Sum it Up – “Sunday”

I have not written in a minute, so I thought since I have a second, (I don’t really) I would just sorta sum up my week.  I’m not at all sure how this will turn out… soo-

UPDATE: it turned out long, so I will post each exciting, exhilarating day separate so you don’t overload on awesome.


 Happy Mother’s Day!  This year, I do belive this was the greatest one I’ve had yet. I was allowed to sleep in, I then woke up to a beautiful family, which once I got the eye-boogs wiped away, I saw that it was MY family!

Those darlings had come bearing gifts.  I received a card picked out by my baby boy & signed/decorated by both kids, I got a card from my dear husband

I got the youngest cousin of my very favorite pudding cake from P Chop (I love red velvet.  Suckers only had strawberry cream cheese -it was a good enough sub.)  and last I got a pair of Mizzou sweats that I had dropped hints to the little ones about for weeks.

Honestly, I never saw the allure of huge baggy ass sweats.  Never.  I’ve always been a yoga pants sort of gal, but let me tell you folks, as I sat there…on my couch…shoving strawberry cake into my mouth, I was thanking my lucky stars that such an amazing pair of huge soft sweats existed AND that they were on my ass.

Once I demolished the cake, I took a bad-ass nap.  My husband took the kids outside so they would not wake me by arguing over toilet paper as Shu Shu drops a deuce in MY bathroom.  –That part didn’t work, but he tried.

Once I “officially” woke up, I was presented with steak, scallops, shrimp & pasta… right to my bed -no I’m kidding, to my table.

So yes, this was my favorite one yet.  A day filled with a few of my favorite things, sleep + kids home (but outside) + sweats + cake + more sleep + fat amazing dinner = fat happy mama.  Hope you all had a great one as well!

Ok, Who Dumped?

Due to our inability to figure out WHO is the mystery dumper in this house is, my husband made the tough decision to banish BOTH likely suspects to the garage.

My husband swears it’s Trixie.  For some odd reason, I continue to defend Trixie by placing bits of doubt into my husband’s mind without him -or even me- knowing it.

It’s all become very strange.  My man & his dog are like I said before, a Mother & her one & only child.  He would not intentionally drop the blame bomb on Trixie but I think there’s something inside his heart that makes him automatically assume that Chopper does NO wrong.

Now, I don’t know if I have some similar thing going on with Trixie.  Kindred spirit connection mumbo-jumbo or if I just see the need to constantly disagree with the Man of the House, BUT I have noticed that even though the chance of the Shhhneaky Shitter being her is pretty damn high, every time the Husband begins to talk about her pooping I HAVE to implant seeds of doubt.  I don’t even realize I’m doing it at this point.

ME: “Why does it automatically have to be her?  Chopper doesn’t poop anymore?”

HIM:  “No, but he has always been able to hold it & when I yell at them about it, he looks at me like, Fucker I didn’t do this -lemme get back to sleep.”

ME:  “Ohhhkaay, so because he looks at you like he doesn’t give a shit that you are yelling, proves that it’s her?”

HIM:  “Well-”

ME:  “He is getting older.”

HIM:  “Yeah but-”

ME:  “He probably can’t hold it like he used to.”

HIM:  “I guess…”

ME:  “And he is the one that eats birds & squirrels every single day…”

HIM:  “yeah.”

ME:  “and logs & sticks…”

HIM:  “ah-huh.”

ME:  “and plastic down spouts that he’s ripped off the house…”

***looking back, that last one was a double-defender because it reminds him not only that Chopper’s diet is loaded with plastic, but that sometimes he is not the perfect angel dog.***

(I just noticed that.  I may seem calculated in writing here, but I wish I could say that had been my intention all along…shit, I didn’t even realize this conversation was going on until it was over.)

HIM:  “Yeah I guess it could be him…”

At this point I’m just sick of talking about it.

ME:  “Who cares who it is?  Of course if it continues maybe we need to know because there could be something with the Hidden Heaper, BUT it’s not like we have to figure it out this second. I’m pretty sure we would never decide that one has to stay in the garage but the other one can sleep in our room.”

In our attempt to be fair, we banished both dogs to the garage.

Don’t start crying yet, you bleeding hearts.  It’s not a real garage, for cars.  Or so I’m told.  It’s my husband’s workshop.  So he’s down there all the time anyway.  They have huge brand new beds.  It’s warm.  It’s fine… or I should say -it WAS fine.

Last night Mr Tough Guy reached his breaking point with the dogs.  I had them inside, holed up in the garage since it had rained.  They had been down there for a couple of hours.  By the time Tough Guy got home the Mystery Mess’r had struck again.

-and again.

-and again.

-AND again.

He let them both outside & told me that he needed to figure something out.  He looked as if he were debating which one to take out back & shoot.  (he wasn’t -FYI)

Standing at the back door, watching both dogs in the yard he says to his pick as the Load-droppin Louse, “See Trixie?  Chopper goes right out & poo’s…outside…where he’s supposed to poo.  Why can’t you do that?”

I suggested maybe she really did have something wrong with her -OR- since she’s blind maybe that makes it hard for her to hold it because she doesn’t realllly know she NOT outside…oOor maybe it’s not Trixie at all

He had his nose pressed against the glass of the back door (practically), “Well, I guess it could be Chopper.”

I say, without trying to jump up & down that he has finally admitted that there is a possibility that I’m on to something.  (Which again, I’m like 99% sure it IS Trixie.  I’m just fighting for the right to say that we don’t know for sure, and really by now I’m just talking words.  I don’t really know that I care.  No wait!  I do know…I don’t.  And if I’m being completely honest here, I’m sort of on contradictory autopilot by now.)  but anyway, I say to him, “Ah, so you finally give in to the amazing argument I have put before you?”

HIM: “Nope, I’m just saying it could be him because he has already shit 4 times since I let him out.”

ME:  “Oh.  Well, you can get that sad look off your face & get your nose off my freshly cleaned window.  You don’t have to figure it out right now!  You don’t have to decide anything about kicking them outside yet, and even once you do decide, it’s not like you can’t change your mind tomorrow.  You’re not shipping them off to Vietnam.”

HIM:  “Yeah.”

ME:  “Seriously.  Stop.”

HIM:  “I’ve stopped.”

ME:  “Why is your schnoz still mashed on my door?”

HIM:  “I’m just trying to see what the consistency of Chopper’s poop is, so I can tell if it matches the piles in the garage…I’m kinda thinking that his look much more solid.”

ME:  “There’s something wrong with you.”

HIM:  “Alright THAT’S it!  I’m running to the store to get them another dog house.  They are staying out.”

A few minutes later my husband is back with another dog house.  They already had 1 on our deck that they never went in.  Now we have 2.  He also bought a bale of hay to stuff inside to keep them warm.

The next time I stepped out back, I felt like I was in a piss-poor recreated production of mother f-ing Hee Haw.

The dogs had removed all the hay from their dog houses & spread it all about the deck floor.

Have I mentioned before that this nice deck of ours is 1000% visible from the street.  It is not on the BACK of our house, but the side!?

The second you step out the back door you are walking on HAY.  This also makes for quite the fire hazard since that same spot had at one time been where I enjoyed my occasional pack-a-day habit.

It looks like a weak attempt at a haunted house.  The only thing this haunted house is scaring is me, and potential buyers -of course.

Now that my super ninja weed whacker neighbor has moved I think we have a house that looks (from the outside) equally WT to those around us.  For this reason I will punish my non-neighborly-shit-talking-mouth, by writing sentences until I have learned my lesson…

I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.  I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.  I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.   I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.   I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard.    I will no longer complain about the neighbors trashed yard. …con’t

Too Close for Comfort

You know how sometimes if you are walking out of a store, even though you haven’t shoplifted in years (only joking Ma),  when you walk past <insert security measure here> your stomach drops to your toes and as the sweat begins to bead up on your forehead you begin saying under your breath “Damn it <insert your name here>!! -be cool.

That’s sorta how I’m feeling at the moment.  Why?

Because my husband has gone viral.  He is now a part of the Facebook Community.

Thanks a lot Zuckerberg.

Mark Zuckerberg, founder and CEO of Facebook

Image via Wikipedia


That’s right folks.  The only thing now that stands between him & is 1 click of the mouse.  This is 1 small step for mankind & 1 giant leap for my husband, I will have to stay 1 step ahead…but HOW?!

Brainstorming session: Ways to throw him off the scent…

1.) move this blog to a different address & post faux writings that are either:

—a.) only about how handsome & amazing he is.

—b.) totally filled of girl things that would scare him away.  Drown it with words such as menstrual, afterbirth, circumcision, craft time, glitter, tampon, cramps, vintage embellishments…

—c.) filled with faux big words that make zero sense.

ie: Once I contempelled the commander I spoke of the Dutch Ambassit Hounder.  To which Grandslamb faced the garbage-old theory…

however this idea risks losing faithful readers.

2.)  I could keep the blog right here but from now on fill the 1st paragraph with long rants about things that would bore him straight away forever.  Topics like:

—a.)  My grocery list for the week- written 1st as brainstormin’…next in order of necessity…followed by nutrition…ending with the order of which they appear in the aisles …if you were to start in the middle.

—b.)  My shoes- describing in which order they were bought & for what reason I originally bought them.

—c.)  My thoughts on which toothpaste is better suited for my needs.

—d.)  A long compile of “Honey-Do’s” I plan to throw at him in the future.  Nothing bores him more than me telling him to do something.

This idea too, will likely put readers other than my husband to sleep as well.  Not to mention could be disastrous for those that have not read this preamble & think that I did center my blog around these stupid topics. (not that my normal topics are regularly non-stupid.)

With my luck he’d end up finding my opinion on paste vs. gel to be enlightening & read further, stumbling upon my real post -hidden in paragraph 2.

So what’s a girl to do?  I suppose for now, I will just suck it up & write.  I will continue to just write the 1st thing that pops into my head.

Not that I think there’s anything written that I have not either already told him I wrote or already discussed my feelings about to death, so really I don’t think there’s anything I should be nervous about.

But it goes back to the whole, I KNOW I’m of legal age to buy alcohol but I can still feel my face turning red as I walk to the counter… and who’s kidding who here?  I’m guessing that the man of this house, is still not going to read my blog, even if it IS 1 click away.