Puperazzi

Poor Peepers, it's not easy living your life in a fishbowl...

He just wants to get into character and lose himself in the role. (He's Pup-in-Boots today)

But instead his adoring fans keep asking, "How much is that puppy in the window? The one with the waggly tail?"

I am beyond smitten.

I Wasn't Busy Enough

So I went out and adopted a puppy. He's an 8 week old Maltese, Poodle, ??? mutt and the cutest freaking thing on the planet. It's official, I've lost my mind.

But when I saw the huge smile on Grandmother's face - the happiest she's been since her little dog died - I knew all the puppy training and work will be worth it.

Not Homework

It's amazing how having three weeks, one day, 10 hours, and thirty-seven minutes (but who's counting) until finals week inspires me to do all KINDS of things...

I really want to make a quilt.

The kitchen cabinets need to be thoroughly cleaned out and the wood oiled.

It would be so nice to be able to have a single bay of our FIVE CAR DETACHED GARAGE to park my car in - maybe I'll clean it out.

Boy does Thing 2's room need to be painted. And re-decorated.

DAMN that mudroom is a mess, time to sort out all the crap.

And I have laundry, cleaning, and cooking that needs to get done.

Funny how none of the jobs calling my name are homework. Even though that is what I have GOT to get done. Or waste a bazillion dollars. And suffer being mocked by my family.

But look what needs to be done that is NOT HOMEWORK...

Spelling Simpleton

I am a good speller. A friend of mine claims that spelling knowledge is contained in an optional lobe of the brain - some people have it and some people don't. Luckily for my k-12 career, I got the spelling lobe. (I didn't get the foreign language one but hey, you can't have everything.)

But there are some words that my brain has decided it will not allow me to learn the correct spelling of.

No matter how many times I write it, say it, spell it out loud, or tattoo it on to my forehead, I will always have to correct the word 'restaurant'. (Red underline just now, I spelled it wrong.) It's a stupid word that should be spelled 'resterant' and whoever decided on the spelling is obviously a mental miget. Er, midget.

As I grow older however, my spelling lobe seems to be shrinking. Or shriveling. Or melting. Because I am LOSING WORDS.

Now I can't spell 'refrigerator' or 'vacuum' correctly the first time. And for the love of GOD I misspelled 'friend' the other day. 'FRIEND'. WTF?

We're not going to talk about 'miget' up there. It'll be our little secret.

So is it only me? Am I the only one with road blocks going up left and right in my grey matter? Do I have brain bugs eating the few brain cells I have left?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend some quality time with Messieurs' Merriam and Webster.

Weeks into Minutes

October 24th was Daughter's sixteenth birthday. The extended family came, I ordered fancy cupcakes, the house was decorated in black and white Halloween decor, I hung a fancy banner I made in AUGUST (knowing I wouldn't have time to make anything after school started) and we all had a fabulous time - while Daughter spend the entire party in her room, sick with what we later realized was a very nasty case of the flu.

The Undertoad had struck with a vengeance.

But Grandmother got to hold the newest member of the family for a long time while he napped. Here they are, the newest and oldest members of the family - Grandmother 94 and Bubba 7 weeks.

The Undertoad was nowhere to be found the following weekend though! BFF Cousin and I took Daughter, Bee, Baron Munchausen, and Monty to Seattle for an overnight adventure. We shopped, took a limo from the hotel to dinner, our limo got INVADED by zombies leaving ZombiCon at the Seattle Center, Baron M tried to start a food fight at Buca de Beppo's, we played games at GameWorks and then walked back to the hotel in the rain stopping for lots of funny pictures on the way. Like this one...

Four teenagers = three 6s Get it? Six-Six-Six? Teenagers are evil? Nevermind...

Then this past weekend, the Undertoad returned. Grandmother's sweet little dog George went to the big pet park in the sky. He was fourteen - born the same summer as the Things - and will be sorely missed by everyone.

It's been a roller coaster for the past few weeks, and with the holidays fast (way too fast) approaching it promises to continue. But we're hoping for no more Undertoad in our lives for a very long time.

Apropos of Nothing

Did you know a group of owls is called a Parliament? I sure didn't.

Tired

I want to tell you about daughter's family birthday party that she missed because she got horrendously sick.

I want to tell you about how she got her nose pierced for her sweet 16 gift from Husband and I.

I want to tell you about how she pulled the stud out of her nose by accident and by the time I got home it had closed up so now instead of a nose piercing she has a tiny scab on her nose.

I want to tell you about the amazing sweet 16 celebration daughter had with her friends after she got well.

I want to tell you about a lot of things.

I want to show you a shitload of pictures.

But I'm very very tired. School, kids, housework, Grandmother, and the eleventy-bazillion things I have on my plate are wearing my ass out.

I want to tell you about a lot of things. One of these days I will.