Mother's Day Laughs

When my kids were small, I used to collect comics that I could relate to. Here are a few of my favorites for all you mothers out there to enjoy!

And my all time favorite: 

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL!

Wakes, Rakes and Steaks

     We had a wake at our house this past weekend.  Is that what they call it when someone dies and everyone gets together and eats and drinks and reminisces? 

Or is it only a wake when the departed's ashes or body is there - in which case our little shindig would not qualify as a wake. 

Maybe it was just a big barbeque. Nonetheless, it was in honor of our friend who passed and even more so, in honor of her family.
    
My brother and sister and I grew up with the Bromley family. We lived in the middle of a little street called Hiawatha in the Northwest part of Las Vegas.  Our cousins lived next door to us and the five Bromley kids and their cousins lived just down the street.  We played together, worshipped and celebrated together, and laughed and loved together.     

The loving part caused a few rifts. My brother, at 17, began boinking dating the second to youngest Bromley. This provoked her older brother to punch my brother square in the jaw.
I
 have to hand it to my brother though - he knew what was coming and just stood there in front of the much larger Bromley, and took it like a man.

A year later my brother married her and they had two beautiful kids. Their marriage didn't last, but they both went on to find happiness in other marriages and despite the break up, our tie to the Bromleys remained.

    
Everyone moved away from the old neighborhood over the years, but the Bromley's house remained the Bromley's house until just a few months ago when their father died and their house was sold.  Our little childhood stomping grounds just doesn't feel the same knowing they don't live there anymore.

Carol Bromley

    
Last week it was the oldest of the Bromley girls that died. She was only in her early 50's and sadly it was just bad life choices that caused her death.

She had two grown sons. They held a very private, very small remembrance for her to express their love and share their grief.    
    
The thing about death is that it brings the living together. It was the second time in 7 months that the Bromleys gathered to mourn.

Some still lived in Vegas, but others came from New Mexico and Idaho. My brother mentioned to his ex-wife that if the family were up for it, while everyone was still in town, we would love to have them come over for a barbeque. And so they came. And their kids came, and their kid's kids, and their cousins, and our cousins, and both sides of cousin's kids.
    
The thing about bringing the living together is that if they are coming together at my house, then the living who are living in my house better get their living arses outside and do the ever-living yardwork! You may remember how very uncooperative my family can be when it comes to yardwork.

While our front yard is presentable (thanks to homeowner's association rules) our backyard was another story. A scary story. Since we didn't know for sure we were hosting the shindig until the night before, there wasn't much time to transform it.
    
Fortunately, hubby works better under pressure. What two months of nagging couldn't do, a last minute invitation to 30 people could. He and my brother had the yard looking fabulous in a few hours.

I'm thinking I can keep it looking nice if I just have a last minute barbeque for a bunch of people once a month. If I tell hubby that everyone will have to go upstairs for the entertainment, I wonder if I can finally get the baseboards done in our bedroom?  I better take another look at the stripper pole idea of his that I nixed.

    
Yardwork wasn't the only thing gained by our soiree.  Friends who hadn't seen each other in 35 years had a chance to reconnect and reminisce.

One family grudge was mended and another had begun to heal. New friendships were formed over hamburgers, homemade macaroni salad, and sweet tea.

Old friendships were strengthened over beer and shots of whiskey raised in toasts to loved ones departed.

Even the kids begged to stay longer as they alternated between playing Rockband and playing air hockey on the dilapidated air hockey table that we had been meaning to get rid of.
    
The reason for the event was sad, but everyone was happy. That made me happy. It made me feel really good that our home was the hub for the past and present to come together. It was another reminder that a home is people, not a place.
    
I'll stop with the cliches now and just say - To the Bromleys - May Tom and Carol rest in peace.

A Stranger's Goodbye

     I was cleaning out some files in my home office yesterday and found a poem I had written in 2002. It was prompted by an obituary I read in that day's paper. I'm embarassed to admit I actually sent it to the newspaper to see if they would put it in the Opinion section where they publish reader's letters to the editor. (Did I just admit that??) They didn't. There were more noteworthy letters to publish about much more important things going on in the world.
   So I filed my little poem away and forgot about it. I wouldn't have found it at all if not for the cleaning kick I'm still on. I thought I'd post it here since in this tiny little part of the world, I'm the editor.
     I think it sums up why people read obituaries, or at least why I read them.  It's not out of morbidity. It's empathy. We read the departed's name, a few facts about them, the names of who will miss them, and we think of that soul for just a moment.  For that moment we connect with strangers grieving for the same person. Deep down we are hoping that when it's our obituary in the paper, a stranger will take a minute to think about us.
     The obituary I read that day was for a child. Empathy is the most profound when it's because the life lost is a child's. We take a few extra moments to think about those young souls and to grieve with those families. 

A STRANGER'S GOODBYE

I read about you in the paper today

Right after the story of the war far away

After I read of the murder of a mother and son

And after the story about the hit-and-run

I had already read more about ground zero

And saw the memorials to local heroes

There was a story about germ warfare

And more about the Anthrax scare

Page after page about all that is bad

Strange, but I should have felt more sad

Then it was after the announcements of births

That I read about how you left this earth

You were only thirteen, just crossing the street

You were hit and the world didn't miss a beat

They mentioned what happened in just a few lines

But when I read them I began to cry

You were just a small figure in a sea of lives

Another child un-named that needlessly died

But you were the world to those who loved you

For them the world stopped the moment they knew

What can be said to bring them comfort?

Can anything ever heal their hurt?

Perhaps the memories of you can ease the pain

Or the knowledge that now you are in God's hands

Just maybe it helps to know that others care

That the loss of your life mattered to a stranger out there

That your story, although obscure among all the rest

Was read and will be remembered the best

I'll pray for you and for those whom you loved

May God keep you in his love

     That's my post for today.  It's a little bit sad, but a little hopeful too. Our human emotions, whether they be sorrow, empathy, joy, or fear, connect us all and enable us to relate to each other. We may not share the same experiences, but we do share the same emotions. When we feel these things for one another we're reminded that we're not alone. Even among strangers, we're not alone.

Photo courtesy of Maggie Smith

       

Changeivitis

     I got tired of my living room this weekend.  I've been thinking about it for a while now, but it just hit me all at once that I needed to change things around.  Now.  Hubby runs and hides when this happens.  He calls it Changeivitis.  I think deep down he's afraid that he might be the next changee.  He could use some color co-ordinating, but this weekend I just focused on the living room.

I changed it around so now it looks like this

Sorry, I don't have before pictures, you'll just have to trust me that it looks better.  See the Springy pitcher and greenery?

In the process I found alot of this:

Eww.  Maybe the other corner isn't as bad.

Wrong.

     So, I did some Spring cleaning in the process.  As you can see, it really needed it.  After I cleaned and re-arranged the living room, I cleaned the family room.  I even cleaned and vacuumed the couch, which at any given time has at least three asses and 4 dogs on it.  So it was pretty dirty.  I'll spare you pictures.

Then I added some Spring color in the Dining Room

I just feel this need to put blues and greens around my house when the weather starts getting warmer.

I added some more Spring touches here

And here

The only downside to Spring is the abundance of these:

So I weeded too.

     Then I helped my daughter clean and rearrange her room.  What the heck was wrong with me?? Changeivitis is like that though.  It just strikes out of the blue and you feel the need to make things...different.  More appealing.  Less boring.

     I don't think I'm over my Changeivitis.  I should feel very good that I had such a productive weekend and at least part of my house has been Spring cleaned, but I don't.  I want more.  I think I'm going to paint the bathroom.

     Then I got to thinking, do we change our surroundings because really we want to change something bigger in our lives, but maybe don't have the courage to do it?  Maybe we don't even know exactly what it is that needs to change, but we know it's something. 

     Or maybe it's just Spring Fever.

     Whatever the cause of Changevitis, changing things up - or around - in our lives is usually a good thing. Sitting in a rearranged room can change your perspective on things and bring about creative thinking.  Maybe if I sit in my living room for a while I'll figure out what it is about myself that I really want to change. 

     Think I'll wait till after I paint the bathroom. Why waste a perfectly good case of Changeivitis?

     What about y'all?  Does Spring cleaning make you want to Spring clean yourself?  Do you get Changeivitis and what do you do about it?

      

Hey Brothah What's For Suppah?

I may have mentioned this a time or two, but my brother, his wife, and their two doggies live with us.  Just about a year ago we decided it would help both of our families out if we combine households. 

    
I realize that not all families can do this. Past grievances, personality differences, and sibling rivalries can run deep and be difficult to get past.  Family tension can make a once-a-year holiday dinner unbearable, let alone every meal, every day. 
    
For us though, living together has been working out fabulously.  I attribute our success partly to our easy-going personalities and partly to the fact that my sister-in-law does floors.  But the best perk of our commune-like lifestyle is that my brother loves to cook.
    
He watches Paula Dean and Bobby Flay and The Neelys, scours the internet for recipes, and is fearless when it comes to trying something new.  Hubby showed him a recipe he found online for Roman burgers.  Those are burgers made the way the ancient Romans did. 

I didn't know Romans ate burgers, but I'm no history buff.  Apparently they soak french rolls in white wine, mix that with hamburger and fish sauce, shape it into patties, and poke pine nuts and green peppercorns into them.  Then they bake them in reduced grape juice.  No, really - here's the website.
    
I was instructed to go to the party supply store and buy little plastic Roman swords to garnish the Roman burgers (which would be served on ciabatta bread by the way).  My brother warned me, "Don't buy pirate swords because pirate swords in Roman burgers would be lame." 

I confessed I didn't know the difference between a Roman sword and a pirate sword.  As a result, I was immediately relieved of that duty.  As it turns out, the party store didn't have Roman swords. 

We made the burgers anyway, with ceasar salad on the side.  For me, they tasted a bit weird, but hubby and the kids liked them.
    
Most of my brother's concoctions come out delicious.  He made a crunchy coating for baked fish from Captain Crunch cereal once that was wonderful.  His chicken and meat marinades thrown together from whatever he can find in the fridge are always tasty and he is an awesome barbeque-er.

    
Sometimes I come up with the idea for the concoction and he carries out the execution.  A couple weeks ago we were trying to think of ways to use our Easter turkey leftovers.  I said Southwestern style eggrolls made with turkey instead of chicken sounded good. 

His eyes lit up and off he went to the computer to look for recipes.  He combined two into one and the result was eggrolls made with chopped up turkey meat, corn, black beans, cumin, chedder and cream cheese.  They were scrumptious with the avocado dipping sauce. 

We're going to do the same thing with Thanksgiving leftovers and I'm thinking some kind of cranberry dipping sauce.  Yum, right?
    
Once in a while he makes a culinary faux pas. He was making hubby's favorite bean dip with refried beans, cheese, sour cream, and salsa. He found a container in the fridge that looked like it held leftover refried beans.  Being not a food waster, he dumped it in, mixed it up, and served the dip to hubby and the kids.

Hubby came upstairs with a nasty grimace on his face and whispered to me to taste the bean dip because it tasted "funny."  I tasted.  It tasted like fish.  Definitely not bean dip. 

We discovered the unidentified leftover contents that my brother thought was refried beans was actually salmon dip.  That explained the fishy taste.  Furthermore, it was salmon dip bought back in January.  That explained the runs.

I have to say, I am getting spoiled (in a good way...not like the salmon dip) having a personal chef living with us.  Sometimes when I'm in my office, stressed out and working late, the smell of garlic and onions browning, or of chicken baking, will waft upstairs and comfort me.  The cooking aromas remind me to stop, come downstairs and enjoy being home with family.  The day's problems will be back tomorrow and cocktail hour is now.
  
Who knew that the same brother who, when we were kids, used to say, "Open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise," then shoved blanket fuzz in my mouth, would turn out to be such a blessing now?

My brother just came in and said he's barbequeing  pork chops with sweet and sour sauce.  It's time to go downstairs and have a cocktail.  

My Bro

Mouth-wateringly yours,

Lori

Hubby's Procedure

     Hubby had to have a "procedure" done on Friday.  He doesn't like it when I use that word.  He says it sounds like I'm referring to some type of medical service that is too embarassing to call by it's real name and is vague enough to let the listener conjure up their own medical definition.  Things like hemorrhoid removal, penis enlargement, or cyst draining come to mind. 
   
The first time I used the word, I told a client over the phone that we couldn't meet that morning because my husband was having a procedure done.  I saw hubby's pained expression as soon as I said it and quickly tried to banish any disconcerting images that might be forming in my client's mind. "Oh, it's nothing major, just something he needs to do," I said.

Implying it was not medically necessary probably just opened up a whole new realm of possiblilities for "procedure" and made it worse.   When I got off the phone, hubby glared at me and said, "You can't just say you have another appointment??"
   
Friday's "procedure" was a steroid shot in his neck, administered under anesthesia, for pain from a displaced disc. There. All disconcerting images banished, I hope. The truth is, hubby likes having procedures done. Anything that involves him taking a nap is a positive experience.  He practically skipped into the examining room. 
  
I was rather surprised at his enthusiasm, considering the last time he was there they got his chart confused with someone elses.  After settling him in the "procedure" room, they told him to lay face down on the table.  He complied without questioning.  Then they said, "Ok, pull down your pants."

His complacency screeched to a halt and he asked where, exactly, they were going to give him the shot for his back.  After some him-hawing and mumbled apologies they figured out they had the wrong chart, or the wrong guy - it was just definitely wrong.  Whatever the other guy was getting, "procedure" was the right word for it.

Da Vinci illustrating proper technique for making snow angels.
The face-up technique is recommended.

   
That prior visit's little blunder would not curb hubby's anticipation of his anesthetic induced nap however.  He made jokes with the anesthesiologist as he was being prepped and cheerfully waved goodbye to me as I left to wait in the reception room. 
   
Fortunately, they play movies in the waiting room to distract people from the fact that they have been waiting for a really long time.  There were previews for the movie Madagascar.  The voice of one of the characters was Chris Rock.

It reminded me that the night before I had dreamed that I was making out with Chris Rock.  I don't have a thing for Chris Rock, I've never given him much thought, and I haven't seen a movie recently that he's been in, but there he was making out with me in my dream.  I remember thinking, "Wow, he has big lips."
   
Back to hubby's procedure. The nurse called my name when he was done.  As I followed her back to the room, she said hubby was "a character."  I agreed with her.  She said when she told hubby he should be a stand-up comic, hubby replied sleepily, "Yeah, but then I'd have to stand up."  That sounded like hubby.  He delivers his best material when he's groggy.
   
When I entered the room, he waved at me with a goofy grin and said the nurses tried to grab his butt.  Then he said he tried to grab the nurse's butt.  The nurse told me I better hang onto him as we walked to the car.
  
It's become a tradition that after hubby's "procedures" we stop at Jack-in-the-box on the way home.  He's always starving because he has to fast due to the anesthesia.  Husbands are like kids and dogs when it comes to their little routines, aren't they?

Just leave their treat-time, bed-time, bath-time, procedure-time routines the same and all is right with the world.  He munched on his tacos while back-seat-driving all the way home.  Then I tucked him in bed for a nap.  I wondered if he would dream that he punched out Chris Rock.          

No More Blog Blahs!

Well I done did it!  I messed with CSS code and everything.  With the help of lots of freebie sites and advice, I gave myself a blog makeover.  The header is still in the planning stages, and the fonts need some work - a process that looked too complicated for me to tackle at the moment - but all in all not a bad job if I do say so myself. 

If it's too busy for your taste, I apologize, but like my cousin Gina says, "If it's worth doin' - it's worth over-doin!"  Speaking of over-doing, I was so caught up working on my blog over the weekend, that my brother nicknamed me "Busty Bloggins".  I kind of like that.

Whew.  I'm so exhausted from the effort of my makeover that I really have no energy to blog at the moment.

But, I have to give credit to some super helpful websites I found in the process.  There are such creative folks out there in blogger world and the fact that they are willing to share their creations for free (or a donation) is darn nice.  So I'm going to end this post with a list of the websites that made changing CSS code not as hair-pulling-ly frustrating as I expected.  Or they just had really cute backgrounds and buttons.

Delightful Dots

Shabby Blogs

BlogBulk

Cutest Blog On The Block

Three Column Blogger

Oh yeah - What d'ya think?  Be honest.  But only if you like it.  If you don't then just lie.  Not really. I can take it.

Happy Spring!

Don't you just love tulips?  So Springy.

     This was a bit of a "submerge" week for me due to work being busy. I didn't have much time to surface and blog so please forgive me if I haven't been over to visit your blogs.  I hope to catch up this weekend.

     Spring always inspires me to change things so don't be surprised if you pop over to my blog over the next few days and find it looking different.  I'll be experimenting with backgrounds and headers and colors...oh my!  Aussie Lori and Brenda did it and I can't let my down under girls show up us Yankees.  Mine will be a budget makeover (which translates to I have to do it myself so if I have to mess with CSS code forget it), but we'll see what I can come up with.  My sister never liked my header.  She said it looked like a gargoyle in a cemetery and creeped her out.  I just thought it was a pretty little angel thinking about stuff. Tomatoe, Tomato.

Hope everyone has a Happy Easter!

     

Honey don't like Honey-Dos

It's a beautiful day here in Las Vegas.  Mid 70's, sunny, no wind.  Just loverly.  The perfect day for some long overdue yardwork.  
     
If my family had their way, our yard would never get any attention.  Hubby likes sleeping too much, and the kids like...pretty much anything else too much.  


Ahhh, but that's what I'm here for.  To make sure hubby doesn't take too many naps and the kids don't have too much fun.


I started the morning at 9AM singing to my daughter, "Wakey , wakey, yardwork till you're achy!"  She groaned and pulled the covers over her head.  I sang the same song to hubby as he sat on the couch eating his peanut butter toast.  "I'm digesting," he said.  


I started alone.  But lo and behold, hubby and my daughter came out soon after and began pulling weeds and raking. Oh, the quality family conversations that can be had when we are all busily working together:

Hubby:  "Mama must hate us."
Daughter:  "I'm hungry and I have cramps."
Hubby:  "Why do we even have a yard?"
Daughter:  "So mom can torture us."
Me:  "The homeowners association is going to send us a nasty letter if we don't do this."
Hubby:  "Screw the association."
Daughter:  "Giggity."
Hubby:  "My back aches."
Daughter:  "I have cramps."
Hubby:  "Mama, grab my branch."
Me:  "Giggity."
Hubby: "How about we stop for lunch?"
Me:  "How about you blow the leaves?"
Hubby:  "Giggity."

That was the first 10 minutes.  


All in all, I have to say, it only took a little over an hour for the three of us, plus my sister in law, to whip the yard in shape.  It looks pretty darn good too.  I made them all tuna melts as a thank you.  I'm not completely heartless.


Chores like yardwork is one area where hubby and I are different.  I like for them to get done, and he likes to take naps.  He says I get way to much satisfaction out of watching men work for me.  A few years ago, when things were a little more...prosperous, we were having some home improvements done and I sent hubby the following email:

Subject: You know how I like to see men working....



Well all my fantasies are coming true today--I got two guys laying tile, 3 guys working on the backyard, and one at the flooring store working up numbers for the wood in the family room!  Not to mention, you, hard at work, as always, for me!  I'm in heaven!

Warm Regards,
Lori 


He replied with his own version of the oompa loompa song from Willy Wonka:

Oompa loompa oompa-dee-doo

She's got another project for you

Oompa loompa oompa-dee-dee

If you are smart you'll hide here with me

What do you get with a house and a wife?

A honey-do list to last your whole life

What do you find when you think you're all done?

You find that your work has only begun

Oompa loompa oompa-dee-dee

Who says Abe Lincoln abolished slav'ry?

Oompa loompa oompa-dee-doom

Why in hell'd you come out...

Of your...

Oompa loompa doompa-dee-ROOM?

I may have to pay to get work done, but I get entertained for free.


How do you get your men to do their honey-do list?

Tapeworms and Taxes

I'm a submarine.  And not just because I need to lose a few pounds.  


I surface and submerge in blogger sea depending on what's going on in my life.  It's not intentional.  It's just a matter of priorities... and logistics.  

If my blogger buddies were standing at my side whining that they needed to see a post and saying, "ma MA, ma MA I need helllllp.....ma MA,"  it's likely I would oblige.


As it was, it was my 18 year old daughter, Sissa, lamenting my name (yes, my name is ma MA) because she needed help with her resume.  Before that, my 16 year old needed help finding out why tapeworms don't have a digestive system. 

The answer, by the way,  is that they are parasites who simply absorb food from their host.  How fitting. Kind of sounded familiar to me.


(bad maMa, very bad)


My brother interrupted my world of tapeworms because he needed help with his taxes. Then a client called.  Then a gal a I work with came by to drop off some paperwork.  And on and on it goes.  This wasn't yesterday, but it's typical of most days.  


Yesterday, I couldn't start my American Idol post until about 4 in the afternoon.  With interruptions, I finished about 6. 

I went downstairs and Sissa and her boyfriend had arrived and wanted to play Monopoly.  We sat down to play and my brother complained he needed help with dinner.  

Now, I'm no dummy and know I am damn lucky my brother cooks dinner so I tell Sissa to start without me and start helping with dinner.  

Then hubby, who had come home a little earlier, comes into the kitchen with puppy eyes saying he missed me.  Awww.  I love them all - what's a girl to do?  


These are the little things that keep me submerged from blogger world.  Then there are the big things, like teen-age daughter complications iliciting a change in schools, and work getting busier (which is a very good thing because it means we can pay our mortgage next month).


So here I sit, finally surfacing after 5 days of not posting except for my Idol recap. I'm checking my google reader, and I see gobs of posts I'm behind on.  Which begs the question:  HOW THE HELL DO ALL YOU BLOGGERS DO IT????


I know all of you have your own families, obligations, and distractions, yet you post every freakin day or close to it.  Some of you are stay at home mums with little ones, which is a full time job in itself, and others have outside full time jobs and come home to the little kiddies, and still manage to post and comment regularly.

How do I become a bobber and not a sinker?  

Is it careful planning?  Do you have set days and times you post?  

How do you handle unexpected things that come up that take you away from posting?  

Do you not sleep?  

Maybe you don't watch T.V.?  

Are you really robots programmed to make us sinkers feel guilty?  

Is it all just a conspiracy?  

Do you even exist? Do I exist?


Ok, So I'm being dramatic.  But really....please share your blogger bobber secrets.  I need help!

Sinking Fast,
Lori

Some days are Diamonds, Some Days are Stones

 Remember that song from the late 80's by John Denver?


  No, no, not stoned.....stone.  


As in dull, gray, facetless, ugly.  Some days feel like that.  Some days are the opposite of  brilliance and beauty and the only shimmer we can see is just maybe a light at the end of the tunnel, if we're the optimistic type.


Life with a teenager begets a quarry of stones and a mine of diamonds.  It's hard for them to see the glimmer at the end of the tunnel because they still have the childlike quality of living for the right now.  Pair that with an impatient curiousity and a plethora of emotions and you get days that drop upon you like stones.

Those are the days when I feel like I've failed as a parent.  

We try to be the polishing rag for our kids and we scour until our arms ache, but we can't touch every situation and circumstance they face.  Sometimes all we can do is show them they have the power to shine.  And find the strength to handle it calmly and wisely when they choose not to.

May your days be like diamonds and may your stones be few.




image courtesy of: djcodrin
                                                                                                             
Sadly Yours,
Lori

Hubby Says the Darndest Things

My hubby is funny.  Sometimes he says funny things and sometimes he sends me funny emails.  It's awfully selfish of me to keep all that funny to myself:  

HUBBYISMS

1.  This weekend hubby and the kids and my brother decided to pop a DVD in and watch it.  Right in the middle of the day.  The nerve!  I still had laundry, and cleaning, and bills to do and he wanted me to stop everything and sit down with them for two and a half hours and watch a movie.  He couldn't understand why I couldn't possibly do that.  To pacify him, I sat down "for just a few minutes" and actually ended up watching the whole thing because it was a really good movie.  "Sometimes I have to drag you kicking and screaming into fun," he says.  Yes, yes he does.

2.  Hubby is a picky eater and not very experimental when it comes to food.  He hates fish, but likes tuna.  He hates pickles, but likes relish, but only in tuna.  He also hates mustard, but likes it in potatoe salad.  "You know how much of the stuff I don't like to put into the stuff I like to make me like it," he tells me.

3.  "Can't you just answer my questions without making me ask them?"  This is just classic hubby-speak.

4.  "Truth is like alcohol - most people can't handle it straight up, and need it watered down... or at least with a chaser."  Did I mention he's wise too?

5.   "Well, to be fair to him... there is every possibility the hospital could have a hot nurse or two.  What kind of shot would he have had with them if he went unshowered... like the pregnant broad tagging along wasn't cramping his style enough already."  

This is what he had to say when I told him the story of my son's birth and how, at the last minute, we had to rush to the hospital because our home birth wasn't going quite as planned, and my now-ex-husband (gee, I wonder why?) made me and the midwife wait in the minivan while he took a shower first.

Hubby makes up jokes and emails them to me.  They don't keep him busy enough at work: 

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?

Lori:  Oh my goodness!  Why is he crossing the road?  He might get hit by a car!  We’d better adopt him and bring him home!

Hubby:    I chased the chicken across the road because I’m sick of chicken and want some friggin’ beef for a change!

The Boy:    Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…  why did who do what where?

Sissa:  We have chicken?  Is it tofu chicken?  Hang on… someone’s texting me.  Maybe it’s the chicken.  Nope, it’s Megs.  LOL  IDK  OMG!

The Girl:   Ohhhhhhh… I thought you asked me why I get sick when we’re on the road, and I thought “I don’t really get carsick all that much anymore” although I still do get nosebleeds sometimes.  I remember one time we were coming back from California and we had to pull over behind some place that used to be a Der Wienerschnitzel so I could barf in the dumpster and… wait, what’s the question?

Stay tuned for volume II of "Hubby says the Darndest Things."

Does your hubby have any hubbyisms?  

We're going to the Dogs

Have I mentioned that my daughter works for a vet?  Have I also mentioned that I am a push-over?  As a result of this winning combination of circumstances, we've acquired another dog.  Yes, I said another.  This is our third, and the first two were acquired in much the same way, but that's another post.

This is Casey's story.  Casey is a black lab mixed with perhaps collie, perhaps something else. 

She was brought into the vet's office 2 weeks ago by a good samaritan who found her wandering the streets with a big gash on her leg. 

She was frightened, but friendly.  She was micro-chipped, but the phone number on the chip no longer belonged to her owner. 

Maybe I'm terribly naive, but I had the notion that all veterinarians were like James Herriot, the loving country vet who wrote about his adventures caring for pets and their owners in the Yorkshire countryside. 

Truth be told, they don't all truly care about the well-being of animals or about uniting lost pets with their owners. 

Their office staff are instructed to mirror these principles of dollars over decency. 

I say this because there was an address and a name attached to Casey's microchip, but when the phone number wasn't good, the staff did not spend anymore time on finding Casey's owner. 

They also could not treat her injury because there was no one to pay the bill.  Casey would be sent to the local animal shelter and because she was injured, she would be put down.  Casey is 10 months old.

So, I get the call from my daughter.  I'm compelled to explain that she is a kennel-worker there, which is the lowest of the veterinarian office heirarchy.  She cleans poo and feeds and walks dogs, so has nil say in any goings on there.  She isn't allowed to access files or computers so she did what kids do when they need help.  She called mom. 

Honestly, my daughter wanted Casey more than she wanted to find the owner.  Casey had grown on her.  She had an injured leg, was quarantined from the other dogs because she was a stray, but was still happy and playful every time my daughter went to feed or walk her. 

When life gives you kennel, make kennelaide.  The vet was getting impatient though, since dog food costs money, and a decision had to be made about Casey quickly.  I told them to fix her leg and we would take her.  Thank goodness for employee discounts, or the bill would have been over $500.00.

I still couldn't help thinking about the owner.  If they had taken the time to microchip the dog, surely they would want her back. 

Then I realized that, thanks to the internet, there are other ways to track a person down besides a phone number.  I had my daughter give me the name and address of the person listed on the microchip and did a little detective work. 

I looked up the address in county records and found that it was still owned by the person listed on the chip.  I googled the name.  It was a hyphenated last name, so I had to play around with it.  Bingo. 

The owner had a Facebook page.  And she had over 300 friends.  I have like, 30.  Beeeatch.  I sent her what probably sounded like a rambling message from a psycho about how her dog was found, but was  injured and if she wanted it back she needed to act quickly, yada, yada, and gave my number and the name and number of the vet's office.

24 hours went by and she didn't call.  Meanwhile, the vet had stiched Casey's leg and she was recovering fine.  My daughter was ecstatic because it looked like we could take Casey home. 

Then the owner called the vet. 

Here is where it gets a little fuzzy, because, apparantly, the person I had messaged through facebook had given the dog to someone else, so it was the someone else that called the vet. 

The someone else had gone out of town and left her dogs with her sister, and all of the dogs (not sure how many) had gotten out of the sister's yard and were lost.  Can you imagine coming home from vacation and all of your pets are gone?? 

The good news was the owner seemed happy her dog was found and agreed to come and get Casey, and pay the bill.  

She never showed up.  She called the office on a Tuesday, and by Friday, still hadn't come to claim Casey.  The vet's staff called numerous times (because now there was a bill that needed to be paid) but no one came.

So last Saturday, we brought Casey home.  Hubby was resistant to the idea at first.  He liked reminding me of that as I was cleaning up doggie poo (big doggie poo, I might add) from the living room floor the first couple days she was with us.

But Casey settled right in.  The third night, she slept in my daughter's room and at 6 in the morning they both bounded into our bedroom and my daughter announced excitedly that Casey had whined when she had to go outside to pee so the potty training was going well.

Me:  (in my high pitched annoying voice reserved for puppies and babys) Good girl Casey, good girl!  Did you go potty outside? Potty outside?  Good girl!! 
Hubby:  Is this how it's going to be every morning?
Me: (still in my high pitched annoying voice reserved for puppies and babys)  Honey, Casey went potty outside, she went potty outside, honey!!
Hubby:  Why are you talking to me like that?
Me:  (still with the voice)  Cause she went potty outside, honey!  Casey's a good girl!
(Casey now is very excited and jumps up on her hind legs, putting her big front paws up on the bed, and nuzzles me to be petted)
Hubby:  You don't get excited when I go potty.

Hubby doesn't like to admit it, but Casey has grown on him too.  She's sweet and gentle and loving and seems to think she's the size of our little lap dogs.  She's quite happy in her new home and we are happy to have her.  I think we were meant to have her.  Every once in a while she comes over to me, jumps up with her paws around me and gives me a canine hug.  I think it's her way of saying thank you.