Monthly Archives: December 2006

woof woof woof

woof woof woof woof wo….oh, a squirrel!!!

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During the 53 hours our power was out last weekend, we had a dinner party. Yes, it’s true. It included five adults and two three-year-olds. When the adults had finally sat down to eat our feast, the girls went off to play in my Kid’s room. It was quiet at last and we were enjoying our meal. That was our first red flag. At some point, I can’t remember who it was, but someone went to check on the girls. Might have been our guests, at least one parent, possibly both. I can’t recall. What I can recall (and will never forget) is the shriek of the mom from Kid’s room.

“OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!”

I should have just left the house right then. House full of people, table full of dirty dishes, no running water and probably raining outside.

It seems that Kid broke into a little container of green finger paint and in usual fashion proceeded to smear it on herself and her friend and the rug and the carpet and the chair. I bet it felt good, cool and creamy. She is nothing if not tactile. I am usually amused by how she reacts so innately to her desire to feeeeeeel things, taking off shoes and socks to feel something different with her toes, taking off her shirt to roll on me when I have a cashmere sweater on. That night, not so entertaining. But I realized that when there is one person already having a freak out (and her child), it does not add much to jump on that bandwagon.

I was mad but relatively quiet. It was “washable” paint. I can rant another time about the misuse of the word “washable.” Plus, I lose track of the number of times I have seen Kid with colors all over her body. Paints, food coloring, crayons, markers, lipstick, pens. I know she has this impulse. I had Kid help wipe up the green (as much as possible with NO water!) and we tried to wipe it off her. Her poor friend was suffering a thorough wiping by mad parents in the bathroom. And getting the Cold Bath threat for when they got home. They had water but not heat at their house. I forced a lot of “I will never do this again” promises from Kid.

I then rolled up her now green Little Mermaid rug (well, there is algae in the ocean) to save for the washer on a power-filled day to come. We got most of the green off of Kid with some faint green smears that stayed on for days. And yes, I confiscated all items from her room that could be smeared or used on walls, furniture, carpets or books. Now, she only has her bodily functions as ammo for future days…..

How can I be so laid back about this incident? Timing. Turns out the mess from the dinner party was harder to clean up (without power and water) and depressed me a whole lot more than that paint. I was jealous, too. Kid probably had more fun making her mess.

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For all those other DH’s out there, just so you know, I have been granted permission to tell this story. For all those readers who don’t appreciate even the slightest scatological humor (and I am with you most of the time), Skip This.

As you may know, the subject of this blog’s title is Becca, a wirehaired pointing griffon. She was born in Kansas, sent to Seattle and then came to live with us in Alaska, until we moved down here. DH constantly fawns over her and comments about what a beautiful dog she is (others think she is a mutt of some kind). She is an unemployed hunting dog with lots of time on her paws. We lose lots of food to her. Her diet has become more and more varied as she has matured. Scary things that are supposed to kill dogs, chocolate, raisins, corn cobs, rat poison (ok, not really) have left her thriving. The only side effect thus far has been her tendency toward….well, let’s just put this out there, flatulence.

Sometimes, they are small and cute sound effects with little in the way of aroma, like when she stretches her hind legs while getting off the couch and the smallest little toot is heard, a little toot like something you’d hear from child’s kazoo if the player blew a quick breath. Other times, they are 3-D. When we were on a road trip with Becca in the very back of the car behind the pet barrier (“you mean, jail” as DH says), we actually pulled off the highway (shouting all the while, “oh, Becca, how could you??” “oh, man!” and “oh no!”) expecting to kick out some gigantic turds back there and were shocked to find nothing.

Most recently, DH took her to strut around Sportsmens Warehouse in Silverdale. I mean, he had Christmas shopping to do. He puts on her safety orange collar and lease (this is as close to hunting as she gets) and waits for people to approach, what kind of dog is that? she is cool….you get the idea. This particular time DH was in an aisle being helped by some kid, Josh, when yes, DH noonsied one out and I am told, it was as close to 3-D as any of Becca’s. When Josh returned, his face indicated detection. DH concurred with the recognition of the smell, and Josh seemed to look at the two ladies in the nearby row. Almost ready to let the ladies take the fall, DH added casually that it might have been the dog. Then he relayed the story of pulling off the highway. These two guys had a nice chuckle about it while glancing at the ladies. Dog or ladies, either way it was not a man’s fault.

I think this story shows pretty clearly that men believe men and men like stink. Just as I suspected.

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“Do you have power?” That was the question of the weekend around here.

This past Thursday night we were hit with a wind storm. Much hype preceded it, and I assume much followed. Our power was out for 53 hours, so we missed seeing that news story. I read today there were gusts around 48mph here on the Isle of Bainbridge and over 100mph at Mt. Rainier. On Monday and Wednesday our power also went out. Practice runs, I guess. This past week I think our power has been more off than on. It finally jolted back on at 3am Sunday. Hallelujah!

My Alaska-born DH really shines in these emergencies, thanks to his online relationship with Emergency Essentials and bunkers A, B, and C in our basement. He had us as about as prepared as anyone could be. Our super-powered, Pentagon-approved generator kept our lights, stove, oven, xmas tree, stereo, and mostly importantly, tv, all running. We had a kerosene heater going to warm us. We even hosted a dinner party for 5 adults and 3 kids, for those generator-impaired among us. So many things you take for granted. You realize what you need for comforts when they are gone! What we did not have was running water, hot or cold. Try 53 hours of that! It’s really not as fun as when you are wearing a backpack and marching up or down a hill.

While attending a 4 year old’s birthday party at the end of the weekend, after the electricity came back, I was happy to be fresh from a hot shower. I watched the crazy little ones run all around. Lost in thought over what Kid did over the weekend (this, a prelude of posts to come), I was realizing how little impact I had in my child’s behavior there at the party. Okay, maybe at home, too, okay, maybe everywhere. Just then, someone leaned in and asked, “do you have power?”

Looking at my Kid, I started to say no, aren’t 3 year old’s hard?….but when I looked at this mom’s face, I realized she was just talking about electricity. “Oh, that power? Yeah, I have that kind,” I said wistfully. I wish there were a switch for the other kind.

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No nap today. She went in but did not sleep at all. I left her alone with the rationale that she (and I) would be having “quiet time.” Other moms get quiet time, why not me, too? Well, she was quiet in there, alright. After about an hour or so, I peeked in. What does Kid do with time to herself, you wonder? Read a few books? Play with her Numerous stuffed animals? Ha. Not my Kid. Too predictable. She pours baby powder all over her room, a whole container. She takes 4/5′s of her clothes off the hangers and dumps them on the floor in a pile (after the powdering, you wonder? yes, thanks), and lastly, she tops off the dusting with moisture by taking off her diaper and peeing on the floor. That makes a nice white paste, in case you are wondering. The powder was floral scented, so we had that going for us.

As if all that was not bad enough, in her climbing up the closet shelf (that is why the clothes were tossed, so she could grab the hanger rod), she could reach the Top Shelf. The Top Shelf where her dearly loved Neigh-Neigh’s backup twin resided. Contrary to outward appearances, I am not an idiot. As soon as she attached to her lovey horse, I obtained a backup, just in case this one is lost, run over, chewed up by the dog or lost at sea (we Do ride the ferry sometimes). I even secretly traded them out and washed them, so one was not “newer” than the other.

“I found Neigh’s friend, Mommy,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes.

“You what????”

She shows me two brown horses. But she was not traumatized by seeing Neigh and the anti-Neigh. They did not cancel each other out. She just happily hugged them both and started carrying them around together. Now, do I need TWO backup horseys???

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