a. lot.

i. love. my. puppy.

Standing at the counter drinking my first cup of coffee this morning he says: "I don't know what it is, I just don't enjoy coffee that much anymore." He then proceeds to lift the pot, pour the remainder of our morning joe into his cup, his second cup of the morning, rethink his decision and pour it down the sink.

Ranks right up there with "I don't like ice cream." as he finishes the last Slim-a Bear.

Or, "I don't really drink that much soda anymore." except for my last Diet Pepsi in the fridge. 

Or one of my personal favorites: "You want bananas?" "No." But I want bananas so I buy them anyway. Mysteriously while I lay fast asleep all but one of the bunch disappears from the bowl before breakfast.

But I love him, yes I do.

 

opera therapy...

Not sure why I started singing really. Not that big a deal maintaining the flow between the sink and the dishwasher and the cabinets. Doesn't make me perspire. Doesn't make me strain aging muscles or summon what brains I have. It just never ends. And there are only two of us. Anyway, we got home from church and before sitting down I mustered up a smidgen of discipline (forced by the expected arrival of a few people John and Sha were bringing over to swim) and began "the routine". Clean dishes away. Dirty ones loaded. Which at last brings me to the singing. And the therapy. 

I began singing in silliness something to the effect of, "how glad I am to be the only one gifted enough to load the dishwasher..." It immediately evoked an equally silly response from the husband laying on the sofa. "if you want I could swap you for the mowing of the lawn and the cleaning of the pool.." What unfolded was quite the gripe session disguised as a comic operetta. Ten minutes this went on. By the time we finished our melodic venting we were both laughing so hard we couldn't stop.  The funniest response was Kevin's but I am unable to share it here. Let's just say he brought the house down :) We're both thinking seriously about writing a book. Or at least a singing seminar or two...

Of course she has a stroller.

Of course it's pink.

Of course you're going to make fun of it.

Of course we can no longer be friends.

gimme some of that...

When Shawna was small I remember reading the tip to store away groups of toys and rotate them to avoid playtime boredom. Adopting this theory (as well as keeping Kevin in happyland)  I keep Mylie's growing collection in a basket by the door. Prepping for a long Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, knowing I'd be gone a lot, I decided to throw caution to the wind Monday morning and proceeded to toss every toy she has on the living room floor for her delight. She seriously didn't know which one to grab first. Or after that. She's just the cutest thing.

So I'm laying on the couch watching "Last Comic Standing" and Mylie runs to the kitchen to grab a snack. She brings it back to the living room, plops down and munches happily away. I'm not really paying that close of attention to her since I'm watching TV, but all of a sudden she jumps on the couch, runs up my legs and plops on my chest giving me the puppified equivalent of hugs and kisses. Joy like this is simply hard to come by some days. And as spontaneous as her burst of affection is the swell of tears and fear of realizing she'll up and die one day. As warped as it sounds, it's a process, this opening of a heart...

Mylie loves sitting by these doors. When they are open she pesters the little dog behind our house. They bark back and forth at each other and never see one another. 

Mylie and her duck, that incidentally hit the skanky stage a week ago. She has a basket brimming with toys but this is her new fav. We enjoyed it as well until the quacking went a little psycho and doesn't always shut off. Need to try and wash her little webbed buddy.

I suppose kids and puppies are susceptible to bias even by nominal parents but this gal's always been more of an over-the-top kind o' gal so in all things Shawna and Mylie I think I have known great favor. Look. at. that. face.

So I got to work yesterday (Wednesday) and John says from his office, "Happy Anniversary!" I could tell from the look on his face, he was pretty pleased with himself for remembering.  I said, "Thanks. You know it was Monday?"  He was devastated and puzzled. He had put it in his iCal and guess who told him June 4th? Gotta love my Kevin. Now, how he managed to tell John the wrong date and still remember we hit #24 on  Monday is beyond even the likes of me. Just thought it was funny seeing the air leave John's puffed chest.

Points for trying.

So the storm sirens went off at 2:00 in the morning Tuesday. We grabbed Mylie, a flashlight, my cell phone and the kitchen TV and headed to the basement, calling Shawna on the way. By 2:45 we were all back in our beds. Tuesday night we were expecting more weather and this time I sat my purse by the basement door, placing inside my make-up bag. I slept with my hand on my cell phone. Thankfully, no alarming activity. I told my sister I thought about placing my favs in a sturdy container of some sort against the basement wall if this is going to be a recurring process. I also told her I thought about sleeping fully clothed, fully presentable. In case. I also told her it would be my luck to have a twister upon us when I'm enthroned on the toilet. So imagine the look on my face when 30 minutes ago the sirens go off and I'm. Well, there. They should inform folks like me they rescheduled the weekly Tuesday drill for Thursday this week in light of the weather on Tuesday. Not amused. Not. Amused.