Monthly Archives: November 2006

A new record. I should call Ripley’s or Guiness (for a beer, you say? yes!). Suffice it to say, Kid drank a lot of juice today, and milk, and stupid me, in a fit of boredom at home on a long, dark, rainy afternoon, real hot chocolate. I’ll skip over step two, except to note that there seems to be a couple of varieties of “accidents” — which to me are becoming more like those mafia-related “accidents.” The basic form involves her clothes getting soaked in the process. The more advanced form involves her removal of clothes and then inappropriate activity. This latter form appears to include a certain mature level of revenge or spite tossed in, as far as I can tell. Perhaps I take it personally.

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What is it about men and cleaning? Either they are blind (the shower does look much better when I have my contacts out) or they have some red hot rebellious streak that prohibits them from cleaning up. Like a lot of women I know, back in the old days when I lived alone, I just tried to keep the place clean as a regular status. I did not have “cleaning days” set aside where huge piles of crap would be sorted through and/or hauled out. In between “cleaning days,” things slide, like mudslides in Malibu in rainy season. Judging from the water on my bathroom mirror and countertop, a bird has joined the family. Then there’s the floor, well, I think there’s a floor. I saw it with the realtor. Even though we live in the northwet, I mean, northwest and have an abundance of dirt/mud and rock outside, not white sidewalks, DH keeps his shoes on inside. Granted Ecco does make a comfortable shoe. Naturally, he blames Dog, who like Kid, goes outside and if for a moment, she stands still, it is ankle deep in the only puddle. If we’re really lucky, Dog dashes in with “the zooms” and runs high speed laps around the room and on the furniture, making her own brown track of mud. Maybe that is why I am tired. I am carrying around an extra ten pounds of dirt on me.

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At the kid’s request, we attempted another “candle time.” Last thing, first, because I know you are wondering, she did not blow out the candle, until given the go-ahead. She did, however, sit quietly, then squirm, roll her head, twist her legs around, rubberize her vertebrae and slide down off the side of the dining chair, between the seat cushion and the armrest. All in 3 minutes, without saying a word. Then she just walked away, to her room. So, what can we deduce from all this? Like so many boyfriends before DH, the telltale phases evolved — initial excitement, exaggerated happy-face expressions of oh-won’t-this-be-grand, coupled with come-on come-on, hurry-up gestures, rapidly melted into checking out the room and finally, obvious facial grimaces of boredom as she walked away. Patience, grasshopper. Maybe she’ll come around. She still wants Dad involved with candle time. Wonder if she’ll do her Cirque du Soleil act for him.

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Sometimes, at night, I see……..no, not dead people. This is scarier–I see ribs! This knit 4, purl 4 with larger needles is starting to take shape, a scarf shape, well, at least swatch-y type, short scarf. I can’t cover my nut yet, but be hopeful. Turns out, I can count to four much easier than three. I admit it. I always did like even numbers better. All those years of three times this, seven times that, never did like them. Later, I was told that four is a lucky number in some culture. Yes, threes are more visibly appealing, set up decor in threes, flowers in threes, etc. Clearly, numberism is out there and alive and well. Martha being the worst! Anyway, someone has to stand up for four.

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Why is Dog not dead? The most recent cause is her counter-surfing and chowing down a half a pan of chocolate pan cookies that my DH and DD made together. Well, DD licked the spoon mostly. Either what I read about dogs and chocolate is false, or Dog has some steel reinforced jug for a gut. Time to pull out the mouse traps. We set them on the edge of the counter in front of food, but so far, once those come out, she smartly stays away. The 3 yr old is more at risk, having less smarts about such things. Don’t call CPS. We have not put them out yet…. Then, having eaten her dessert last night, Dog was ready for a good breakfast this morning (kibble serves merely as appetizer). We leave for awhile this morning and come home to find, once again, an empty ziploc bag with holes ripped in it. The last 3 banana nut muffins. Those were good, too! If you are like me, it is hard to find a truly GOOD banana bread/muffin recipe and even if the recipe is good, oftentimes the execution of it varies somehow, browner bananas, different nuts, whatever. Contrary to what bakers will have you believe, baking is not an exact science! Anyway, these were good. Curse you, Dog! Why is Dog not dead? Because I have not killed her yet.

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