Enjoying Life with 3 Dogs, 2 Kids & an ADHD Husband.

Oh yeah.  There’s nothing like a baby on a time change to put a little extra spring in your step.  Or a little extra baggage under your eyes.  No, really–I enjoy waking up at 4:45 in the morning.  Almost as much as I enjoy cutting hound dog toenails.  It just hacks me off a teensy weensy bit that she goes back to sleep instantly, whereas I toss and turn, beat my pillow, and check the clock every five minutes in some sort of psychotic, sleep-deprived, delirium-induced ritual.  Hopefully this is not indicative of what to expect for the upcoming month.  Because there’s nothing worse than a grumpy Santa.  Bah humbug, already.

So, I just had a birthday the day after Thanksgiving.  Which was actually quite nice, once we got past the baby plane vomiting incident.  And no, I did not turn 45, regardless of what the stinkin’ Wii fit says.  That has got to be the most masochistic birthday present ever.  I mean, I did ask for one, which demonstrates that I’m obviously a glutton for punishment.  But seriously, to add 7 years to my actual age just because I can’t stand on one leg and balance without my foot looking like it’s having a seizure?  Totally unfair.  It’s not like the darn thing can actually see my wrinkles.  Or can it?  CAN IT?  And I fail to see what’s wrong with missing a measly eight gates on the downhill slalom game.  I mean, if they were all that important, they should really think about putting them closer together.  Like in a straight line.

I don’t know about you, but so far, I’m finding 38 to be a bit of an awkward age.  It’s too old for mini-skirts, yet too young for a mid-life crisis.  Maybe I could combine the two and have a mini crisis.  Which is in the works if that baby keeps waking me up butt early.  How can I be expected to assume crazy balancing poses  when I can barely keep my eyes open?  On second thought, maybe I should try closing them the next time I slalom–it could only be an improvement.

I guess I’ll give the Wii fit another chance–’tis the season, after all.  But seriously–if I see “Wow, your wrinkles look way more pronounced this morning–Add five more years to your Wii age,” up on the screen, I’m getting out the jackhammer.

Um, yeah.  It really has been that long since I’ve blogged.  I guess that makes me either the laziest person on the entire planet, or somebody who seriously needs to think about off-loading a few of her dogs.  Or kids.  Possibly both.  In fact, would you be interested in borrowing some?  Just for a short time–say, six months?  A year, tops.  Fergie promises to be good.

But I’m back.  At least for now.   See, I’ve been trying to keep up with the writing gigs that actually contribute towards my monthly mortgage payments, rather than just gleefully ranting away on here for free. Okay, so maybe my funded articles really only contribute towards a few outings to Target.  And rather minor ones at that.  But given my dollar bin addiction, it’s probably a worthwhile endeavor to continue.  Even if I do sometimes get to write about less than scintillating topics. (Don’t ask.)

So, on to more crucial stuff.  For starters, can I just say–what is up with Meaningful Beauty?  I mean, have you people read the commentage coming in about that rotting honeydew excrement masquerading as face cream?  No?  Well, all I can say is–if you see Cindy Crawford walking down the street, peg her with a melon, then run like hell.

Speaking of melons, Thanksgiving was great.  Not that we ate melon. or even anything remotely resembling melons, come to think of it.  Unless sweet potatoes count.  Although they’re not all that melon-esque.  But we did go to Chicago, kids in tow. Because everyone knows what a hoot it is to take a four hour plane trip with a 13 month-old and 4 yr-old.  We just kicked back, watched the in-flight movie, read a little, had a beer, and slept.  Well, maybe in a parallel universe somewhere that happened.  Just not in our world.  Actually, the kids were troopers. Provided, of course, that we entertained them for virtually every second of the plane rides.  And there was that one baby barfing incident involving parmesan peppercorn cheese spread.  But we don’t need to sweat the small details.  At least no melons were upchucked.  All in all, it was a nice visit.  I mean, who cares that our house smelled like an immense urinal once we came home?  Just chalk it up to the joys of dogs on prednisone. 

As for what I’m thankful for this year?  Oh, the usual stuff.  Like family, good friends, and a (fully mortgaged) roof over our heads.  And the fact my husband was the one holding the baby during the above-mentioned plane hurling episode.  What can I say?  Sometimes, it’s those little things we cherish the most.

Go on.  Flex your democratic muscle.

No, not that one.  The other one.

What I’m trying to say is, vote already.

And here’s a little rhyme I made up, just for the occasion. Although, I warn you–poetry, so not my forte.  I’m calling it, “Get your booty on out there and vote.”  Which really should tell you a little something about the quality.  Or lack thereof.

At any rate—A-hem.  Here goes nothing:

McCain may act as old as Mephistopheles

Palin don’t teach her kids the birds and the bees

Obama’s favorite name may be Abdul Azeez

Biden might have dabbled with the botchulin disease

But none of it matters compared to those turgid mortgage fees

So get your booty on out there and vote.

Alaska and Russia may be a stone’s throw away

Hillary might be downing Haagen Dazs come election day

Obama’s story tends to switch every which way

Biden unwittingly told Graham to jump into the fray

That friggin hockey rink?  Yeah, it’s here to stay

McCain has more Iraquis he’d like to slay

But so what if they all suck at the end of the day?

(Besides, cheesy politicians?  It’s the American way

Although I’d vote for the Ferganator if I had my say)

Just get your booty on out there and vote.

Don’t say you weren’t warned. 

And besides, why are you wasting time reading this stupid blog anyway?  Get down with your bad democratic self.  VOTE!

Wow, talk about procrastination.  I was tagged by Mary at Mimi All Me to do a meme back on the 8th of October, where apparently I share 6 things about myself that nobody knows. 

But I’m thinking—if I haven’t shared these things up to this point, then most likely it’s stuff that’s better kept secret.  I mean, does anyone really want to know that I sometimes peel off my toenails and then forget to throw them away?  (And on that note–anyone know if Ridgebacks eat keratin?  Yum.)

So, what I thought I’d do is put about ten things out there–five actually true things, and five utterly fictitious pieces of crap.  And it will be up to you to decide which one is which.  So here we go.

1.  I’ve been known to use Depends-style undergarments at night, because there are times when you are just too lazy to leave your bed.

2.  When I go to bars, I typically like to balance at least one beer bottle on my head.  Just because I can.

3.  I often run around our house naked, even though we have large picture windows in the front.

4.  I once got sent to the Principal’s office in grade school for hopping on the students desks and croaking “ribbit” when the teacher stepped out of the room.

5.  I scored a perfect 800 on the math portion of the GRE.

6.  Tom Petty is my distant cousin.

7.  Most of my friends probably thought of me as the nerdy, studious type during college.

8.   I am considering homeschooling my son during kindergarten.

9.  I often go for weeks without shaving my armpits. 

10.  I’ve strictly forbidden my husband to bring home the packages of cream-filled sandwich cookies, because I eat them all in one evening.

So, you decide which is true, and which is complete BS.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll fill you in later on.  Of course, that’s providing I ever remember I did this in the first place.

Which leads me to—who’s supposed to be the ADHD one in this marriage again?  Because if it’s not me, I think it’s contagious.  Which is a scary prospect. I mean, there’s only room in this house for so many sets of dirty undies on our floors……And toenails, of course.

I’m sipping a glass of water (yes, exciting beverages abound when you’re trying to de-caffeinate yourself), and just happen to glance out the window.  And there she is, in all her patio table hogging glory. 

I realize that Ridgebacks love to sun, but surely there should be some boundaries involved?  Like, say, no putting your stinky hound dog body on the same surface where I might eat my lunch?  I mean, God forbid she has to be in the yard for even a millisecond without at least a drop of sunshine.

Next she’ll be demanding I actually polish the sucker before I let her out in the morning.

You’d better watch it, hound dog.  Or else I’m moving your sun-lovin’ tushy to Seattle, home of the dreary gray drizzle. Nothing like trying to satisfy that UVA jones on some damp chilly glass.