Oh Christmas Tree

Posted by houndrat on Monday Dec 8, 2008 Under Christmas trees, family life, husbands, Uncategorized

Never, ever tell a man that something? just isn’t big enough.? Never.? Because any comments on size or lack thereof? are merely going to send? him into a “bigger is better” frenzy.? I mean, let’s face it–there’s a reason our inboxes are flooded on an hourly basis with emails entitled “enlarge your penis to 100x it’s actual size!”? ? Um, ouch.

But I’m not talking just private parts, people.? I’m talking ANYTHING.? Take, for example, a simple Christmas tree, and an innocuous comment about how last year’s six foot tree wasn’t quite tall enough for our vaulted ceilings.? In the same conversation, I’m pretty sure the words “eight feet would be nice” were mentioned.? But I could be wrong.? Because hubby did not come back with an eight footer. Or even a niner.

No, he proudly proclaimed, “I got the BIGGEST ONE on the lot–what do you think?” with a goofy smile on his face.?

What I think is that the twelve foot green monstrosity dwarfs our entire living room.? And sheds like an SOB.? We’re going to have to fork over some serious cash to buy about a? billion more lights to deck it out, and that goes double for? ornaments.? Also, the tree skirt is not remotely large enough to go all the way around that sucker, and I’m afraid if? it? tips like last year’s tree in the Fergie incident,? the resulting quake will be read on the Richter scale up in San Francisco.

On the plus side, it does smell super piney–always a good thing when you’re trying to mask the not so fresh “my dog peed on the carpet while I was in Chicago for Thanksgiving” odor.? Especially? when you just? hosted Bunco at your house.? And regrettably, the theme? was “holiday pajama party”, not “boarding kennel brouhaha”, so eau de doggy bladder would most likely not have been a big hit.

But the biggest problem? I’m having with the giant? Christmas tree?? Well, I can’t think of anything that rhymes with “ginormous”.? See, I tend to make up little ditties all the time in my head, and this one, if you’ll pardon the pun, is stumping me.?

So pretty please–if you can come up with a second line for “Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree, why are you so gi-normous?”—my brain would be eternally grateful.

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Ridgebacks and napping

Posted by houndrat on Monday Oct 27, 2008 Under dogs, family life, husbands, Ridgebacks, Uncategorized

You’ve gotta love a girl who’s okay with her? station in life…….

….of course, it’s easy to be okay when your station is Queen.

At least? Her? Royal Fergieness? was gracious enough to? allow hubby a blankie while he broke his back on the floor.? Perhaps in the future I can persuade her to toss him a pillow as well.? And while she’s at it, maybe pass a decree mandating the use of matching socks.

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Home sweet home and Fergie’s ribbons

Posted by houndrat on Friday Oct 3, 2008 Under dogs, family life, husbands, mommies, Ridgebacks

Okay, so things are FINALLY settling down to normal here after my 5 day stint at the Ridgeback National Specialty in Gettysburg, PA, which involved me leaving my almost one year-old and 4.5 year-old home alone with my cleanliness-challenged husband.? Although I have to say, I was completely shocked in a good way? when I arrived home and? our house was not only still standing, but actually didn’t resemble a recent bomb site on the inside.? And nary a broken glass to be seen.? Honestly, I’m left sort of wondering when the bulldozer came and how long it was here, but that’s okay.? I mean, I don’t really care what means achieved these ends, as long as? they don’t? involve me wading knee-high through daddy-was-home-alone-with-the-kids carnage.

At any rate, I’ll try to write some about my adventures this weekend, but for now, here’s a photo of me and the Ferganator in our hotel room, with all the awards she helped win.? As it turns out, Fergie apparently is good for something other than destroying random objects around the house.? Although saying she was? “good” at the show would probably be a bit of an overstatement—just ask my aunt.

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Should I stay or should I go?

Posted by houndrat on Wednesday Sep 17, 2008 Under dogs, family life, husbands, mommies, Ridgebacks, Uncategorized

Hold on everyone, because here comes Armageddon.

Well, maybe not for you.? But for me?? It may as well be.? Because next week I’m leaving for four days to attend the annual Rhodesian Ridgeback National Specialty in Pennsylvania.? Which means the hubby is staying behind.? With both kids.? In the house.? ALONE.

And while the idea of a four day kid-free vacation sounds like a little piece of heaven right about now (even though I’ll miss the little stinkers like crazy), the idea of returning to the shambles of what was once my fairly structured life is going to be something altogether less angelic.? Not to mention that I expect my house to be in shambles as well.? Literally.

It’s not that I don’t think hubby can handle taking care of the kids, dogs, house, shopping, chauffeuring, and all the accompanying chaos that makes up the life of a stay-at-home parent.? It’s just that I don’t think he can complete all those tasks without letting a few things slide along the way.? And I’m shuddering inside at the non-stop visuals my overactive imagination is so thoughtfully providing me.

I know, I shouldn’t sweat the few, minor little details. Like what they’ll be eating (for my son, whatever no-no’s he can coax out of daddy–which is to say, Oreos for breakfast and? Ho-Ho’s for dinner.? The baby will probably get her first taste of? Ho-Ho’s as well.? Okay, now I’m REALLY hyperventilating).? Or what they’ll be wearing (striped shirts with checkered shorts that have already been worn five days in a row.? In the mud.? And rain or shine, the baby will likely be naked).? What they’ll be doing (watching non-stop episodes of entirely inappropriate violent cartoons.? And possibly even my hubby’s favorite–zombie movies).? What they won’t be doing (managing to find the trash can or the diaper pail.? Or buying more toilet paper when they run out, and instead, resorting to hubby’s old sock method.? Gag).

I know.? I KNOW.? I shouldn’t? fret so much over my husband’s priorities.? Or lack thereof.? And just because last time I left him unattended with the kids this happened doesn’t mean anything quite so dramatic will happen again, right?? Especially given the fact that we’re down to only a single table in the entire house now. Statistically speaking, our odds of breaking the one remaining glass table have got to be pretty darn low.? Right?? RIGHT???? ? And as a plus, the Ferganator? will be in PA as well, leaving? only the marginally naughty, shoe-eating? Skye hound and the growling Pig dog.? ? Fergie alone is the equivalent of about eight GOOD dogs, so surely this has to be helpful.

Seriously, though, I’m okay leaving the kids with hubby.? He’s got to be one of the most involved fathers I know, and as a consequence, he is entirely secure in his ability to take care of the kids while I’m away.? And so am I.?

Really.? It’s the house I’m worried about.

But maybe I’m overreacting a little.? I mean, just because the house looked like this last time I left hubby to his own devices–WITHOUT THE KIDS–doesn’t mean it could get that? much worse? in just four days WITH the kids.? Right?? RIGHT???

Yeah.? Right.?

So, hypothetically speaking….is it too late to change my ticket?

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Yes, I realize these photos are long overdue, but I’ve been BUSY, people.? First, with the still flowing copious amounts of snot, and second, with the posting of hideous ancient photos of old friends on facebook.? Just because I can.

At any rate, here is the damage that hubby managed to inflict on our home while mommy was away.? Mind you he was watching two very small children at the time, children I’d like to keep for awhile longer.? Even given the feisty mouth on the older model.

Just in case you needed to see it from another angle:

And here’s a little something to warm? every mother’s? heart—a close up of? the particularly? large and undoubtedly deadly piece of glass hanging out with? your daughter’s ride-on toy:

Of course, then there’s the part where my husband reaches INTO THE BROKEN GLASS–HELLO!!!—and nearly becomes intimately acquainted with the trials and tribulations of being a four-fingered man.?

Apparently, my son, upon viewing hubby’s gushing finger, asks, “Daddy, are you going to die?”

My hubby of course tells him no, he’s fine, to which son matter-of-factly replies, “No, you’re not.? I’m pretty sure? you’re going to die.”?

Ah, such a glass is half-empty kind of kid—he does his mama proud.? Although, given the carnage, can you really blame him?


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Skye takes a spin

Posted by houndrat on Monday Aug 25, 2008 Under dogs, family life, husbands, Ridgebacks

So I know I’m supposed to tell the story of my husband nearly castrating his finger after smashing our glass coffee table while watching the kiddage, but I have like zero time.? After staying up until 4:00 am–4:00 AM–on Saturday night for my 20 year high school reunion, I am pretty much a zombie right now.? I figure at my age, I can expect to be fully recovered sometime late next week.? Which would be fine and dandy, except I have three articles due this week.

Since I have no time to write on subjects that don’t involve dating in random cities strewn throughout the United States, I’ll instead post some photos of Skye I found on my computer while searching for some specific baby photos of Finley, which of course I was an utter failure at locating.? ? Not to worry–no doubt I’ll? stumble across the baby pics? when searching for? photos of Fergie eating our vacuum cleaner? at a later date–that’s pretty much how stuff works around here.

At any rate, back on topic.? It’s official–there’s some major Fergie hound missing going on around here. I actually find myself following Skye around, hoping she’ll do a no-no, and my son has taken to asking, “When’s Fergie coming home?” on a regular basis.? Meaning about once every ten minutes.? Even hubby admits that he misses our naughty liver girl.

And since I couldn’t ever get Skye to perform any misdeeds in front of me (she’s more of a closet bad girl, that one), I had to instead settle for looking at these photos I found.? Still no misbehavior, but they are kind of cute.

So without further ado, here’s Skye performing her patented spin moves:


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Today started out much the same as any other day? except that my husband stayed home from work. Why?Because the two of us have? turned procrastination into an art form.

In a roundabout way, my husand? took a day off work due to our failure to? file? our ’07 taxes.? You may remember that we, or more correctly, I, birthed our? second child? at home.? Supportive as my husband was, I don’t recall him straining his nether regions for hours attempting to push our 9+ lb daughter’s head into the world.? Private parts aside, when you deliver your child at home, you must apply for a birth certificate through the? Office of Vital Statistics, presumably to make sure you and your child are actually legal residents of the state of California.?

Personally, I fail to see how this all works.? Us homebirthers have to cough up three proofs of address,? three notarized affadavits as proof of preganancy and residence, and a bunch of other completely nonsensical papers.? When I had my son at the hospital?? I’m pretty sure I just filled out? this two-minute? form and paid my hospital bills and they were all like, “Okay, here you go–your son’s all legal and stuff.”? ? Obviously, I need to send the midwives of our state some industrial strength backscratchers and? then? thrust? them forth into the governement offices, to perform a few backdoor deals of their own.

The? government? generously grants you a year to apply for the birth certificate before you have to appear in court and explain to the judge why you are so lazy and imcompetent that even with a twelve month allowance, you failed to drag your sorry ass? and that of your infant to the designated government? office.?

So yes, we pushed it a little close for comfort.? In fact, had we been participating in a drinking game in which every time our government worker tsked or commented on how LONG we waited to get our daughter’s birth certificate, pink elephants would have started appearing.? But really–we did have over a month to spare.? I guess the converse of that is we waited eleven months to get the certificate.? And truth be told, we weren’t really motivated by concern for our daughter’s legal status, but rather, by greed.? Not only is that second baby a big tax write-off, but we want us some of good old Georgie’s economic stimulus money as well.? I figure it will buy my Orange County commuting husband about one day’s worth of gas.

So most likely our tardiness in procuring the most important document our daughter will ever possess alone grants us the imcompetent parents of the year award.? And then there’s the part where later that same day, my husband? shatters our coffee table and manages to bleed all over my son and the rest of our house, right before people are? scheduled? to take a class in? our home, except they’re really not because I got the date wrong.? But that’s going to have to be part two—all that bleeding and tsking and goverment office smell makes me sleepy.


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Meet My Husband–Mr. How Not To Wear

Posted by houndrat on Sunday Aug 17, 2008 Under family life, husbands, Uncategorized

I wasn’t going to say anything. I really wasn’t. But the more I think about it, the more I’m just so completely dumbfounded by the absolute retardedness of it all that I can’t possibly keep quiet.

So Friday afternoon I get an email from my husband at work. Here’s the email:

Subject: Damn, My Shirt has been Inside Out ALL DAY!
I was just in a meeting and someone asked me if my shirt was on inside out. I said, “NO!” Of course, then I looked at the buttons and they were inside my shirt? and there were threads hanging all over….Arghh…

That alone is beyond my comprehension. How does a grown man reach the ripe age of 37 without knowing a failproof way to tell if his shirt is on correctly?  But it gets better. Because then he shows up at home at 6:45 p.m. on Friday night AND HIS SHIRT IS STILL ON INSIDE OUT!

Me: “Hello there, King of the Dorks. Just out of curiosity–did it ever occur to you at any point throughout the day to put on your shirt correctly? Just for kicks?”

Hubby, eying me quizzically over a mouthful of pasta: “Huh? Shirt? Why?”

One of our more scintillating dinner conversations. But back to the point–it’s not like my husband works at—at—at a place where inside-out shirt wearers work, whatever planet that might be on. He works in a large, professional building, full of lots of professional-looking people. Minus one, of course.

And this isn’t the first time. I remember an occasion ten plus years ago, before we were married. My husband flies in for the weekend to visit. We’re hitting a “trendy” bar in Newport Beach, so en route from the airport we stop by the mall so he can pick up some appropriate clothing. Indeed we have to stop BECAUSE HE FORGET HIS LUGGAGE.? ? ? As in, all of it.? Who does that? The man literally shows up at the airport without a suitcase, without a duffel bag, without anything other than his wallet and the clothes on his back. Which were so not appopriate.

So he puts on his new clothes and then we’re in line at this bar in Newport? and my husband is smiling and chatting with the girls behind us. He then remarks to me, “Oh, the girls out here are so friendly!” Color me thrilled.

About an hour later we’re walking around inside and my best friend suddenly points at hubby’s back and starts laughing and I notice his shirt is on INSIDE OUT with the price tags dangling halfway down his back. And it hits me. The “friendly” girls he’d been talking to in line had giggled and said, “Is that the new style?”

Of course hubby just laughs it off as always, citing his “boyish and amusing”?defense. But now I’m wondering if there’s some kind of latent pathology here. And Stacy and Clinton, where the hell are you when you’re needed?

Stacy and Clinton

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Husband Killing Me with Random Videos

Posted by houndrat on Wednesday Aug 13, 2008 Under family life, husbands

I don’t mind the fact that hubby routinely wakes me up at 5:30 a.m. by cracking his knuckles so loudly I bolt upright in bed, sure that a SWAT team assault is under way. (Okay, actually I do mind. Although perhaps halting the espionage reading right before bed wouldn’t hurt.)

It’s also beyond me how he can sit and watch television in Spanish. He doesn’t even UNDERSTAND Spanish – except maybe a few of the words that appear on a Taco Bell menu. But even those he can’t pronounce. I know, I know–that “quesadilla” is a tricky one.

And then there’s the music. You see, hubby doesn’t take the time to actually learn the lyrics to anything, but he routinely sings (loudly) the words he thinks they are singing. Words that typically have no bearing at all on what the songwriters actually put to paper. Any attempts at correcting him fall on completely (tone) deaf ears. That’s if he doesn’t get mad at me because, “it ruins the song” for him. Because apparently he’s never recovered from the heartbreak of learning that Sugar Ray was actually singing “Every Morning” and not “Captain Morgan”, his favorite rum.

Anyway, the last few nights have been espcially painful because he’s rediscovered some random 80′s song by Pizzacato Five. He just can’t get enough of the video, which features two dudes and some scrawny chick wearing racoon hats and executing the most random dance moves known to man. He literally plays it about fifty times in a row, over and over again, until I want to pick up a stapler and shove it right into the varmit-killing lead singer’s brain. And as an added bonus? MY HUSBAND SINGS ALONG!!!!!!!! Which is beyond the realm of all that is decent and good, considering the entire song is IN JAPANESE.

He also had to point out how some random French band, Nouvelle Vague, looks like they attempted to rip off the dancing from the Japanese video. So not only do I have to listen to him butcher the lyrics to yet another song, but as an added bonus my brain is now being tortured by two horrible dancing sequence rather than one.

And now I have the damn song stuck in my head only I don’t know Japanese either so “Twiggy yo shee hee yo hee haw” is about as good as it gets. Maybe I’ll just stab myself with the stapler instead.

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Bunco woes

Posted by houndrat on Friday Aug 8, 2008 Under family life, husbands, kids, Uncategorized

I had my monthly Bunco game last night.? Although supposedly a dice game, what Bunco really represents is a thinly veiled excuse for a bunch of women to? escape from the old homestead and drink beer (and in last night’s case, margaritas and Mojitos).? Our group consists mostly of moms which basically means our games? rate higher? on the obnoxious and beer drinking scales by a factor of ten.?

So after unwinding and enjoying girl talk for a few hours, I stumble into my house at about? 11:15 p.m, ready to crash into my bed.? Only to discover this:

Hello there, big pile of trash on my floor.? Here’s? a closer view:

Either a cyclone hit my house while I was nonchalantly slinging dice at Bunco or my hubby and son? decided to play a few rounds of recycling man and failed to tidy up.

Talk about a buzz kill.


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