Tuesday, May 15th, 2012 – Every Day I’m Snufflin’

6:18 – Whined for freedom.

6:20 – FREEDOM!

6:22 – Dog-food induced spasm.

6:26 – Whined to go out for a pee.

6:27 – Went out for a pee.

6:28 – Rolled in yard.

6:40 – Waited at baby gate for people to appear.

7:15 – Watched from window as Man  left with Boy and Girl. Whined.

7:35 – Pulled stuffing out of porch swing cushions.

8:00 – Tore batting out of swing cushion entirely.

8:20 – Walk

9:00 – Chewed bone

10:28 – Whined to go out for a pee

10:30 – Went out for a pee, did not go pee.

10:32 – Broke through baby gate as Lady was going pee.

10:33 – Chased around room.

11:07 – Tore ass through house after fly

11:08 – Started whining.

11:30 – Went for walk.

11:35 – Could not stop running with stick.

11:38 – Stopped running with stick.

11:39 – Resumed walk

11:50 – Home

11:55 – Kennel nap

13:05 – Lunch

13:45 – Stared intently at fly

13:47 – Tore ass around house trying to catch fly.

13:48 – Stared intently as Lady prepared and ate her lunch

14: 11 – Jumped around with carrot ends

14:12 – Whined to go out for a pee.

14:13 – Went out for a pee.

14:25 – Lady moved work outside to sit in sun (as per requested)

14:.26 – Lady untangled dog tie-out from under porch

14:27 – Whined for no reason

14:31 – Lady untangled tie-out from patio chairs.

14:32 – Lady untangled tie-out from her legs

14:35 – Escalated whining to scratching at gate,

14:36 – Lady made reservations for Doggy Day care on the 16th

14:36 –Went under porch, whined and cried with renewed enthusiasm

14:38 – Lady untangled tie-out from stairs

14:40 – Cat-induced paroxysms

14:42  – Walk

15.02 – Drank

15:03 – Still drinking

15:18 – Fell on face chasing fly again

15:39 – Growled at a bunch of stuff.

15:42 – Doorbell induced paroxysms

15:42 – Levitated for 45 seconds in an effort to say hello to visitor. Visitor unimpressed.

15:43 – Canned-air induced cowering

16:10 – Flopped down for nap

16:19 – Growled at more stuff. Barked a bit

16:26 – Growled and barked at uppity crow.

16:42 – Flopped down for additional nap

16:48 – Unknown assailant shut back door – threw bone on floor several times to alert Lady.

16:48:30 – Back door still closed, rang door bells. Door did not open.

16:50 – Bit Lady on chin trying to say goodbye to visitor. Whined.

16:55 – Kennel nap.

18:11 – Followed Boy around, licked lips often. Bread was not forthcoming.

18:22 – Followed Girl around, licked lips often. Bread was not forthcoming.

18:25 – Licked all bread crumbs from kitchen chairs.

18:27 – Escaped into forbidden part of house while no one was looking

18:27:30 – Caught.

18:30 – Moped. Ate more stuff off floor.

18:32 – Stood next to fridge. Stared intently as Man made dinner. Licked lips enthusiastically.

18:37 –CARROT DOWN! YAHTZEE!

18:38 – Ate carrot.

18:39 – Stood next to oven. stared intently as Man made dinner. Licked lips enthusiastically.

18:41 – Moved to refrigerator, continued to stare. Food was not forthcoming.

18:43 – Developed suspicion of salami.

18:44 – No salami forthcoming.

18:45 – HUZZAH! TOMATO DOWN!

18:46 – Tried to eat tomato.

18:46:10 – Spit tomato on floor.

18:46:20 – Tried to eat tomato.

18:46:30 – Spit tomato on floor.

18:46:40 – Tried to eat tomato.

18:46:50 – Spit tomato on floor.

18:47 – Gave up on tomato.

18:48 – Licked Lady’s knee for 20 seconds. Food was not forthcoming.

18:49 – Licked other knee for same amount of time. Food still not forthcoming.

18:49 – Narrowly avoided canned-air induced cowering.

18:55 – Ankles not successful either.

19:08 – Got stuck under dinner table.

19:09 – Dog food induced paroxysms

19:11 – Licked dishwasher

19:11 – Stood under dinner table for eight minutes.

19:17 – Boy didn’t finish grilled cheese sandwich. JACKPOT! Eight minutes well spent.

19:17:05 – Returned to underside of dinner table. No more food forthcoming.

19:29 – Tried ankles again. No food forthcoming.

19:30 – Wandered aimlessly around kitchen. No food forthcoming.

19:34 – Whined to go out for a pee.

19:35 – Went out for a pee

19:36 – Staged protest against going inside.

19:36 – Forcibly removed to indoors.

19:47 – Snuffled. Every day I’m snufflin’

19:48 – Tore ass around house. Tried to kill crinkly bird. HE IS INVINCIBLE.

19:50  – Wandered aimlessly, flopped, snuffled, chewed.

21:00 – Found most inconvenient spot in kitchen to lay down. Passed out.

21:20 – Rousted to go out for a pee.

21:25 – Went out for a pee.

21:30 – PEANUT BUTTER AND KENNEL TIME!

21:35 – Passed out.

Every day I'm Snufflin'

 

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Every D@mn Night.

A while back, I made the mistake of singing a drinking song in front of my children. It’s not that I was trying to teach them drinking songs. It’s more that I was singing one and someone under the age of 7 happened to be in the room.

That someone happened to like the song and requested I sing it again. I can’t says I blame him. It is quite a catchy tune.

And then, another someone requested I sing it for bed time. And, because there’s only so many times you can sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” before it starts to suck the soul from your body every time you wish upon it, I agreed.

I don’t remember when they learned all the call and response lyrics.

But I can’t begin to tell you how cute it is watching a three year old, in a Princess pajamas, shout “Lady’s Leg!” at the top of her little lungs.

That, right there, is comedic gold.

And, because I am a responsible parent, I even looked up an alternate ending in which Mae West does not end up naked.

 

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18 Things I Have Learned About Life in an English Country Village by Watching ‘Midsomer Murders’.

  1. Happiness in a marriage is inversely proportional to the square footage of the house. The bigger the house, the less love in the marriage.
  2. Everyone owns a tractor.
  3. Although the English Countryside is in a perpetual state of overcast, it actually rains less than three times a year.
  4. Shiny lipstick and short hair is code for “I’m sleeping with someone else’s husband”.
  5. Serial murders are common and considered part of the local ‘charm’.
  6. Hippies are endemic to the English countryside.
  7. There are no two-lane roads outside of London.
  8. Drunk-driving laws are only enforced when it is necessary to ruin someone’s reputation.
  9. The English are hardy people that never get cold. You can often find them sunbathing in overcast weather.
  10. Adultery is more common in the English Country Village than cobblestones.
  11. There are no parking lots. You are expected to simply stop in the middle of the street and leave your car where it stands.
  12. Birds of the English countryside are particularly sensitive to crime. The will sing seconds before someone is murdered, no matter what time of day.
  13. Everyone is legally required to own a Jack Russell terrier, Boarder Collie or Labrador Retriever. One out of every three dogs must be named Bosco (although Ripper is an acceptable substitute)
  14. All villages are divided into four main factions: the Land Owners, the Devout, the Hippies and The Cynical Heirs That Only Want to Sell Up and Move to London.
  15. Everyone has a criminal record from that Summer they lived in Spain.
  16. No one is ever so crass as to murder for money.
  17. One out of every five women in the village is required to obsess about local history and the fate of their own lineage.
  18. Anyone that owns a red sports car must drive as fast as possible while shouting obscenities from the window at all times.
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SWEAR ALL THE SWEARS!

As you may remember, we recently got a dog.

His name is Thor Michaelson. And I think he’s pretty awesome. So does my husband. So do the children. So does that one guy that wears the blue jacket and rides the 356 bus, the north Meridian crossing Guard for Catfish’s school and my mom.

You know who doesn’t think Thor Michaelson is awesome?

Our cat, Katzuhiro.

All 26 pounds of him. Currently, he is being the “world’s most expensive asshole” because he doesn’t like Thor Michaelson. Also, he blames Brian for all of it.

You should know that “blames” in this particular situation actually means “pees on his side of the bed at least five times a week for five weeks.”

Brian did a lot of laundry. He also did a lot of swearing. So this year, for their birthday (Brian and Katzu share a birthday, how sweet is that?) I paid Sam Cornwall $5 for a 30 second profanity-laced rant about this situation. I thought it would make Brian feel better.

I think it helped. But you can judge for yourself (warning: there is an impressive amount of swearing) :

The phrase “the world’s most expensive asshole” was worth $5 in and of itself.

In case you need to have Sam Cornwell rant for you, you can find him on fiver.com or just click here.

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WHY?

Whilst scanning news headlines today, I found the following little tidbit on the front page of the Seattle PI:

No, really, WTF?

According to the Seattle PI, YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS.

Of course I read the linked article. Why wouldn’t I?

It turned out to be a fairly subversive comment on Pastor Andrew, some sort of religious mucky-muck, who is praying “for God-fearing companies to replace the anti-God companies”. He thinks everything else is degrading the moral fiber of our country.

My first reaction was shock. As in, I am shocked that the PI decided to link this story to prominently on the home page instead of farther down in the Business or Lifestyle headlines.

My second reaction was disbelief.

I mean, if they’re going to print the crazy shit people say in order to make disingenuous and snide comments about it then, why hasn’t anyone interviewed my grandma yet?

She hates everything from fresh basil to the way I drive over speed bumps in the QFC parking lot. She hasn’t had a favorable impression of anything for well over fifty years. Hell, her opinion on the Casey Anthony murder trial alone could be drawn out over six installments in the bid for the world’s most cynical Pulitzer prize.

Of course, it could be that she’s just another nutcase that enjoys talking shite about stuff she doesn’t really understand. Unfortunately* for my grandma, none of her tirades are linked to the home page of our local newspaper.

*sigh*

I’m not trying to say that my grandma is batshit-crazy-insane, because that’s not very nice.

…but she does have a Zamboni parked in her front yard at the moment.

The bumper sticker actually says "I <3 Ice Skating"

True story.

I’m just sayin’.

 *not really
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We got a Puppy!

His name is Thor Michaelson. He’s a Shark/Garbage Disposal/German Shepard mix.

And they're all razor sharp.

It's hard to tell in this picture, but there are seventeen additional rows of teeth in there.

Also, I’m pretty sure he’s at least one eighth ninja.

What? Ninjas have glowing eyes. It's a thing. Shut up.

With glowing eyes to hypnotize you into giving him all the turkey hot dogs.

Thor Michaelson came to live with us last month as a perfect 12 weeks old, macro-world example of Brownian movement.

We were going to name him just plain-old Thor until someone (who recently hosted a Harry Potter movie marathon (Hint: it’s Catfish)), asked if we could name him ‘Fluffy’.

I patiently explained that you cannot name a dog German Shepard ‘Fluffy’, especially one that is part shark. I did, however, agree to the alternate plan which is that if he accidentally grows two extra heads, we get to name him ‘Fluffy’.

He stopped trying when he found out about 'Fluffy'.

Here he is in the living room trying to grow an extra head.

Then someone (still Catfish) suggested we name him ‘Snowy’.

I explained that we couldn’t name a black and tan dog ‘Snowy’ but agreed to the second alternate plan which is that if he accidentally turns all white, ‘Snowy’ was a go.

It didn't work.

Admiral Sparkle-Punch took this suggestion literally and spent ten minutes dumping snow on Thor Michaelson's head in an attempt to further the cause.

The suggestion of Brandon was turned down on the grounds that Thor is a way cooler name and no one names a dog Brandon.

Same for Brundin, Brinnon and Percy.

Jokingly I suggested we name him Mike. To my surprise, Catfish agreed immediately.

Which sucked because I then had to tell him I lied. I wasn’t going to name the dog Mike. I was naming it Thor. That was the end of it. He countered with his go-to argument:

“Why do you ALWAYS get to [name the dog]?”

In the end, we compromised and agreed to name him Thor Michaelson. It’s kind of awkward to shout across the yard but at least he knows when we’re talking to him.

He loves it when we talk to him. Especially since any conversation he engages in has a fairly good chance of ending in either A) tummy rubs or B) turkey hot dogs.

He loves tummy rubs. He loves turkey hot dogs. He loves everything!

He loves walks!

Leashes are confusing.

This happens every 13.2 seconds

He loves running!

Just like she runs from him, when we're inside!

...away from Admiral Sparkle-Punch.

He loves his tail!

He spends a great deal of time in pursuit.

When it stands still long enough to get a good look at it.

He loves people!

Seriously, watch out for the teeth.

Rub mah belly.

Thor Michaelson loves YOU!

Just not as much as turkey hot dogs.

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High Fivin’ Scientists Strike Again.

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High-fivin’ Scientists.

In the enthusiastic words of my son, today was the “best day ever!”

I must say, I have to agree.

Not only did we go shopping for new pants (who doesn’t love pants that fit?) but we also got new shoes, had lunch at his favorite restaurant (the dining room of the Top Foods) and then we went home and kicked some homework in the a$$ before kicking a m$%^@#-f*%&^ing board in half at Tae Kwon Do belt testing.

Wow, sorry about that. I’ve never been to belt testing before. It was pretty intense.

Anyway, what really started this day out on the right foot was a discovery Catfish made while getting himself breakfast. Apparently he poured himself some cold soy milk in the blue plastic cup. After a moment or so, he noticed that the blue cup had turned bright purple. He studied it carefully before coming to show me.

I think that’s weird. Don’t you think that’s weird?

The cup, I mean. Not the kid. (okay, maybe a little the kid, but he’s my kid, so it’s okay with me.) Think about that cup for a moment. We’ve had it for two years. Not once, in two years, has anyone noticed that it turns bright purple when you fill it with cold soy milk.

After making this important discovery, Catfish was compelled to share it and possibly get a second opinion on it. When he showed it to me, I got all excited because he was all excited. He wanted to dink around and figure out more stuff about the cup. Finally, an opening! Usually, if I try to inject some scientific reasoning into our conversations he just goes all silent and requests that I “stop trying to teach [him] things”.

I was also excited because it was, well…it was exciting. It’s like all this time we’ve owned what we assumed was a boring blue cup. But then Catfish discovered that it has latent magical powers! It was so cool. 

Together we decided that the cup must turn purple when it’s cold. Then we hypothesized that it would revert back to the original blue color when warm. Catfish decided to test the hypothesis.

I’m not going to lie to you, between 1:01 and 1:05, I almost cried. F’realz.

THAT’S MY BOY!

 

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The Things you Find Around the House: Operation ANTIOXIDANTS!


What you cannot see is the pool of water Squeaky Jaws is jumping from.

Squeaky-Jaws is really stepping up his terror campaign.

Is she trying to make shark tea or is Squeaky-Jaws trying to jump onto the deck of the Playmobil Orca?

And am I a bad parent because the first thought in my head was,

“Empires will fall but steam will RISE!”

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The kid has timing.

When Admiral Sparkle-Punch was eight months old, she discovered the joy of mashed potatoes. She loved them with wild abandon. Often when she’d eaten all the potatoes on her plate, she looked to Brian for more.

One evening, she was looking especially cute with her pudgy little arms and her mashed potato hair.

Do not be fooled by this. Cuteness is a weapon and this little kid is armed to the teeth.

Exactly as cute as this, and then covered in mashed potatoes.

All three of us sat there, Catfish, Brian and I, transfixed by how cute it was that she loved potatoes so much, completely oblivious to the fact that she had almost eaten all the potatoes on her plate.

When she finished them, she looked to Brian who smiled and waved at her, totally ignoring the fact that she wanted more. This must have pissed her off because instead of smiling and cooing, she glared at him with white hot rage and folded herself in half. When she resurfaced again, ten seconds later, she had turned a deep angry red. All three of us, Brian, Catfish and I, reacted as if a bomb was about to go off. And in a sense, it did.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry.

She swore.

 

I believe the sentiment here, begins with "Listen up you a$$hole"

As she so clearly is doing, here.

Sure, it was baby-babble. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t four-lettered baby-babble. It was the first time I’d ever seen someone that young, fire off that many F-bombs without uttering a single comprehendible word of English.

I don’t know why I was surprised.

At four months pregnant, we went in for the ultrasound where they make you drink water until you’re about to pee your pants, then they measure the fetus to make sure it adheres to the Pythagorean theorem before they count all the appendages and tell you if it’s a girl (4) or a boy (5).

The technician had just finished measuring something vitally important like the elbow to navel ratio, when the fuzzy potato-flipper thing we’d been looking at, turned toward the camera and gave us the finger. No, really.

It was then when I realized we were having a daughter.

Unfortunately, the technician refused to give us a picture of it. I begged. I pleaded. I assured her that it would not be used against my daughter for any nefarious purposes. Still, that stubborn woman refused.

I’m not bitter about it or anything though.

It's string cheese. I swear.

Especially not when I have pictures like this.

Whatever, now we’re here, in real life and swearing is a thing. It used to not be a thing but I’m pretty sure that was only because Sparkle-Punch didn’t have the best annunciation back then. She’s much more articulate now and swearing is definitely a thing. So much of a thing that we have had to make a new rule.

Potty words go in the bathroom. If you want to swear, you must do so in the bathroom.

Surprisingly, I get called out on this more often than one would think.

I’m not sure how well the rule is working though. Mainly because the bathroom is directly across from the bottom of the stairs, which is arguably the most densely occupied spot in our entire house.

Catfish sits at the bottom of the stairs to dress every morning. I sit at the bottom of the stairs to help Sparkle-Punch get ready for school. Anyone in time-out must sit there until they calm down.  Whichever parent is currently in charge of bath sits there when SP is in the bathtub (swearing her little heart out). Everyone sits there to put on shoes. Occasionally, Katzuhiro even sits there to hide.

He's like the Marlin Brando of the feline world.

You have no idea how hard it is to hide this cat, all at once.

So, by regulation, any swearing has to be done really close to the spot where everyone is likely to hang out.  This is why we sometimes have to put up with Sparkle-Punch shouting “DOO-DOO HEAD!” and “DUDE-A-PANTS!”  in an earsplitting shriek, for the entirety of her evening bath.

But sometimes this works to my advantage. Such as when a Lego-fight breaks out nearby and I can voice my concerns about such jackassery without having to turn off the hair dryer. Followed closely by the disclaimer that “I am totally standing in the bathroom so I can totally say that!” lest Catfish try to trip me up on a technicality.

Do you want me to tell you which one?

Mom, you totally just said a bad word.

This afternoon turned into one of those days when Sparkle-Punch makes me sit at the bottom of the stairs so she can pretend to do my hair. This means that she runs around with a wide-toothed comb telling me to sit still so she can ‘get the rabbits out’. Then she rakes the comb across my scalp with surprising strength.

After one such raking, she decided more weapons were needed to battle the rabbits and ran to her room, no doubt searching for something sharp and pointy. When she yelled at me to keep my head down, I kept my head down.

Seconds later, I spied the creeping, sockless toes of a six-year-old. He saw my head bowed and decided to take advantage of the moment by trying to scare me while I wasn’t looking.

Silly little boy! He doesn’t understand that I’m never NOT looking. He sneaked, trying to stifle giggles, right up in front of me.

In order not to tip my hand, I kept my head down and pretended not to notice. But then the moment stretched out and I realized that Catfish had no idea what to he was going to do. Should he scare me? Should he try to tickle me? What was the best way to attack a mom when she’s down?

If there is one thing these battles require, it’s decisive action. Something Catfish lacks but I have in spades.

I pounced.

With my head still down, I shot my hands out and grabbed him by the tummy, roaring as loud as I could. To say it scared the bejesus out of him would be accurate; which is why the next part was so funny.

After we stopped laughing, he straightened up and put on his serious face (which is super cute right now because he’s got new front teeth and they’re huge and he’s so sincere when he’s being serious). Standing rigid in the middle of the hallway, with his most grown-up face, he looked at me and said:

“Mom, you FREAKED M-“

Then he stopped suddenly and looked intently at his feet. Then he looked up to me, almost as intent and took an exaggerated step backward so that he stood just inside the bathroom door. He faced me again.

“Mom, You freaked the HELL out of me!”

 

And that totally counts.

I would like to point out that I was totally standing in the bathroom at the time I said the double-hockey-sticks word.

Posted in Catfictionary, Current Events, My Kids are so awesome, This really happened | 2 Comments