"Corn Dog"

This handsome fur baby is my Buddy.  You may recognize him from my weekly Hairbrained Musings posts.  He is a bit of a local celebrity here on the Crazy Train.  He is the funniest, most ridiculous, most loving, most(ly) well-behaved (he is still a pup at 17mo) dog a girl could ask for.  He is also completely and undeniably stupid-- sometimes.

Dammit-- I AM smiling!!  YOU say "cheese" and I might look more excited.

Being a pup, Buddy still does "puppy stuff", like getting hyper for a few minutes and running around like a nut, or occasionally peeing in an "inconvenient" place (like on my mom's couch-- sorry Mom).  He gets a little "frisky" sometimes, too.  Especially around sweaty women-- and me.  (Notice I don't count myself in with the sweaty women, no matter what may be true.)  It's gross and funny all at the same time, the way Buddy will sit at your feet and whine with "desire" right before he jumps up on the couch and tries to make your shoulder his bitch.  Now that I think of it, it's actually gross and sad... oh, what am I saying?!  It's freakin' hilarious!  But I do hope that one day he outgrows his amorous side, or at the very least adjusts his sexual preferences to not include me.

Are You Advertising Your Life on Your Car?

Ever think about what the bumper of your car says about you and your family?

Bumper stickers portray a small aspect of your life.  Most are just pithy little one-liners on the back of your car that could indicate any number of things about you, such as your smart-ass sense of humor, your political affiliation, your religion, or how you like to spend your free time.  One bumper sticker alone is just a blurb about you, and gives very little information about you and yours.  Several start to paint a picture about who you are, but still provide only limited info.

These days, however, car decor is veering away from the bumper sticker and is erring more on the side of TMI.  In particular, I am talking about the "my family" decals that the whole darn world seems to be putting on their rear windshields.  You know the ones I'm talking about-- the white (like they've been drawn in chalk) stick-figure families stuck to every mommy-mobile in America.  If you have one of these darling decorations on the back of your car, I'm not judging you.  I swear.  They really are cute-- downright adorable, I would even dare to venture.  When these stick figure groupings first started popping up, they were mostly generic things that basically indicated the number, ages and genders of the people that might be riding in your minivan.  Of course, generic isn't the way most mommies roll nowadays.  These once generic decals have turned into a miniature resume of the entire family's extracurricular activities and travels.  Other than a love of gratuitous cuteness, here is an example of what else a stick figure decal (not the one shown above) and other bumper decor tells me about a family: 

Oh I Wish...

As Mother's Day rapidly approaches, I am once again being being hounded by my family for gift ideas.  Well, let me amend that statement-- my kids are starting to hound me, which is surprising-- but not a single peep from Hubby.  Not yet, anyway.  The questions from my kids started last weekend, when Princess and Birdie noticed all the Mother's Day cards at Target.

My response to their inquiries was a very eloquent "uhhhhh, I dunno?!"  This is my standard response to a question like that.  I have learned the hard way that this is not a good response.

My priceless, and very carefully selected
birthday frog

If I've learned anything in my eight years of motherhood, it's that you need to be very specific when it comes to gift requests.  Especially when your kids are asking.  Otherwise, you have to pray that you look sufficiently ecstatic about the blue rubber sand-filled stretchy frog you'll get on your birthday.  Or the woolen black dress that you are most definitely allergic to but expected to wear anyway.  Or the perfume that smells like a funeral home.  Or the, and I quote, "I don't want to give away what I got you for Christmas with my hint, but I can tell you it looks like Santa and you can drink coffee from it!"  These memories of presents past have since motivated me to issue a preemptive strike in the form of a want list.  It's a very predictable list.

Except for rare occasions, I have very little in the way of gift ideas.  I am extremely boring and easy to please, as long as you don't get too creative.  I don't like jewelry and I despise flowers.  (Hubby really dodged a bullet there, as he is happy to let other hubbies know.)  You can fuel my fiber addiction and buy me a gift card to A.C. Moore, where I will gladly stock up on loads of yarn.  You can fuel my coffee addiction or candy addiction. You can buy me kitchen gadgets and cookbooks.  You can feed me Mexican food.  Or if you are underfunded, you can orchestrate alone time for me.  Or give me a hug--  I don't really care as long as I'm remembered.  My kids don't like any of my suggestions.  "Isn't there something else you wish for?!"  Implied:  Like a rubber frog?!

The Delicate Flower, The Emergency Vet, and Patience

Two nights ago, I experienced enough stress in one evening to last me for... well, forever.  (That may be a little overdramatic, but the night is still fresh enough in my mind for that to seem true.)

Now earlier I mentioned I have a dog.  I told you he is ridiculous and funny and smelly and has a penchant for home un-improvement.  I failed to mention he is also a delicate flower-- a walking, slobbering, itching genetic disaster.  He is equal parts adorable and allergic.  He is allergic to all the same things I am and they are all things that you cannot avoid, like dust mites, grass, weeds, and mold.  (The similarities in our allergies are so great that I have come to the conclusion that he and I are distant blood relatives.)  When not medicated and left to his own devices, my dog would literally claw his fur and sometimes skin right off his body.  He spends countless hours finding the perfect place to rub his back-- on the carpet, against the tv stand, on the low window sill-- so he can scratch the itch he can't reach.  It makes me laugh and feel sorry for him at the same time.