My Dog Cody, The Poodle

Anyone that knows me and my wonderful dog Cody, knows that he is not a poodle. Like nowhere near a poodle. At. All. Sydney tends to have other ideas for our poor dogs. For example when she decided that Smudge would be a girl dog named Coleen.

For those of you that don't know Cody, here is a picture of him with little Wyatt as a puppy.

So today on the way to school Sydney and I had this conversation:

Syd- "I think Cody should be a poodle"

Me- "Sorry dear, but I don't think that's possible."

Syd- "Yes it is! All we have to do is shave him's fur off and he'll be a poodle!"

Me- Now how fun would that be? Mwahahaha!!!

I should feel bad for even thinking it, but I don't. Maybe it's because my roller blading experiences with him pulling (trying to kill) me are still fresher than I would like. Or the time he ate my sofa, or the time he killed a possum on my area rug that was freshly cleaned and drying outside, or..... I could do an entire book on all of the horrible things that dog has done to me, so me thinks that a little shaving wouldn't even be a drop in the karma bucket for that dog! Who knows, Syd could be right and he may magically become a poodle! How sweet would that be?

"Here Cody, Cody, Cody..."

I Suck.

Ok, so you know that I meant that figuratively and not literally right? Right? RIGHT??? I meant that my last post was back in early November and even then didn't even touch on many of the things that had been going on. So I meant that I suck as a blogger. I have let y'all down, (all 2 of you) and I intend to get caught up ASAP. I promise. With that, you can now stop holding your breath and go move on with a song in your hearts.

So the more recent news is that Jack has now joined many of our fellow Americans in the ranks of the unemployed. Now that we have been relocated to the Land of No Jobs in the Middle of Nowhere, his yard is being shut down. He had the choice to take the severance package or move back to the Phx yard, to his old job, for less money, no truck, at our own expense and with no future guarantees. Nervously, we have decided to take the severance and head back to Oregon. At least then if we were suffering, we'd be doing it with family and friends!

I will do the catch up work soon, but I have to tell a Punkin story before it disappears in the slippery realm that is my scattered brain.

Punkin has been horribly sick since for the last five days. We're talking high fever, headache, sinus, the whole works. I freaked out for a bit because I wasn't sure what to do since I am almost positive that the kid has never had a real serious cold in her entire life. And really, the other two have only had high fevers lasting more than a day once a piece. This made me realize how blessed and spoiled I really am. The point that I'm not trying to rub in, is that Punkin is inexperienced with the things that come with colds and such. Like coughing. I think the kid has no concept about how and why to cough. Every time in the last few days she felt the tickle in her throat she would basically just clear it and cry and I'm pretty sure she thought that she was dying. I've been trying to encourage and teach her by showing her how to cough so that she could clear out some of the junk in her chest. So today we're on the way home from dropping the girls off at school, she's in the back seat clutching her Pepsi (my bad) and I could hear her trying to cough. She's doing her dangdest to hold it in by clamping her lips together. The forces of nature were not to be held back by just a little girl with a closed mouth! It had to come out somewhere and that somewhere had to be her nostrils! Oh yeah, we're talking snot explosion. Have I mentioned that snot is right up there with poop and vomit on my list of nastiness? Dang kid. Isn't coughing like breathing? Shouldn't it come all natural or something? I wonder if it's some defective gene or something. That's it. Jack's fault.

In other news... well hmmm... I can't think of anything relevant. Anyway, historical updates will be coming.

Freckles

I was just reading over my last post and trying to figure out how I could ever get Jack to not hold that over my head for the rest. of. my. life. Then it occurred to me that Jack recently did something that wasn't maybe the smartest. In fact it was dumb, and awesome at the same time! That is not his opinion, but since mine is more important, we're calling it hilarious! So in light of my confession of brainlessness I think it fair to share one such moment in Jack's life.

About a month ago, a guy that works with Jack brought over his weed eater for us to borrow. For some reason we have this patch of grass in our back yard that is a mere 2x8 ft and at the time was thigh high. With him he brought his dog, a Mastiff. If you have never seen a Mastiff, then if you can only imagine a dog large enough to saddle and make my larger than average husky look like a girlie man! In fact, Uncle Neal and I were joking on the phone before they showed up that a dog that size probably craps something that looks like a pile of beer cans!

So when he showed up we spent some time B.S.'ing and told him about the crap analogy while the big guy lumbered about the back yard. As soon as he left Jack got busy with the weed eater and before too long I heard it turn off and Jack saying, "Honey, will you please be a good wife, not ask any questions, and start me a shower?"

Good wife? Whaaa? I could tell by the sweet tone that something good was up. Good wife my ass. I opened the door to see what was up, and immediately figured out what happened!

Apparently the big dog had confirmed our crap theory and deposited the equivalent of a pile of beer cans for my unsuspecting husband to nail with the weed eater!!! So if the title made no sense before then just imagine Jack covered head to toe with little poop splatters! Fortunately he had his sun glasses on because they too were speckled with lovely poopy polka-dots! I'm not really sure if that was more fun for me, or watching him try and pull his shirt over his head while gagging over the stench!

Uncle Neal dubbed him "Freckles" and I think it may stick. Literally!!!! Hahahahahahahohohohohehehehe!!!! I crack me up!

One of THOSE Days!!!!

I had one of THOSE days. One of those days that you laugh so that you don't cry, though Jack said I should be crying, crying because I am so stupid. This may sound harsh, but those that know Jack probably aren't surprised, and after you hear what he's talking about you may agree with him.

So I've been looking into getting some little part-time job in the evenings to make extra money for the holidays and get out and meet people in my new town. Sounds easy, and when I discovered this wonderful bookstore/music store/movie store, and started spending at least an hour a night rummaging through stuff, I thought that I should just get a job there so that I could get paid for hanging out. Seemed simple enough, and after a long application and a long interview, I was asked to go ahead and take a simple drug test. I was pretty happy because this meant that if they wanted to pay for a test to make sure I wasn't some junkie that I likely had a job!

Drug tests are funny things. Well, not really. Not at all in fact, but I am still laughing over mine. Not because the procedure is funny. Nope, not funny. But my personal drug test caused much laughter for those I told about it, and well, probably every person that worked at the lab and everyone they told afterwards about the IDIOT that they had come in. So here's my confession... My name is Amber and I'm an IDIOT. I am hoping to jump on the smart wagon though, and hold on for dear life!

The morning of the test I took the older girls to school and knowing that they probably wouldn't let me take Punkin with me to go pee in a cup, I went to Jack's work and had him take me so that he could watch her while I ran in real quick. So "real quick" turned out to be waaaay too optimistic and I had to wait an hour and a half. By the time the guy called me back my bladder was ready to explode and I wanted to vomit. I only half listened to the guy explaining the procedure because I was focused. Focused on peeing and getting the heck out of there! So goes the fall. He had me wash my hands while he checked the room for hidden urine samples, put the cup on the back of the toilet, and explained that I had four minutes and that I was not to flush or wash my hands afterwards. I practically shoved him out the door so that I could just go already. And go I did. I open the door without having flushed or washed, and he came in, picked up the cup, and says, "You didn't pee in the cup."

No, no I hadn't. I'm not sure why I didn't even now. Maybe I was thinking he would scoop it out of the toilet? Not sure, but while I repeated the "eff" word several times, I tried to hold back the leg slapping, tears streaming out of your eyes, hysterical laugh. I only sort of succeeded because occasionally a small outburst would escape. Had I ever felt stupider? Maybe, but nothing solid comes to memory on that one.

The sad tale does not end there because Mr. I Think You Are A Junkie No Sense Of Humor, said that I was welcome to go back to the waiting room, drink lots of water and then try again when I was ready. Fine, so I drank water until I was going to puke and then when I thought I could pee a little, I flagged him down. This time I wasn't going to screw it up. I went in the bathroom, concentrated REAL hard and managed to put out some urine in the cup this time. I open the door, he grabs the cup and says, "This isn't enough."

"I'm sorry, Mr I Think You Are A Junkie No Sense of Humor, but what do you mean? You didn't tell me there was a urine quota! What the heck am I supposed to do about that????"

Not willing to guzzle any more water, and judging from the hostile, disbelieving text messages I was getting from Jack, I figured my time there had ended. I was stressing about what to do, and he told me to call the employer and see if I could get another set of paperwork so that I could try again another day.

"Why? So they can tell me I'm too stupid to hire???" How was I going to make that phone call? I went home and paced around wondering what I was going to tell them. Finally, I just called and made some vague excuse about screwing up their strict procedures at the clinic, and much to my relief they were really cool and told me they'd get the paperwork in order for me again.

Whew, disaster averted, job still possible. I went in yesterday and managed to get it right the first time! Third time is a charm and all that crap.... So now I will have to make sure that I act extra smart so that my husband forgets about this mere lapse in intelligence. As if...

Sydney- The Modest Nudist?

It's no secret to anybody that Sydney does not like wearing clothes. Review this post if you need a historical perspective on this issue. This has always been the case for her, and I've learned to deal with it in most contexts. Much to my good fortune, she has learned that at all times in public she is to wear clothes. It has taken many years and much embarrassment to get to this point, but finally we're here.

Once Jack and I were reading a menu at a restaurant and looked up at the waitress that we thought was waiting for us to order. Only she wasn't paying any attention to us, her look of horror/shock was directed just beyond us. Immediately we whip our heads around to see that Sydney had popped up from under the table with nothing but her panties on! Naturally the other patrons noticed too. At this point I wanted to crawl under the table, and Jack maybe would have been glad to join me.

Another time I was pregnant with Punkin and I took Sydney to McDonald's to have lunch and play. It wasn't long before I heard shocked gasps from nearby tables. I was afraid to look because I was pretty sure I knew what the problem was. Low and behold! Miss. Syd had gone up the play structure fully clothed, but came down the slide in her panties. Since I was getting little to no cooperation on getting her to get up and get her own clothes, my fat, pregnant ass had to climb up there to collect them and let me tell ya, I nearly needed a stick of butter to get myself out. I think of things like this and am still amazed that she never ended up on Ebay or anything.

After these situations and many more that I don't want to talk about, this next scenario causes some confusion in my head and makes me laugh every time I think about it! Mind you, just because I have gotten her to wear clothes in public does not mean that she is always dressed. She still comes home from wherever and immediately gets down to her underwear. Me forcing the issue causes anguish the likes of which I cannot take. Baby steps. Baby steps. Deep breaths. Meditation.

Anyway, not too long ago I was in a hurry to go somewhere and I was throwing clothes at the kids to put on so we could leave. I was helping Syd because she was being sluggish, and she kept crying about the sun dress I put on her!

Me: "What is wrong with you?"

Syd: "I don't like this dress!" *wailing*

Me: "What the freak is wrong with it?!"

Syd: "I just don't like it!!" *foot stomp, wail*

Me: "What, for the LOVE OF GOD is wrong with it?!"

Syd: "It shows my nickels!"

Me: ???????????

I had nothing to say to that. This child, this child that wanders in her underwear all day, and has a history of doing so in front of people, was concerned that her nickels (nipples) were showing? Seriously? After I shut my mouth that was open to the perfect fly catching position, and popped my eyes back into my head, I simply found her another dress. Crisis averted, nickels covered. Strong drink needed.

Critters- Part Deux

It has been a long time since I've had a few moments to myself to update this blog of mine. Between my loving children and the other irritants in my life, I find that I don't have as much time as I would like. What possible other irritants could I be speaking of? Well, several in fact, but one in particular nickels and dimes my days, grosses me out, and causes a plethora of swear words to pass by my lips. Ants. Little, tiny, nasty ants. Don't get me wrong, because I do thank the heavens for the absence of venomous, possibly deadly creatures, but I find myself with my patience running thin on these little bastards.

I have tried several things to rid myself of the plague of ants that would consume my kitchen if given the chance. Right off the bat I bought ant traps, and they laughed in the face of them!! So then I went out and sprayed poison along the edges of the house and laughed diabolically at my cleverness. Mwahahahaha!! Apparently I missed a spot or two, or they are immune to my petty poisons because it barely slowed them down. And ants, ants don't march one by one. They march by the hundreds! Bastards. At a loss, I have since been employing preventative measures. What wouldn't fit in the fridge is now sealed in the million Tupperware containers I purchased to thwart the little demons. Also, I spray them with my all purpose spray every chance I get, which is alot because by the time I clean up their corpses, there are more invaders. Die already!!!

I have employed a tactic occasionally that makes me really wonder about the nature of these creatures. Several times I have left the dead bodies where they were to serve as a warning to the next wave of attacks in the hopes that they would panic and turn around seeking to save themselves. This did not work. First I thought it must be because they are small, making their brains even smaller, meaning they're stupid. This makes sense to me, but then I started wondering as I watched them pick their way slowly around the bodies of their fallen. What if they are more like King Leonidas and his brave 300? What if they feel that they need to take a stand even in the face of their own destruction? I can just hear the queen ant pitching the glory speech to the millions crowded somewhere around my house; "Ants never retreat! Ants never surrender! The world will know that free ants stood against a tyrant. Ants, prepare for glory!" What if? Am I the bad guy in all this? Live and let live? This may be so, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm ok with my role as judge, jury and executioner, and if I have to face the music for this in the ever after, well, then that's what I will have to do. I have some corpses to go clean up now...

Doomed to Repeat...

"Those that fail to learn from history, are doomed to repeat it."

This famous quote by Winston Churchill has seemed appropriate in my mind lately. Not only because of all of the political B.S. that we are inundated with since the election is a mere 29 days away, but for other reasons as well. I breezed through an article recently that discussed some educational establishments who were considering editing or even completely passing over learning about WWII and the effects of the Holocaust. I was floored. Apparently a group of individuals got offended. I'm sure the six million Jews would be offended by this too. At what point do we tell people to sit down and shut up? - I will now step down from my soapbox. I hate a-holes.

Speaking of a-holes and history repeating... I was wandering about Target the other day looking at everything in the store because, well, I have no life, I had no kids with me, and because I was shirking some responsibilities, like oh, unpacking. I should have left before I saw these:

Indigo bio wash.

Do you see
the freakin' buttons on the inside of the ankle???!!!

And these:

Java anybody?

And these!!!

Plum?!

Just when you think that there is hope, beauty, and a sense of justice in this world, you go to Target and find out that they are creating peg legged, acid washed jeans again!!! In frickin' funky colors! Am I wrong in thinking that they should have stayed in the past where they belonged? That we should have learned from that blip in the history of fashion? In my experience, people that grew up in the 80's only get out their photos from that era in order to get laughs from their friends, not to help come up with ideas to bolster the modern wardrobe! Does anyone out there remember how big our asses looked with pegged pants? Oh, woe is me! That was back before my ass was even as big as it is now!! After seeing these, I have decided that no matter how cool they may become, I shall be unfashionable and will swear this very day to never again don the pegged, acid washed nightmares. Target have you lost your ever lovin' mind?