introducing Milo, the wonder dog

So here is Milo (not the sharpest tool in the shed/smartest dog in the park/one taco short of a mexi plate) after getting what he deserved when going through the garbage. I really did want to help him, really, as he completely panicked and started violently running in circles and smacking into walls, but I was laughing WAAAAAY too hard.

Daddy and Moose rocking and rolling...their leather pants are in the mail...
The lovely spring view from my front window. Ahhhhh, are the tulips up yet?

I should have called it 3 Kid Misadventures

-yet another fort- -i don't like this photo; he hardly looks like

a baby!-

So we recall, don't we, the day Gianni split open his noggin and got cheery blue stitches? One month later (to the day mind you) he decides to spend some quality time in the hospital. I'm going to give you the reader's digest condensed version, because, let's face it, this blog has a reputation for being amusing and silly, and well, this story isn't funny. And it won't be in 20 years either. But for those of you who haven't heard the story, here goes:

We all have The Crud, The Cold, The Plague, whatever you want to call it, all last week. Coughs and runny noses and low grade fevers, etc. Not really too terrifying, and those of you who know me at all know I am not one of those people who rush to the doctor every time someone in my house sneezes. In fact I usually wait, stubbornly refusing to admit to being sick, until I finally give in and go and have to perform interpretive dances or charades to explain my ailments due to having no voice, and as a result learn I have numerous ailments that I could have avoided had I paid enough attention to the symptoms earlier. I digress. Follow the bunny trail. Anyway, I decide to take Moose to see his doctor because he was really sleepy and lethargic even though his symptoms weren't nerve wracking. Sure enough, when we get there the doc says he won't need any prescriptions, we'd just use a nebulizer to help loosen up his chest/lungs. Sounds like a good idea. Note to you: not if you have a severe peanut allergy. So the ingredients in the air that we are purposely blowing down his throat are plummeting his oxygen. We can't figure out this reason until much later. Taken by ambulance to the hospital later. Anyway, this was supposed to be short, so to sum up: he's fine now. We stayed the night (always a treat...yum, hospital food ) and got to leave the next evening. I meant to take a photo of the banana I ordered for the poor hungry baby who got a great breakfast of cheesey egg products with hashbrowns and a side of milk (I guess they were just trying to finish the little guy off and thus never let us leave).* The same man who burst open the door at a bright and early 6:55 am after we had just fallen asleep a half hour before, yelling "Health and Nutrition!" is kind enough to bring a half of a brown banana, wrapped in saran wrap on a wilted lettuce leaf with a $3.20 pricetag. The photo was to make you chuckle and make me cry tears of the financially unstable, but I didn't have the camera. I'm just so thrilled to find out what the little Master of Disaster has in store for me in April.

Here's something funny: yesterday I wore flipflops and a skirt and a short sleeved shirt to the park where we played in the sun all afternoon, and today we have blizzard watches and it's snowing and it's blowing so hard you can't keep your eyelids open and all the highways outta here are shut down. Funny to you actually, no one here is bursting out with spontaneous giggle fits. Where is spring?! If it doesn't get here how in the world will I have time to properly kill all the stuff I plant in my garden? That kind of black thumb activity takes some time to plan, people, don't underestimate the dedication of the horticulture-challenged.

Oh, and if any of you are keeping a tally from the past decade of Who's Hit The Garage While Parking, here are the updated scores:

Mike:2

Lyssa:2

It's really too close to call at this point in the game/marriage.

I know this is getting really long, and if you've made it to the end, bless you. One more thing before I go this week:

I should have my parenting license revoked when it comes to birthdays. This occured to me when Anna's latest fish expired the other day (this is #6 since her birthday in January). Happy birthday, Roosky, let's learn about death and the circle of life instead of receiving a Barbie like a normal little girl. Poor kid. Let's revisit, for the sake of my humility, some other birthday mistakes I've made. There was the homemade cake that I left too close to the edge of the table and the dogs licked off all the pink, made from scratch frosting, and the candy monkeys. We ate it anyway because I was too cheap to go replace it with a storebought one (see below post). There was the year I canceled Cora's birthday camping trip that we had planned with all her buddies because it was over 100 degrees and I was pregnant. This would have been alright since our Plan B was to take her to the drive-in theater that night. But it sold out and we waited in line in our car for over an hour, and most of her pals got there before us and got in but she didn't. Happy birthday, Cora. Maybe next year I can run over her dog or burn down their dollhouse or something since I'm on such a roll. Big sigh. Anyway, those of you with fish knowhow, please share your wisdom as Anna has gone from tears and sobs (death of Swimmy) to a few sniffles (deaths of Ghosty, Blaze, and Tiger) to a brief farewell (catfish I don't recall name of now) to a cheery flush down the toilet with a "all drains lead to the ocean, dude!" (Marina). Me thinks her grasp of death may be too mature for a seven year old at this point.

* G. is allergic to all forms of dairy, especially egg, and also potatoes. He's a Denny's waitress' nightmare.

money, money, money

So this is yet another post about nothing, just random and strange musings, this time about the almighty dollar. I was watching Oprah this morning as a good little stay-at-home mom does (actually it's the first episode of watched of that show in months and months but she had chefs on and I love those brilliant people!) and she was doing this show on saving money because of the recession (who really needs a reason to save money though? Well, besides Oprah I mean). Enough with the parenthesis already, right? Sorry. Anyway, I always watch those types of money saving shows and read the money saving articles and peruse the money saving books, looking for even more ways to shave the ol' budget. It's just amazing to me though some of the things they come up with. Stop getting takeout five times a week? Are you joking? Make your own coffee instead of buying a $4 latte every morning? Who does that anyway? Do we really need someone to tell us to downsize the house and cars and entertainment? Seriously? It boggles my super-thrift mind. I have yet to actually hear about something that could save me some bucks (except for those coupon cutting ladies who basically get their groceries for free: that still confuses me too much to try). Oops, more paranthesis. I have been cheap, cheap, cheap since I was a kid. Here's are some excerpts from my diary I kept as an eight year old in case you don't believe me:

7-3-86
'Today we went to the bank and I put in $11.17! Now I have $88.17!'

...and 6-14-86
'I am going to buy a colt from Jim and Carolyn for $153! It's a very good buy!'

...and 7-6-86
'I bought my cousin, Cacie, a bear from Ron's Box Store for $3.'

...and 9-23-86
'I got the cutest clip board from BiMart for .88! And a whole bunch of shoes for Barbie for .89!'

I could go on and on, but you get the drift and it's somewhat embarrassing besides.

I am the woman who has a drawer full of used ziplocks that I shake the crumbs out of and save, pieces of aluminum foil that I fold into nice symmetrical squares and reuse, and yup, even the twist ties get a second and third and forty-eleventy life at my house. Lately it's the paper towels. Did you know they are totally not kidding about Brawny?! You really can rinse them and reuse them! I know! This is exciting stuff. Except for those of you who are so bored you're drooling on the computer right now. The only problem is, no one else in my house does this, so I'm chasing kids around yelling, 'Don't throw that away! I can rinse off the egg and spilled juice and snot and we can use that paper towel to wash your face!' For some reason, this does not thrill my kids the way it does me. I had visions and daydreams about never buying another roll of paper towels again. Alas. It was not meant to be, but at least they're bought less often.

I have had a job and a checking account since I was eight. I really did buy that horse. All with my own money and then I fed and sheltered him all with my own money for years. Then I sold him to pay for pointe shoes and tutus. Oh, and that job I had as an eight year old? Some do-gooder turned me into Child Protective Services. For crying out loud. I was seriously annoyed. Laid off before the age of ten. I am obsessed with thrift stores and flea markets and garage sales. If I kept a diary today it would be full of all my good buys and written on Brawny paper towels. I wear shoes from the boy's department because they fit better and are half the price of woman's tennies. Besides the paper towel debacle, I wash plastic forks and spoons and reuse them for years. I drove my sister nuts when I was pregnant because she would bring over plastic table wear so I wouldn't have to wash it and thus save me some work. Then I'd load it all up in my dishwasher and she'd stare at me and say, 'I don't think you get the point...' If it gets cold in my house, I toss everyone a blanket, cuz they're paid for. I am also the woman who will go to three different groceries so I can get the best buys on absolutely everything. Cheese at Safeway, canned foods at WalMart, coffee at Big Lots, clearance produce at King Soopers, etc. Of course I probably use more gas that way, but don't rain on my parade, ok? The vast majority of my clothing is used and when Mike told me he didn't want to wear a shirt I bought him because I bought it used, back when we were dating, I almost broke up with him right then and there. I tell my kids they can have a new pair of jeans when they stop growing or when they get a job, whichever comes first. We smuggle in our own candy and drinks to the $1 theater and although I don't plan on stopping, I do recall Cora being about 5 years old and telling me, 'Don't worry, Mommy, if the theater police ask me why I have this stuff, I'll just tell them I am allergic to their stuff!' Maybe I am turning my kids into desperados, instead of teaching them that money doesn't grow on trees. You mean your children don't have nightmares about being chased by theater police? Oh well, with the cash I save through the years I'll have enough to pay for their therapy.

Lest you think I have it all figured out (what? you weren't thinking that? the drool is getting out of control and you're thinking about that instead?) I don't. We live check to check; such is the life and sacrifice of a stay-at-home mom. Mike is waiting patiently for the day when I pull out my secret brain surgeon degree and yell, "Surprise!" but until then, my love, it's recycled paper goods and dinners called 'goulash.' That's a fancy word for 'whatever's in the crisper drawer mixed with some eggs and a half a box of pasta.' Recipe to follow? No? Your loss.

I know I'm not the only one, people! Let me know how you can rival me in the thrift department!

notes from the dental chair

This week the whole Williams' fam-damily had dentist appointments. Since that was yes, the only note-worthy happenings in my whole month of March thus far, I am blogging about that. So if you have things to do of more pressing need than my random words of dental care, say organize your sock drawer or pluck your eyebrows or watch grass grow, then feel free to skip this entry. If not, well, I warned you.

The girl's dentist is one of those pediatric places. It's decorated with a jungle theme so picture if you will, dear reader, green walls, a painted starry sky, and tons of stuffed jungle animals all over the place. The entire staff is so fabulously sweet that I'm actually quite stunned you don't aquire cavities while you're there even if you had none when you walked through the monkey decorated door. It's their job to make the little kiddies comfy and keep them from melting down in fear, so they will spontaseously break into song or a short soft shoe number to keep the tears at bay. Their voices are like what you'd hear if you turned on Sesame Street and I can only imagine that when these professionals get home at night after a eight hour shift of pretending to be Mr Rogers on speed, they collapse on their sofa with a bottle of hard liquor and watch Spike tv all night. Both of the girls did wonderfully well; they are strange little chiclets, my kids, they adore going to the dentist. Of course maybe we all would if only our grown up experiences were like theirs. After getting their names on the Wall of Fame of No Cavities and collecting their goody bags stuffed crazy full of everything to do with teeth, they then get to collect tokens with which to get more crazy stuff out of their giant vending machines. They can hardly wait for the next six months to go by.

Now, I don't much mind going to the dentist either. This is because as a child I was taken regularly and as a result of that, plus fairly good brushing and totally not flossing except for the morning that I go, and the fact that my mom had ninja like abilities to knock anything sugary out of my hands from fifty feet "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" style. So, I have never had a cavity or braces or a root canal or anything worse than a vigorous cleaning. Last time when I first got to Wyoming I figured I'd better go and I was bracing myself for cavities because after being pregnant with Moose who gave me heartburn like I had swallowed the Sahara Desert whole, I ate Tums like they were going out of style all night long, and I was too tired to brush my teeth as recommended. No cavities, but I did get Helga the Hygenist who made my gums bleed like crazy while she chattered on about her life. Then the doctor came in to take a look like they always do, and here was an excerpt from our conversation:
Doc: Why do you have a chip in your front tooth?
Me: Well, I was sewing a baby blanket for my twin neices and nephew a few years back, and the needle got stuck in the fleece, and I pulled it out with my teeth.
Doc: Oh my Lord! Hey, Loretta! You gotta hear this one!
Me repeating the story three more times to a crowd.
Doc: Well, doesn't it bother you?
Me: Uh, no, not really, seeing as how I can't see it from my perspective.
Doc: Well, it bothers me!
Me: Well, by all means, we want you to be comfortable.
Doc: Agreed! Let's file that sucker down.
Filing commences, complete with the smell of something burning. I learn later, this is my tooth.
Doc: Oh my, I feel so much better!
Me: FladIcoodgelp. (Glad I could help).
And I didn't even get tokens or a song and dance number either. But I'm not complaining exactly. Mike is there as I type and I'm sure he's being tortured in strange and new ways that I can update you all on later in the week.

post script

I'm sorry that several of you have tried posting comments (all half dozen of my loyal readers anyway!). I would love to tell you why some of you can and some of you can't and some of you can some of the time but not all time, but I really don't know the answer. But thank you for the kind emails - I love hearing from you in any way, shape or form! So I tweaked something from my end, maybe tweak something in your settings and it may work. ;)