Notes to Self and Lessons Learned This Week

• Strawberry-topped blueberry waffles are heavenly.

• Strawberry-topped blueberry waffles splattered majestically all over the floor beside the computer desk are a tragedy.

• The dogs will not eat the strawberry topping from strawberry-topped blueberry waffles.

• Strawberry topping will not, will NOT come out of carpeting.

• Think of a good explanation for the massacre that surely took place right here at my feet.

• Eating at the computer is dangerous bidness.

• When my child wakes up from his nap and brings me his bagged soiled diaper in one hand and a fresh one in the other - it's probably time to consider potty training.

• Cheese that has become too brown (read that: black) in the oven can be covered by more cheese and served to hapless missionaries - and they will actually wolf it down.

• Missionaries really WILL eat anything.

• Although now that I think about it, they later tried to set my middle child on fire.  "Object lesson in faith" they called it.  I'm thinking they were really trying to sacrifice him in some bizarre "vengeance from the burnt cheese" missionary ritual.

• Squirrels will eat anything, too.

• If you sit still long enough while at a picnic in the park, they'll sit on your lap and tell you their squirrelly woes.

• Or maybe they'll just scootch up beside you and swipe a cracker or two.

• The "ideal thermostat temperature" will feel FREEZING when you're outdoors on a cloudy day and a chilly wind is involved.  Oops.

• Kids are completely oblivious to cold when a playground is involved.

• There's nothing quite so cute as two little men looking like two little old men.

• When you're three, there's no hurt a bandaid can't heal.

• Irony rawks.

• When you're running late, poo shoe happens.

• In a pinch, no-wax floor cleaner will work to clean a poo shoe.

• I'll never get tired of the facial expressions exhibited by a deep-thinking three year-old.  Never.

• I now have proof of just how mentally damaging video games can be.

• Send out a search and rescue for the teenage gurly of the house.  I swear there's one around here, somewhere.  I haven't seemed to really catch her in ages.

• I wonder if I could lure her to the kitchen table with strawberry-topped blueberry waffles?

Love Tastes Like Butter

Scout proudly sauntered into the bedroom this morning carting a tray laden with all manner of breakfasty goodness.  He said, "this was made with EXTRA love, Mommy!"  I nibbled and said, "Yes, I can taste it!"  So now I know.  Love tastes like butter.

I didn't know what it tasted like, but I've seen it all week.

In Scout's pride and honour:

In Chase's comfort:

(Who knew a blankie could also serve as a loin cloth in a pinch?)

In slave labour service:

In brotherly bonding:

Even in Heavenly Father's smallest creations:

And maybe sometimes love tastes more like ice cream than butter.  Especially if it's the first ice cream cone eaten in one's lifetime:

So even though I've been dreading Mothers' Day for many reasons . . . I couldn't doubt the love in my home.  And my family pulled through.  They bestowed me with a few treasures:

(All I can see is "Island Getaway" and I eagerly await the tickets.)

They cooked for me, they cleaned for me.  They worked as hard as possible to get along with each other and not get any blood on the carpet.

And when Mr. Mister attempted to wake me for church, he accepted without judgment or argument that I simply did NOT wish to go, and that was that.  Not today.  Not on Mothers' Day.  Not on the annual guilt-laden religious reminder that I never had an ideal mother and will never be one.  And not when I am wracked with sadness and concern for my sister's children, who are experiencing their very first mother-less Mothers' Day today.  I  know how that is and it's horrid.

And so I was able to sleep luxurious sleep, and forget for that much longer that it is Mothers' Day at all.

THAT, my friends, is love.

Dawg Daze

Our house is practically empty these days.  We only have two adults, two rats, three kids and three dogs.  That's a one to one pet:person ratio.  There was a time when our house was a menagerie of animal madness.  I contemplated charging an entry fee at the front door; we could have made a bundle.  "The Jinxiefoo Petting Zoo."  At one point, our bitty rambler contained:

• Four box turtles
• A bearded dragon
• A lizard or gecko or some manner of non-bearded dragon cricket-chomping reptile who provided hours of entertainment by hiding under a rock
• A sun conure (which is a small parrot capable of incomprehensible . . I'll call it "sound."  It can and will make your ears bleed.  But he had the cutest.personality.ever.)
• Two ferrets
• Two cats
• Three dogs
• Five - count 'em, FIVE - tropical fish aquariums.  (Aquaria?) 

We have also, over time, owned a rabbit and a cockatiel.  I heart birds - I heart them hard.  But for some reason, I have bad bird juju, and they don't last long in our home.  Maybe an animal really can be spoiled to death?  It just figures that the one "aminal" (as Vee called them for years) that I would want above all others isn't a keeper.  

I have to keep my guard up around here because I live in a house full of Animalmaniacs.  If it were up to THEM, we'd have our very own Dolittle Farm.  Pigs and goats and horses and llamas and the whole bit.  I'm sure we'd have close to twenty dogs by now.  Just call us the Bumpuses. It's not that I don't love animals.  Of course I do!  They're cute.  I like to pat them on the head.  But they also tend to do things like . . . lick yucky things.  And then lick ME.  And they're just one more creature in this house to serve food to. THEN - to add insult to injury - what goes in must come out, right?  In my experience, with animals, this often occurs in rather inconvenient places.

So I'm thrilled at our measly three dogs!  Even Cujo.  Cujo is a police dog.  He looks pretty, doesn't he?

And he is.  He's even sweet and affectionate - with adults.  Adults who aren't running away from a crime scene or waving weapons around, at least.  But he's nervous and nippy around little boys.  Perhaps he considers them a threat to society?  So, alas, he has been shunned from little boy contact.  He's a good worker, though.

We adopted our two terrors "terriers" from our local animal shelter.  

For Scout's eighth birthday, his Daddy drove him over to pick up a particular dog he had in mind.  But Scout never did see that dog.  He stopped in his tracks in front of Rex's cage.  He studied him for a long while, and then said, "Daddy . . . this one wants to go home with me."  And so - he did.  I'm quite glad of it, too.  For you see, Rex here is the good son.  He's my favourite.  If he had any kind of self esteem, he would know it, too.  He snuggles.  He plays fetch.  He comes when called.  He looks cute wearing a bandana.  What more could anybody possibly want in a dog?

And then . . . there's Belle.  Belle is part terrier, part hound and it's not a good combination.  She has the insatiable need to hunt.  This apparently can't be done to her satisfaction within the walls of our home, so she unceasingly plots her escape.  Any little crack in the door and she is GAWN, baby.  And when she returns, shamefaced, she is almost always caked nose to tail-tip in mud.  She's a bunny-killing digging little Houdini beeyotch.  Not to mention that she's a face-licker.  ::shuddershudder::  She rules the Jinxieville animal kingdom, for sure - even puts Cujo in his place.  I suspect it won't be long before she takes on the entire world. 

I fear for the bunnies.

Scenic Route

You know how if you see something long enough, you stop seeing it at all? (I'm still waiting for this phenomenon to apply to my thighs. It'll be so nice when it kicks in!) I can't BELIEVE that I didn't think to take a picture of my neighbor's field and include in my "Landscapes" post. I pass by this beautific scene every day that I actually leave my  house. It's even more breathtaking when their adorable little horsey family is scattered about, with the frolicky foal and nudgy mama. (What? I don't sound like a local? Surely you jest.)

Landscapes

This week's picture theme was "landscapes."  One thing I'll give you about living in the country - the view is gorgeous.  It couldn't be better if it was dipped in chocolate and served on a silver platter.

Life

 

Fresh and determined, a sprout breaks through

From the dull grey sea - a glint of amber reflection.

Across the dark earth, more and more splashes of colour spring forth

 

Hiding under shadows, feeling meek and shy

A glimpse of white, a blush of pink, flirting with the sky

 

I stand, head a-whirl

With the thoughts of a girl

Hold fast to her name

She’s gone -

Dare I remain?

Through heartbreak heavy and thick with the sorrow of times yet spent

A slow and steady trickle of peace seeps, undetected

And breaks through

Revealing emotions

Buried under shadows and hidden from the sky.

A glimpse of grin, a peek of hope, an answer to my “why.”

 

I stand, alone

With my face toward the sun

Grasping warmth, gasping air

I’m here –

With my life to share.