A Homeschooling Mom’s Nightmare

First let me add the back story.  Our daughter was coming home from college and we had to get her little brother moved out of her room and back in the big bedroom he shares with his brother.  They are 14 and 16. After the 14-year-old’s paraphernalia was removed, I dusted, vacuumed and made her bed for her.

As I was working I heard my eldest son trying to talk his brother into moving into the loft for the summer.  It went something like this: “It will be so cool!”  “You will love it!”  “We’ll move the bookshelves and it will be private!”  “I will help you!”  “Let’s go ask mom.”  The 14 year-old wasn’t saying much as he moved his stuff back down the hall.  They came.  They begged.  I am still on narcotics from the car accident two months ago.  I am in no state of mind to be making life-altering decisions…. like giving up the homeschool/sewing loft at 11 p.m. thankyouverymuch.  I told them I didn’t care.  And I didn’t. And I went to bed.

Fast forward two and a half hours to a metal wheel sound waking me up in the dark of the night.  Yes, it was 1:30 a.m.  I stared at the ceiling and told my husband, “This is all my fault.  That noise…. it’s a pulley.  I taught him how to use pulleys about 7 years ago.”  We got out of bed to witness THIS:

Our 16-year-old son had made himself a castle… in the loft…. way past midnight… with a drawbridge (run with a pulley that hung from a bike hook screwed into the ceiling) …. and crenals and merlons cut from cardboard.  It WAS SO COOL that he decided to move in himself.  I shook my head in dismay and confessed to my husband that I also taught him about castles…. and crenals and merlons.  I asked my creative son what we should call him now.  Obviously he replied, “King Austin!”  Of course.  Silly me.

The next morning, I questioned how long he planned to live in his castle.  He looked at me with hopeful eyes and answered with a question, “All summer??????”  Those were his big blue puppy dog eyes staring at me.  Fine.  Whatever.  “You will be patching the hole in the ceiling in August.”  “O.k., thanks, mom.”

This could have been worse, I told myself as I climbed back into bed.  I’ve also taught him about catapults, guillotines, war trenches and fur trappers.  Oh, it could have been WAY worse.

 

It’s a Mother’s Day CONTEST!!!!

Come one.  Come all.  Step right up and enter to win a GRAND PRIZE for you or a mother dear to your heart this Mother’s Day.

What would every mother want?  A diamond ring?  No. (Could get lost while playing in the sand at the park!) A new MiniVan!  No. (Take it from my experience, after you hit someone in a minivan, they are not that great any more!)  A dozen roses! No (They wilt in no time, especially if you bought them at Walmart!)

Maybe something to bring joy to her heart.  Something to make her laugh…. and snort… and laugh some more!  Yes, you guessed it!  A Book!  YES!

Yes, a FREE autographed copy of my book Laughing in the Midst of Mothering!  Every mother you know needs a laugh!  This book can be yours (for your mom if you aren’t a mom) by merely entering your name in the comments section of this blog.

You have until May 5th midnight to enter.  On May 6th, after I sleep in, I will randomly draw one name from the list and announce the winner here on MSJ.  I will blast the name for all to see.  The winner will have 24 hours to contact me with an address for where to ship the book.  If person #1 doesn’t contact me, I will draw another name on May 7th.  :o)

Smarty Pants…. not really.

Thinking I had scored a major victory at my favorite thrift store with a pair of chocolate brown capri pants, I sauntered to the sewing machine for a minor quick fix.  These were TOTALLY cute capris with little buttons and tabs on the pockets and cute twill tape ties at the bottom of each leg.  One glance and I figured out why the previous owner had sadly parted with these adorable pants.  The wide elastic in the back of the waist band had flipped and to the untrained eye appeared to be stuck in that position. But no.

Having taken self-taught home-ec sewing for 13 years before leaving home (Okay, my mom did initially show me how to sew forward, backwards and zig zag on the ancient Sears machine), the necessary remedy for the brown capris took a few straight pins and some determination.  Seriously, even with the thread change on the machine to a delicious chocolate color, the entire process took fifteen minutes.

Proud did not even begin to explain my feelings of accomplishment.  Waltzing into my closet, I pulled on my new favorite pants, buttoned the waist, slid the zipper in place and unsuccessfully tugged on the brown twill tape that circled the waist.  It seemed to be stuck.  There was five inches sticking out on the right side and 14 inches sticking out on the left side.  What in the world?  Tug tug.  No go.  Then I realized, in all of my smarty-pants-ness I had flipped the elastic and stitched not only the elastic in place but also the draw string for the waist.  Bummer dude.

I have yet to remedy the situation.  I simply tie them really far to the right in a teeny bow and tuck ten inches of twill tape inside the waistband of the pants.  Honestly, it would only take five minutes to pull out my stitches but I simply haven’t done it.  I keep tying the miniature bow and hiding the leftovers, hoping no one will see what a mess I made of my new almost favorite pants.

Hello, My Name is Linda

Yes, this is another blog relating the to car accident that I unwillingly participated in 3 1/2 weeks ago.  A deep fog has permeated my brain for three weeks leaving me wondering what my childrens’ names are, grasping for common words like “ride” and “sit”, and feeling vulnerable and alone.  Yes, it is drugs.  Yes, I’ve written about this before when I was on narcotics for tooth pain.  I had forgotten the lonely drug induced blanket that wraps itself around your neck for days on end.  Finally, when I was thinking homeschooling was pretty well done for the year (with two more months to go) I went to visit my doctor.  Sorry, pupils.

Typically I am an in-control woman.  Administration is one of my gifts, as well as teaching, organizing and being sarcastic.  But I could do none of those while the blanket hugged me like a scratchy wool scarf.  Sitting on the tissue papered table at the physician’s office, I tried to explain in my not-usually-wobbly-voice that I am on an involuntary emotional roller coaster because of the drugs.  My voice never wobbles.  But it wobbled woefully.  “I need to gain control of my life again,” I feebly explained.  “Is there a pain medication that conquers pain but doesn’t leave people in this fog?”  And there is.  Thank God!  It’s in a 3-day patch that transdermally inputs the drug into your system at a consistently controlled rate.  No more roller coastering for me, baby.

I am now addicted to a little 3/4″ x 1″ plastic patch.  And I’m okay with that.  I was missing me.  I’m partially back.  Doing simple tasks like showering or making waffles are still followed up with a two hour nap.  But I’m okay with that too.  I know my limits.  It’s two outings per day… only twice or three times per week.  More than that and I break out in a sweat.

Hope returned yesterday when I broke out the botany text book and decided school would be underway once again.  It will be more self-guided than teacher-ruled, as is my persuasion.  Flowers and pollination will be devoured by my little busy bees for the next few weeks.  I even found an activity requiring powdered donuts to demonstrate cross-pollination.  Homeschooling rocks…. or blooms in this case.

“Be Ready!”

In March 2012, our eldest child flew off alone to Tulsa, Oklahoma (OKLAHOMA!) to interview for a scholarship for the college she REALLY wanted to go to.  It was one of the few colleges that made the cut of still believing and upholding the godly standards on which it was founded.  As she was a thousand miles away that weekend, I had one of those God moments where I heard His still small voice in my spirit (in the bathroom, but that is beside the point) whisper, “Be ready!”  That was it.  Be ready.  READY FOR WHAT? I wanted to scream…. in fact, I probably did.

Of course in my own little control-freak mind I made my list of what I thought I needed to be ready for… or with… or against… or because of…   (See? It was pointless!)  I prayed up more.  I Bible studied harder.  I threw myself into money making. I lectured.  I bit my tongue.  (See? It was pointless!)  I should have been focusing on Psalms 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”  Oh yeah. Right.

We knew the cost of school for our sweet girl would cause us to walk the tightrope of faith financially.  And we have.  And God has shown up.  Over and over again.  Please let me climb up on my testimony box and shout out some praises for a minute or two… or three, of how God has shown up in the last THREE WEEKS!

Three days before our Canadian-thick-blooded relatives were coming to stay with us in sunny Arizona, the air conditioner decided to only work for ten seconds at a time in three minute intervals.  For those who don’t live in Arizona, that is not quite adequate for keeping the house at a comfortable temperature for Canadians.  (I was fine, but this is not about me.)  I called Rob the A/C repairman.  He came out and visited me for three hours to the tune of $1,300.  Ouch!  Thankfully Rob and my husband Rick are members of Tradesource, where private businesses can barter services, so we only had to fork over $370…. of the $380 in our account at that time.  I wrote the check and sent God a little reminder that we may need Him to show up in the next few days if our relatives planned on eating while visiting.  “Hey, welcome!  It’s canned tuna week!” 

Corresponding with the northerly visitors, Larisa, our college girl was also coming home for Spring Break with her roommate!  WhoooHOooOOooo!  Party time! (and you thought the cafeteria food was bad!)  I scrubbed the visitor bathroom until it gleamed like Joel Osteen’s teeth.  Seriously!  The only thing I needed to purchase was a $2 shower liner so I headed off to Bed Bath and Beyond with four hours and $8 to spare!  Perfect!

Two miles into my three mile adventure, a girl pulled right out in front of me and I t-boned her.  This is what I remember: Air bags. Checking if Nora (9 year old) was ok in the seat behind me.  Nice strangers who stopped to help. Policemen. Firemen. OH DANG IT DO MY LEGS HURT! My dad coming.  ER visit (without my boys… that was rare!). And then I arrived on the yellow couch in the living room 21 days ago.  I’m still there.  What I am allowed to share is that I am wounded and receiving care. God protected us BIG TIME!  (I can walk. I can cry.  I can brush my teeth with my left hand. I can type. And I’m really good at taking pills every 4 to 6 hours that may cause dry mouth, chills, panic attacks, anxiety, inability to sit still, seizures, delusions, fainting, itching, slurred speech, etc. etc. etc.)  Is THIS what I needed to be ready for?

That was a Saturday.  The following Monday the Canadians showed up at the doorstep along with the homeschoolers and various other peeps who delivered meals for two straight weeks (and now we’re on an every-other day schedule for two MORE weeks.)  Not just pasta dinner.  Gourmet chicken with French names and seasoned vegetables that were hoarded by my children. And not just dinner.  Breakfast pie showed up.  Oranges by the bag full. And pizzas and sandwich meat and fruit bowls and chocolate cake and bagels and cream cheese and whole grain bread that I never buy and potato salad and ice cream sandwiches and milk and ALL the food that was necessary to feed our family and the four visiting guests while $8 sat in our bank account.  Maybe THIS was what I needed to be ready for.

The van may or may not be totaled.  We’ll see.  We got a rental car that I am too delusional to drive….. and my children are not over 21, so they can’t drive it either.  FUN!  My husband figured he may as well take it to work and save money on gas…. and he rear-ended a nice lady who stopped really rapidly on the highway.  IN THE RENTAL CAR. Can you spell deductible?  So, my hubby took it back and got another rental car that looked exactly the same, except the seats were tan, not black.  He came home that night and took his brother to the store.  His brother mentioned, “I could have sworn these seats were black!”  Um, yeah.  Is THIS what we needed to be ready for?

If that hoopla wasn’t enough to make my mother hit her replaced knees in fervent prayer, yesterday my hard-working son (who has a Jedi braid, but that is not crucial to the storyline) volunteered to spend his day helping his cycling team set up for a race last night.  As if our family has big targets on our backsides at the moment, a loathsome individual made off with my son’s $8,000 bike. Yes, you read that right. A two-wheeled pedal bike… $8,000.  He is sponsored.  It is on loan to him.  We did not pay $8,000 for a bike with which I can do one-handed curls. I learned about the lifted bicycle from my husband who left me a message on my phone while I was in my 6th doctor’s appointment to end the week.  WAS THIS WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE READY FOR???

Today my bikeless son’s facebook status reads, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him and have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 God showed me this yesterday.”

Besides messaging me about the missing bike, my husband prayed.  And then he posted a little ditty on facebook about the bike and asked others to pray.  Because we know that prayer works.  A friend of ours in Canada who was supposed to be paying attention in a business meeting, who happens to hate injustice and loves hardworking youngsters, went on facebook and read Rick’s message……. and bought a new bike for my son.  We were close to speechless.  A tearful thank you was all I could get out. What I loved about this was all the glory was given to God… in front of the teammates.  By son and father, without shame.  Maybe THIS is what we were supposed to be ready for?

Be ready…. to live your life for God no matter what.  Be ready …. to rely on God for everything.  Be ready…. in good times and bad to praise God, for He is worthy of our praise.  Be ready.

Back Off, Airbag!

I’m thankful that I am still here to write a blog for your reading pleasure.  The airbags did their duty, probably a bit more intensely than required at 35 mph, yet I am trying to keep a sense of humor in the midst of it all.  Please excuse any humor that may seem off color in our circumstances.  Remember also I am currently using narcotics.

My cute husband and I were enjoying a moment of peace and tranquility on the back patio yesterday morning, holding hands and loving the balmy Phoenix weather in March.  He squeezed my hand and conveyed a heartfelt, “I’m so glad the accident was not that bad.  I could have been going to two funerals this week!”  BAH!  I told him that his sentiments were kind but I knew he was WAY too cheap to pay for two funerals…. there would have been just one.

This morning I visited the spinal surgeon.  He had good news and bad news for me… but the good news outweighed the bad by 98%.  I am not free to discuss my injuries to the world at large, but spinal surgery was negated.  Thank God!  Then he proceeded to tell me that my spinal condition is appropriately degenerated FOR MY AGE.  What the heck was that supposed to mean?  I’m in my 40s!!  If he were a car salesman, this was the equivalent of kicking the tires and saying, “She’s got a few more miles in her despite the apparent neglect.” Good grief!

It has been 11 days since the accident and today was the first day I had a surge of energy and applied makeup!  Small steps.  It was my fourth or fifth visit to the chiropractor since the accident.  As I graced the waiting room the receptionist hollers, “OH MY GOSH!  You look so much better today!”  Yeah, thanks.  It’s just makeup.  I feel the same… still sore, achy and drugged.  My Dad always said, “If the barn needs painting, paint it!”  I gathered from her exuberance that my natural beauty was more in my mind than in reality.

I arrived home exhausted from more outings than my typical one-per-day.  While sitting at the table eating another wonderfully fabulous dinner that was delivered to us by our rockin’ homeschool peeps, my 9-year-old says to me, “I like your hair.”  Okay, seriously?  It is a day #2 hairdo with the back completely oily from a massage, and one flat side from my nap.  She kept going with her sincere flattery, “It makes you look like a teenager, Mom.  It’s pretty the way it’s not all puffy like usual.”  Wow.  What do you say to that?

By day of recovery #5 I finally felt like reading.  I read four whole pages of the 1850′s historical fiction of which I was in the midst…. during days 6, 7 and 8.  Yes, only four pages.  Then day #9 my reading juices were regenerated and I finished the book.  It was the last 1850′s historical novel I had in my possession and I was still on the couch for the better part of the day.  CRISIS!  I perused my bookshelves and discovered several stories that we were supposed to read for American History last year.  Yesterday and today I read Farewell to Manzanar a biography/history lesson about an internment camp during WW2 for 10,000 Japanese Americans on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevadas in California.  Every summer when we drive to Lake Tahoe, we pass right by the historical marker sign that reads   <—– MANZANAR.  Being the history loving nerd that I am, the desire to stop has surfaced every single time we pass the sign, but we have yet to stop.  Now that I’ve read the story…. we are stopping, baby.  10,000 American citizens who were considered dangerous simply by race… put in a “camp” like prisoners for THREE YEARS!  Unbelievable.  I’ve added this story here because I was hoping to see barracks, a mess haul, latrines, a pear orchard, etc.  The end of the book describes Manzanar today as a dusty, deserted piece of land with a few cement slabs if you know where to look for them.  Maybe I don’t need to stop as badly as I thought I had for the last 12 years.  We’ll see this summer.

Discoveries from the Chersterfield

My husband actually called the couch a chesterfield this week and he hasn’t even been watching Downton Abbey.  I believe it was a Canadian flashback for him.  I remember my Canadian grandparents using that term for the sofa, but not my husband!

Meanwhile, back on the chesterfield, I have made several life altering discoveries.

1.  Healing takes time.  Time allows you to think and write and read, all activities that tend to get brushed to the sidelines during a busy schedule.  I have missed writing.  I need to carve out some time to express myself with written words.  It brings me joy…. and I like joy.  It’s one of my favorite things, but not exactly in a brown paper package tied up with string. (Name that movie song.)

2.  My daughter and my niece hand picked lovely yellow and purple wildflowers, placed them in jars and brought them to my coffee table that holds everything I could possibly use while on the couch.  I have spent long moments watching little bugs crawl all over the sunny blooms.  A bit of wildlife right here in the living room.

3.  Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. (Name that artist.)  My front yard blooms are in their glory mode and I have spent time each day sunning myself next to their colorful display: royal blue lobelia, cadmium snap dragons and pansies, hot pink, pale pink, variegated and snow white Sweet Williams, four shades of purples in pansies, violets and violas, and a salmon pink geranium that has yet to open its glowy blooms for my pleasure.  Vitamin D is a glorious bonus.  My nature journal is calling to me to capture the array of colors.

4.  I am the sole individual who wipes out the microwave.  Sad but true.  Come on over and have a looksie at a week’s worth of blown up food bits.

5.  Ringo the wiener dog eats orange foamy earplugs.  Disgusting.

6.  I truly am a night owl.  Even on narcotics, my best hours are from 11:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m.  However, this was aided by a total of six hours of napping today.

I pray you are blessed with a full night of restful sleep while I am uninterrupted on the chesterfield.

Post Wreckage Wisdom

Before this past Saturday, the previous car accident I participated in was in 1999 in Anaheim, California.  Thankfully I have been fender bender free for 14 joyous years. (However, in my current state of narcotic use, I could easily and most probably be missing large periods of my life in my memory banks.)  When one meanders through life without hitting other vehicles, you tend to forget many important facts regarding collisions.  This morning, at 4:06 a.m., I am here to inform all those who need informing on said subject.

1.  Accidents happen when you least expect it and when it is not convenient in your life.  In my case, I was casually  heading to Bed Bath and Beyond to purchase a much needed shower curtain liner for the main bath due to visitors who were scheduled to arrive at my home in exactly four hours.  My daughter and two friends were descending upon our house for Spring Break from college in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a mere 14 hour drive to Phoenix, Arizona.  Two days after their arrival, three Canadian relatives were also visiting for a week.  Hence, the new shower curtain liner was MANDATORY.

2.  Teenage drivers are a danger on the road.  Out of a neighborhood shopping center driveway (right next to Charming Charlie’s purse/accessory mother ship store) a small white vehicle came flying directly into my lane from the right without any warning time, hindering me from doing all those things you know you should do when you figure out you’re are going to hit another car, i.e. brake, scream “Sweet mother of God!”, brace yourself so as to increase muscle injuries, curse the driver’s day of birth, yell at your kids “Hang on, Mommy’s going to hit someone!” or any other such nonsense. I glanced at the car and slammed into it.  That is all.  I never saw the driver’s face as she was looking to her right the entire time she was entering the four lane road, planning on crossing two lanes of traffic.  The kind police man asked me how long I had between my visual awareness of the other car and impact.  “One second.”  I have since wondered about her actions.  Did she just find the queen mother purse to match her favorite hot pink and cheetah print shoes, and couldn’t wait to get home and unite the two, creating the perfect ensemble?  Did she just eat at the Mellow Mushroom and was in a pasta induced coma with garlic permeating from her pores?  We will never know, dear reader.

3.  When the kind police man finished my inquisition and then glanced in the back seat of the van to witness a tear-stained little Latina child, he should have used his kind policeman voice and asked a politically correct question like, “Who is this little sweetheart?” or “I see we have a princess in the back seat.” or “Honey, are you ok?”  But NO.  He got the wrath of the blubbering adoptive mother when he blurted out, “Who is THAT?” like I picked up an illegal alien down by the border and was transporting her color-coordinated, well manicured dimpled self like a criminal. I will admit I answered a bit tersely, “SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!!!!”  My tone set him in his place and his kind police man voice surfaced as he praised her for being in her booster seat and wearing her seatbelt.  I am a protective mama first, and an injured car passenger second. Don’t ever forget that!

4.  Auto injuries are curious beasts.  Due to the impact of the airbag underneath the steering column of our van, my shins took a real beating.  I did not know there was an airbag under there, nor was I aware that it was hinged from the bottom and the molded plastic cover was capable of shaving your legs so thoroughly upon explosion, you might never need to shave them ever again due to the absence of several layers of skin and hair follicles.  Thank God I was wearing jeans.  As was predicted by my ER doctor friend, other injuries will surface when the most intense injuries subside.  After four days of lying on the couch with my legs elevated and iced every hour around the clock, I was able to stand without tears accumulating in my eyes.  Then I realized my right shoulder was not working as well as it had been performing before the white car jumped in my path.  Yesterday x-rays were had and after two days of icing my shoulder every hour around the clock, we will hopefully have some answers tomorrow as to my gimpy limb.  When that is concluded, I do not know what will make me cry next…. the seatbelt bruise line across my entire torso?  Or some other area still in shock waiting to surface.  I will surely keep you posted, even though I am aware of “women’s tea rules of courtesy” of not speaking of sickness or operations.  This ain’t a tea…. it is my blog, and where else can I complain with my sense of humor intact for the enjoyment of others?

5.  God takes care of His children.  When God found our new-to-us van on November 30, 2012, He was testing my thankfulness at receiving such a good and perfect gift from Him, despite it being red.  Red is my least favorite color.  But I WAS thankful for the van… the low miles, the reasonable price, the stow-n-go compartments to haul more junk, the awesome air-conditioning, the radio controls on the back of the steering wheel, etc.  And I was content knowing that I couldn’t see that it was red while I was riding in the van. I imagined that it was a purty royal blue color.  So I am pretty sure I passed the red van test and now get another new-to-us van that is not red.  I will keep you posted.

Currently my pain meds have once again done their duty and I am ready to drift back to a psycho-dream filled sleep.  Good night for now.

The TP Nazi Rises Again

The TP Nazi topic has come up here before.  Yes, I am the TP Nazi in this house…. and any other house where I am staying long enough for more than one sit down.  But for today, I shall leave alone the topic of which way the paper rolls off the roll.

Today’s topic: empty cardboard rolls and the uncaring, or possibly unaware, people who leave them in their wake.  GAH!  I am pretty sure that I am the only one in our family of SIX who places the new roles on the dispenser in our downstairs Elvis bathroom.  What I am not sure about is how it is always perfectly the right amount of TP for the last person…. makes me wonder…. did they plan it? Did they skimp?  Probably none of my business, I know.

Even in our master bedroom bath, my sweet husband does get a new roll of TP out of the cupboard, but leaves it on the floor right under where it should be placed on the roller.  It’s OKAY!  I’m here.  I got it!  Please don’t go through any extra effort while you’re in there.  Relax. I got your back.  From my childhood, I remember my father calling this the “height of laziness.”  Wise man.

Yesterday, however, I was shopping at a mom and pop used bookstore for about two hours and I needed to visit their facilities. Low an behold… the cardboard roll was waiting for me, making me feel at home in this home away from home.  After digging through their supply closet, I restocked the dispenser and went on my happy way, knowing that I just made life easier for another person and had done my job that I’m called to do here on earth.

Seriously, if I didn’t spend my time as the TP Nazi, there would be empty rolls all over the Valley of the Sun!  If you go into a bathroom in Phoenix and the roll is new and coming over the top, know that I was there before you and thought of you.  :o)  You’re welcome, people.

Dr. Doolittle, I Think Not

Never have I been accused of being an animal lover.  We had a few pets during my childhood in suburbia Northern California, but never a dog and only once for a short time, a cat.  The kitty caused my brother’s eyes to swell shut, so she didn’t stay long at all.  But I did have the joy of picking out Meow Mix back in the day when the Meow Mix song was popular, hence making me popular. I was nine, it didn’t take much.

Fast forward to  my ten-year-old daughter praying every night that God would change her mother’s heart (ME!) so that she could get a dog.  I about coughed up a lung the first time I witnessed her heartfelt petition to the God of the universe.  Anyway, the two-year vigil ended with God changing my heart… and for the past 9.5 years we have had Trixie, the Rat Terrier burrowing into our hearts and lives.

Foolishly I read Dr. Doolittle to my children years ago.  Unmistakably, that was a cockamamie move on my part. Yes, we did do a stint with younger boys who NEEDED tadpoles, then frogs of course, lizards, mice, a hamster named Teddy, chickens, fish, turtles, and a hermit crab named Elvis.  Truly I felt that I did my time.  Of course there were requests for a horse.  Thankfully we live in an HOA that doesn’t allow for horses.

Then Christmas 2011 did me in.  It was December 23rd at 10:15 p.m. and my husband and I were sitting on the blue couch when my cell phone notified me of the arrival of a message.  Who would be texting me that late?  Of course it was a friend who had a friend who had a baby wiener dog FREE for Christmas.  Good grief.  We were sitting ducks.  The next day I called another friend who got a baby wiener dog for Christmas the previous year and DIDN’T keep it!  I gave her all my reasons for not taking the free dog, and she solved each dilemma as it arose…. we would need a crate.  She had one.  We would need a doggy door.  She had one.  And her reason for returning the puppy was because she was never home to train it….. she pointed out that we are ALWAYS home.  We homeschool.  We don’t leave the premises unless it is for church or a library trip.  So we got sucked into Ringo the wiener dog who has been snuggling with us for over a year now.

I still cannot believe I have two dogs.  Linda Ann Crosby… NOT a dog person, has two dogs, and probably will have two dogs for another five to seven years.  Unbelievable!  I can hardly believe I am writing a blog about dogs.  I am not a dog person.  Didn’t I already say that?

So the moral of the story is DON’T READ DR. DOOLITTLE to your kids if you truly want to do little.  BAM!