My dog is in so much trouble.

See, we have a fancy-schmancy PetSafe electronic fence. ’tis wireless. And it works by sending a signal out to a collar.

An expensive collar.

Which is missing, thanks to SOMEONE deciding to forage through the brush. Gone, without a trace. We suspect the El Cheapo plastic latch on the collar let go.

And APPARENTLY, someone realized it was missing. While I was at work, and TheMan was supposed to be wrangling creatures of both the four-legged and two-legged variety, SOMEONE sneaked out of the yard.

How do I know this?

Because the lovely police officer TOLD ME SO. The neighbors with whom we do not get along (they were consistently tearing up the residential road at ridiculous speeds, and so we called the cops. Now the whole charming bunch flips us off whenever they drive past) reported a “wild dog” who was scaring them.

The dog shouldn’t have been out of the yard. Period. That’s on us. Or the one of us who was home, at least.

However, she is ridiculously un-aggressive, and based on what they police officer was saying, I *suspect* there may have been exaggeration going on.

Also, we need to get a new dog license. On Tuesday, when the city is back to work.

Oh, but wait. As I went to pull out the paperwork needed to prove that she is not rabid, I noticed that her shots? Are out of date.

Barely.

But still. Out. Of. Date.

So now, I have to buy a replacement collar($120), a license ($40) and a round of shots for the dog.($100-150…and that’s if our vet can get her in on Tuesday…otherwise, who knows how much?)

I’m going to go curl up with my empty wallet now…..

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If you give a mom a moment, she’s going to close her eyes and rest.

If you close your eyes for a moment, you’re going to fall asleep.

If you fall asleep, you’re going to wake up and discover that the kids have sneaked out of the room.

If the kids sneak out of the room, they’re going to get up to mischief.

If they are getting up to mischief, it’s probably going to be messy.

If the kids make a mess, you’ll have to clean it up.

While you’re cleaning it up, they’ll make another mess.

When they make another mess, you’ll decide it’s naptime.

If it’s naptime you’ll need to tuck them in.

After you tuck them in, they’ll need hugs and kisses.

After hugs and kisses, they MIGHT fall asleep.

If they fall asleep, mom will want to take a moment to herself.

And if you give a mom a moment….

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Tags: family, Humor, Mother, parenting

My husband and I have had a not even remotely fairytale story from the very beginning. At the point in history when my father decided to run my then-boyfriend off, we had been dating for about a year.

Now, as a little background TheMan was my first serious, lasted-more-than-a-few-weeks boyfriend. And he didn’t go to our church. He was Lutheran and we were quasi-Baptists. AND his mother owned a bar.

And we were boinking like horny bunny rabbits suspected of engaging in less than pure activities.

So there was, at the time, very little love lost between my then-boyfriend and my dad.

One day, shortly after my parents developed the aforementioned suspicions, TheMan invited me out fishing, with the guys.

I, being a young teen girl who was madly in love, chirped, “Oh, that sounds fun! I’d like to go!“ And then spent the next hour or so, until his planned arrival, picking the perfect outfit for fishing with the guys.

I see his truck pull up to the farm, and I grab my jacket. In the amount of time it takes me to grab a jacket and walk downstairs, he had already backed out of the driveway and onto the road.

This, of course, led to an ugly scene with my dad. But that’s a story for another night!

Later, I found out what had happened, according to TheMan.

Note: My dad was/is a farmer. This is important to the rest of the story.

Dad had been out doing chores when TheMan pulled in. Feeding something or other, or mucking out some building, or something like that. Farmer stuff.

Then TheMan pulls in. TheMan. Who has (possibly) sullied his sweet (and willing) daughter. To take her out, on a boat, on the river.

Oh, HAYUHL NO. So he marches up to the truck, and he informs TheMan that he needs to get gone. About 30 seconds ago.

Now, what TheMan SAW was an angry father, coming up to the truck, yelling and carrying a pitchfork!

Now, he could have taken the time to drive forward and pull around, because my parents driveway makes an awkward loop. But. Pitchfork.

So instead, this 18-year old version of TheMan chooses to back that truck, which is towing a boat, down the long driveway as fast as he can.

And he does. Hauling butt, with a boat attached, he gracefully backed down that long driveway, and onto the road. With nary a wiggle, or misplaced wheel.

What can I say? His driving skills charmed me.

*****

Many years after this, I mention the story to my dad. He gave me a funny look and says, “I was carrying the pitchfork? Huh. That explains why he backed up so fast!”

And then he walked away chuckling.

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My husband has long been intrigued by the idea of canning. Food. In jars. At home. Which I understand the practicality of it, and the idea of having the convenience of canned, with the yumminess of home-made is alluring. Truly.

But from what I remembered from my childhood, I thought the process would involve a lot sweat, tears and maybe even some blood. But he REALLY wanted to make his pickles, so fine, let’s make some pickles.

It didn’t go entirely smoothly. Example? We may have failed to consider how we were going to get the submerged jars OUT of the boiling water.

But it wasn’t too bad. So my husband starts talking about how he’s going to do it “next time”, and won’t it be great to have our own food in cans?

I ask him, “So what are you going to start home-canning?”

“Well,” he tells me, “We could do sauces, soups, veggies…pretty much anything you normally buy in cans.”

And so. I turn to him. And I say, with all sincerity…

“Oh, like tuna!”

….

The poor man.

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The other day, I brought the kids home from an afternoon at their grandma’s house. When they are at Grandma’s, they tend to snack non-stop.  So we don’t usually have supper those nights. Because they won’t eat it anyway.

Well, yesterday, we didn’t have supper. And it get’s to be bedtime, so Truck makes his usual “I’m hungry, and thirsty!” claim. Which appeared to be solved by a glass of juice…..

Everyone is tucked in, and falls asleep quickly. A little while later, I hear this tiny voice crying. So I go upstairs to find Truck rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He had woken up from a nightmare.

So I ask him what’s wrong? He looks at me with these big eyes and sobs, “Ebbybody ate my food!”

“Everybody ate your food?”

“Yeah, my hawtdawgs all gone. Ebbybody ate my food!”

“Everybody ate your hotdogs?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah.”

And goodnights were said. Again. And kisses and hugs all around. Again.

And off to sleep he goes. A little while later, I hear him fussing again. So I run upstairs, to check on the boy child. I walk in, and he sits up, and he mournfully says, “Lizzy stoled my sammich!”

“Lizzy stole your sandwich??”

At this point, mommy caught on. So downstairs we went, for some string cheese and milk, and snuggles with daddy. This seemed to put an end to the nightmares.

The boy slept the rest of the night.

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I’ve made jokes before about how I’m always cold. I must be descended from reptiles, I’m so cold blooded. I’m the girl you see wearing a sweatshirt when it hits 70(F) out, nyuk nyuk nyuk.

Um. Yeah. Only partly kidding.

Tonight, I got up and shut all the windows in the living room. Because I was freezing.

My husband made me go check the thermostat, to see what temperature it was in here.

It said 75(F), people. 75.

Descended. From. Lizards.

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We’re in the kitchen. We’re trying a new brand of breaded processed frozen fish, but have discovered, alas, that we are out of tartar sauce.

No problem, we’ve both cooked for a living before, and have faced down worse situations on Friday Fish-Fry night. (Running out of tartar sauce? Hah. Try running out of fish!)

So we gather the needed ingredients (mayonnaise, relish and lemon juice), and pull out the trusty wooden spoon.

After inquiring about how long we have owned said spoon, and why it might, after six years, be time to buy a replacement spoon, and also discussing what is the correct size of the handle and the appropriate curvature of the bowl of the ideal wooden spoon…AFTER this….

My husband turns to me and says something about how wooden spoons are green. I ask “Oh, like recyclable?” He goes on and says something about renewable resource blahblahblah.

And after this thought-out theory on his part, I come back with, “Well, yeah. But you could recycle a wooden spoon, right?”

He looks me, and shrugs, “Yeah, I guess you could recycle it. You could sharpen it and make it a zombie shank, I suppose.”

Of course. Zombies.

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People have been visiting this site, looking for some answers to very serious questions. Rather than send them away empty-handed, I thought I’d try and help them out.

“Where can I find the world’s widest vagina?”

While I don’t know first hand, I suspect you’d have to talk to that Duggar couple about this one.

“Is FaceBook the Devil?”

Yes. FaceBook is the Devil. Or of the devil, at least.

“I have a vagina.”

Well, um, that’s not really a question. But congratulations, I guess?

“Pink Guns Bad?”

Yes, pink guns ARE bad.

“Pink Guns in Vagina?”

No. No pink guns in vaginas here. Although I have a vagina, I prefer to stick to (stick in?) more traditional objects when putting things into my vagina. Like penises (peni?).

“Like Stephen King?”

I am/was a huge fan of some of Stephen King! He was one of the first authors I used to sneak under my covers in the dead of night.

“Stephen King vagina?”

Now, hold up. Stephen King does not, to the best of my knowledge have a vagina. Nor has he ever been near MY vagina. Why are you all coming here, looking for vagina, mine or otherwise? Really? If you want vagina stories, go read Tanis’s Blue Bush story. Or check out Toy with Me.

Plenty of vagina talk there. Here? Pfft. I grew up in a religious home. I haven’t worked my way past the repression to talk about vaginae. (<-plural of vagina. School is making me S-M-R-T) No, really. What are you guys smirking about?

Oh forget it. I’m going to go learn about keywords now, and see if I can fix this whole “You can find my site just by adding “vagina” to your search string!” situation.

Vagina!

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Yes, I’m late again, even though I said last week I’d get it up earlier. So I won’t make that promise this week, since I apparently can’t handle that!

@RedNeckMommy Hilarious (I enjoy following funny people, so that adjective gets used a lot on these lists…me sorry), but also a strong woman, who has survived much heartache. She has a very awesome ability to post touching posts, hilarious posts, and caring posts.

@TheBloggess Also funny. She talks about sex a lot. She also has social anxiety(like me), which is one of those things that inspire me. Because she has developed some awesome coping mechanisms. She doesn’t always make complete sense. But she’s always fun to read.

@ShaunaGlenn Again, very funny lady, with a wicked sharp sense of humor. She’s also a BlogHer@Home2010 sponsor.

@AnissaMayhew Anissa is an AMAZING woman. She’s currently recovering from her second (!) stroke, and is the mother of several amazing children, one of whom is currently in remission for cancer. She’s strong, she’s funny, but she’s still recovering, so she’s not able to tweet often. I’m eagerly awaiting her return, and I promise that she is well worth the wait, should you choose to follow her.

So that’s my list for today. All wonderful ladies, who definitely deserve a look!

If you’d like to play along, click the badge at the top to be taken over to @PrincessJenn’s site and link up. I’d love to hear who you think is worth following!

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