, you may get more of an answer than you bargained for.

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whats mom smoking ?

Each morning is a new adventure – Life is what you make of it !

It is so exciting to open your eyes and start the day, by discovering who or what is next to you in bed, sprawled out on your floor, and curled up in your chair.  It’s my own personalized “Where’s Waldo” game.

Chances are good, that at least one dog and one kid will be present in the room.  Variables are numerous, and include; temperature, day of the week, alcohol consumption, order in which family members arrived home, & how quiet they were upon entering – just to name a few. 

Once you have checked the usual spots in your bedroom – then you can move to the other floors of the house.  The ultimate goal of the game is to assure each child you gave birth to is safe and secure, but it also can double as a “keep Alzheimer’s away” exercise.  As you go along your perimeter check, count up all the Kilowatts of energy you paid for all night long, as you turn off every light & electronic component that you own.  Adding up these large numbers will help keep your neurotransmitters in top working condition.

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5th grade yearbooks ?!?!

So several days before school let out for the summer, during lunch – I missed a phone call from the school.  Evidently someone who sounds like a bad combination of Fran Drescher, Michelle Duggar & Jessica Simpson, on crack, left me the following message:

Hello Mrs. Dibbles, this is Ms X, # 4’s vice principal.  I just wanted to let you know that # 4 wrote “I tap dat spelled D…A….T” in someone’s year book.  That is a sexual term Mrs. Dibbles …. It means you want to have Sex with a person. We do not allow sexual terms to be written in year books, Mrs. Dibbles.   I had to call #4 into my office & discuss this matter with him.  He looked genuinely remorseful, but I explained to him that he was going to get a consequence.  So I told him that I was taking his year book from him, and that his mom or dad will have to come to the school and personally pick it up. Thank you and have a great day Mrs. Dibbles.   

I made husband pick it up.    <sigh>

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Garlic I NEED GARLIC !!

I have given birth to 4 vampires, who are most energetic, after dusk.  Summer may be the most active vampire season, as the pool seems to attract them on hot nights.  Given that, myself, husband, & dogs are on “NVL time” (Non Vampire Lamesville time), sleep on these nights, can be elusive for us. 

Vampires are genetically predisposed to have no clue, that other, non vampires, may be trying to sleep. They do not own a whisper voice, and feel it is in the best interest, to open and close car doors and the pool gate, as many times as humanly possible. 

As the canine bestseller “How to be a Dog 101” dictates, each time a car door slams or a gate opens, it is the responsibility of any dog present, to begin barking. Furthermore, upon visual confirmation of person, squirrel or absolutely nothing, you add running back and forth between windows (& floors of your home if applicable) to your “How to save the family” to do list.  And finally, continue the process nonstop, until you are beaten to death, or lose interest.

Once the vampire club is contained in the yard, and have entered the pool to “chill”, the dogs grow bored of standing at the back door growling.  Evidently Ok with vampires raping and pillaging the back yard, they come to our room, flop on the floor, and return to sleep.

Alas everyone knows vampires cannot survive without a Wawa run.  So after what seems like mere minutes later, they have a brief ruckus meeting to decide who is driving, who is going, and who owes who money. Once established, the Wawa consumers leave.  The gate opens, the car doors slam, and poof the dogs are back to “saving us” again. 

Being the crazy cat lady is looking more attractive every day. 

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communication

The secret communication between a mom & her offspring, when significant others are in ear shot, is an art some catch on to quicker than others.

By saying the words “did you” & making eye contact with my daughter, followed by a combination of a right head tilts, eye gestures, and a shoulder shrug, is clearly understood by her as “Last night did you see hot Mr. X, and was there any spark?”  Her response of eye roll, shoulder shrug, giant exhale, eye roll, as she walks away obviously means “yes, NO ugh yes – we’ll talk later”. 

Simple private communication at its best.

Addressing my son in a similar manner – does not produce the same results. 

An eye stare, nod towards the girlfriend, slow shoulder shrug with question look on my face” translates to him as “The Gazelle flies at Dawn” and accordingly he responds with “HUH?” 

So I simplify the secret language for him and add more words:  “How is” nod to girlfriend, whisper voice “doing today?”  Son who is apparently more interested in assuring his penis is still attached, and clearly is lacking the stealth gene, says “WHAT?” in a voice much louder than spy code dictates.
Now, as significant other stares at us, I say through clenched teeth “I wanted to know how your girlfriend was doing today?” Son, with the annoyed / confused look on his face says “I don’t know”, then turns to significant other and says “My MOM wants to know how you are today?” 

<SIGH>

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The Frog Pimp

Our little backyard is like a tiny terrarium of wild life.  We have a chipmunk family, 2 cardinal families, and a rather large tribe of frogs, which have decided to call the yard home, this summer. 

Since we put the pond in, you can count on a bullfrog calling out for a mate, usually once a night.  Evidently there is a reproductive drought for frogs; the female frogs are busy burning their bras, there has been a crackdown on frog prostitution, or somehow I just had the misfortune of ending up with the South Jersey Chapter of the Lonely Frog Hearts club.

Whatever the reason, for the past month there have been 3 male bullfrogs looking for love, with no success.  One in the big pond, one in the little pond, and one, we have named Napoleon, had decided the pool is the best den of love. 

The frog in the little pond sounds old, but is still giving it the ole college try, the frog in the big pond sounds like a high school nerd and has a not fully developed his love call, but now good ole Napoleon, he is a player.  The dude goes into the skimmer basket in the pool, and calls the ladies from there ….. so it echoes …. Which makes him sound like God’s gift to frog women everywhere.  I swear you hear Barry White playing in the back ground.  The old frog and the young frog call it a night early, but not our Napoleon; he is a machine, and is still wooing the frog ladies as the sun rises. 

We have not decided how to break it to him that any fertilized eggs deposited in the pool will be sucked up by the automatic vacuum the next day. 

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working is not working

So I sit at work trying to concentrate, knowing full well that my house is systematically being destroyed by the fire ants I gave birth too.  While it will be "no one’s" fault and each and every narcissistic fire ant will have a complete self appreciating tale of how they could and would not ever attempt such demolition, or blatant disrespect of the home I created, the fact remains - there are piles of destruction everywhere.

Each time I come home from work, it is like waking up after your best friend’s bachelor party.  I walk from room to room wondering, pondering, questioning; who is the stranger in the pool, why is there a dog I’ve never seen before taking a dump in my yard, where did the freezer in the driveway come from, whose shirt is floating in the pond, and other peculiar questions, that leave one at a loss for words.

“Nice to meet you # 2’s significant other’s friend; what a small world that your brother knows # 4 from wrestling and you both have spent the day in my pool.  Doesn’t your mom miss her family?”

 “No, #1, my day was ok, and I’m not quite ready to crack open a beer with you at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, but thank you for asking.”

“Thank you #4 for taking care of the dogs - I can see by the attempted hole to China that you remembered to let them out this morning.  Maybe tomorrow we can let them in before they try tunneling to freedom.”

“Yes, #2, I can see you made sure #4 matched today, the clothes pulled from the dryer, and spread out all over the floor, are a testament to your ability to make him follow through.”

 “Cool # 3 - that is so great that Al Capone & Jeff Dahlmer, whom I haven’t seen, since they were in kindergarten with you 14 years ago, stopped by and hung out for a while.  It is super they remembered you and said to tell me Hi.  Of course I want to hear what they were arrested for last time, just give me a minute.”

 “I am just going to step over the empty plates and glasses on the floor, follow the wet towel trail up to my bedroom, make sure the dogs are alive, change my clothes and then spend a little bit of time in my closet, rocking back and forth in the fetal position ..... I’ll be right back .


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Happy Birthday to Me !

What does a 46 year old look like

Slightly bulgier – as apparently one cheeseburger now equals an immediate 5 pound weight increase

Calmer – partly due to maturity and partly due to the fact that yelling causes you to pee your pants

Blinder – when did they start making words so freaking tiny

Wiser – as I now have mastered the art of “pick your battles with your kid 101” and have patented the ...phrase “your grounded – give me your phone”

Lives Simply – A direct result of the current economy providing no way to pay for the finer things in life

Zen –I accept that everyone judges everyone and what someone thinks does not change anything about me ....or maybe it’s just I don’t give a &%^& ….. either way it’s a good thing

Friendless – I have no time to have friends – if it weren’t for a husband, 4 kids & 2 significant others, I would have no one to talk to after work and be the poster child for crazy dog ladies.

All in all, the positives outweigh the negatives & I’ll take it !

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*(&*(^%$&^

 Seamus is distributing his winter coat throughout the house like its his job, company moved over the weekend and we are in unpacking hell this week, Kid # 1 is in a foreign country that ranks farm animals above women & doesn't understand why I can't Skype at 730 am, Kid # 2 thinks he lives in a frat house, kid # 3 is being force fed school, kid # 4 feels rules aren't really his thing anymore, & apparently our house is the red headed step child because it doesn't have a garage. 

Blogs are going to be put on hold for a few days due to the fact I can only speak in fragmented profanity laden sentences. 

just another night

We here at the Dibble’s household have a fondness for nature.  Ok I like to look at nature from several feet away, and then drag any kid who happens to be in the area, over to look at it.  This has led the children to have a marginal interest in the world around them, and they can now be counted on to appear interested the first time, I point out a new creature.

Last night, a new call of the wild was heard in the back yard.  My adventuresome spirit, independent nature, and willingness to face danger, led me 3 steps out the back door into the dark.  Armed with a flashlight that contained 7 year old double a batteries at 40%, I ventured down a few steps towards the back yard, and then made husband come into the dark abyss with me.

The sound seemed to be coming from a small tree in our yard, but repeated attempts with my octogenarian flashlight, uncovered nothing.  Husband squirted the tree with the hose, as I stood at a safe distance away expecting a horned, winged creature to explode from the tree in a rage, but the noise just stopped…. And then started again. 

Husband, losing interest, decided beating the tree with a pool brush would help.  I protested vehemently and with a brief minute of compassion, he put the pool brush down and turned on the spot light in the back yard.  Kid #1 joined the backyard excursion and together we slowly inched towards the tree and the noise.

She & I decided the best idea would be to plug in a light, into the outlet that was just past the tree, in the darkest corner of the yard, thus illuminating the tree, and identifying the noise making creature.  As I entered into a mature intelligent debate with my “Mini Me”, over who would venture past the tree to go plug in the light, “you go”, “no you go”, “I’m not going”, “I don’t want to go”, husband, decided to pursue his “I’ll just beat the tree senseless with a pool brush” option.

Kid #2 enters the back yard to see what’s going on.  Kid # 1 & I simultaneously say “We need you to plug in this light back here”.  Husband, whose momentary interest in unidentifiable noise making creatures is now completely gone, and realizing his “I’ll just beat the tree with a pool brush” plan will not be implemented, drops the pool brush and says “I’m going in the house”. 

Me, Kid # 1 & 2, are all standing in the semi lit back corner staring into the tree, in the exact spot the noise is intermittently coming from, yet see absolutely nothing.  We keep inching closer to the tree, and then taking one chicken step back, every time we hear the noise again.  With the grace of the God who ends stupid things, I looked in the exact spot the creature was in, as it made its noise, and the movement of its body, caught my eye.

It was an adorable little tree frog, sitting on a rose brush right underneath the tree.  We all ooohed and ahhhed over the new addition to our yard for 2 seconds, and then, mystery solved, went back inside.

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Rule # 301

Rule # 301

You may not post your brother's cell phone number on Craig's List, in an ad that says;
  Looking to sell my used auto parts business.

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