Pets in da Hood

As I have stated before, our family has 2 pets; Nemo, the big blonde lab and Rascal, the tiny fuzzy tom cat. The 2 get along famously, playing and napping together all day, the picture of domestic bliss. Unfortunately we live in ‘da hood’, and so our bucolic life is often disrupted by squealing tires, shouts of anger and occasionally gunfire. The Lord is gracious, so our family is safe; it’s the surrounding area that is fraught with dangers. Even our pets have acclimatized to the tense atmosphere and react accordingly: when a fight breaks out, or someone starts shooting, big Nemo will whine and claw desperately at the door, trying to get inside and underneath something. There he will stay, trembling, until the danger has passed. Then he will cautiously emerge and slip back out on the porch, nervously scanning the horizon for any new sign of danger.
On the other hand, when Rascal hears of a scrap in the neighborhood, he will demand to be let out. Then he will saunter to the fence, jump up on the rail and start throwing gang signs! More than once I have had to drag him back inside while he spits, curses and shouts taunts over my shoulder about their mothers – yikes! He was trying to tie a bandana on his head, but with no thumbs .. well, it was difficult. The neighbors have complained of spray painted paw prints on fences and garage doors, but just because the empty paint cans are in our dumpster doesn’t mean it is our cat that’s the culprit! When we adopted him, they failed to mention his felonious past. I guess we should have picked up on it when they were taking the home detention bracelet off prior to handing him over to our ‘custody’. Any hoo, innocent until proven guilty, so Rascal is free on his own recognizance and the paint is locked in the garage, and if anyone tries to assault Nemo, he just says
‘Say hello to my little friend!’

Shopping with Papa Gene

Papa was taking us shopping! It was August and the astronomical temperatures were making even the smallest tasks unbearable – but we had to go to the store. So, Papa Gene had volunteered to take the little ones & I in his new, air-conditioned van! Now, Papa Gene and I were divorced quite some time ago. We had stayed together for many years because of the kids (neither one of us wanted full custody). At first we went at it toe-to-toe. But, after a few years of legal maneuvers & restraining orders, we decided to call a truce. So I jumped at the offer of a ride in his ice cold van!
We were going to the Canned Food Store, & the plan was simple: Papa would slowly push the cart with the kiddos in it down the aisles while I darted around the store, grabbing the items that we needed. “In and out in no time!” Papa beamed. “And, if you’re good, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home!” Immediately all 3 grandkids swore eternal obedience & sat as still as statues on the ride there. We parked close to the door and darted quickly inside before the blast of heat could affect us. And that’s when the trouble began …
At the Canned Food Store, they have special shopping carts which are designed to keep the little ones amused while the adults are relieved of their Hard Earned Cash. The carts are attached to molded plastic miniature cars, complete with tires & steering wheels. And there was one right inside the front door. The kids pounced on it gleefully, all 3 of them trying to wedge themselves in the tiny car. Aalyiha & Michael could fit inside, but there wasn’t room for 3, and since Zac was the oldest and biggest, I told him he would need to just walk beside the cart. He didn’t like it, but he realized that it would be a tight fit. So I left him and his Papa beside the cart and started to collect what we needed.
As I rounded the corner on my first trip back to the cart, I realized that Papa Gene had lost control of the situation. The little ones inside the cab were fighting like 2 cats in a sack over who would get to ‘steer’ the car. Zac, not wanting to be the only kid having to use his feet, had jumped on the car, straddling the cab with his legs & was bucking back & forth like a Bronc rider, spurring the side windows with his Nike’s and flinging one arm high in the air. He nearly lasted the whole 8 seconds, but I snatched him off by the scruff of his neck. I turned to the occupants of the car, but they had fallen silent, because the Steering Wheel had Come Off in Aalyiha’s Hand!! She climbed out of the car, held up the steering wheel, put her other had on her small hip & flatly stated “We need to tell the Manager.” Immediately Zac spun on his heel, marched to the end of the aisle & bellowed “WE NEED A MANAGER!”
Well, we got the manager, alright, PLUS the Head of Security, A.K.A. the produce guy. As I tried to explain what the ‘emergency’ was, Papa Gene was by the display of Large Print Red Letter Bibles swearing he’d never seen us before in his life. The Manager let us off with a warning, so I gave the kids The Look, stuffed the 2 little ones back in the car & started down the next aisle. Papa Gene slowly pushed the cart behind me, carefully navigating the curve. But just as he turned right, Michael shot his arm out of the cab & caught the corner of the bottom box in a display of breakfast cereal. When I heard the crash, my first impulse was to simply go wait in the van, but it was too hot so I followed the noise to the scene of the crime. Zac was laughing & shouting “Clean up on aisle 3!” while Aalyiha made Toasty-O angels on the floor. When I asked Michael what in the world he was thinking, he replied that since the cart was turning the corner, he had simply put his arm out to signal the turn. I could see Produce Boy heading our way, so I grabbed the cart with what little supplies were in it & got into the check-out line.
Aalyiha tugged on my sleeve, the universal sign for ‘I want to whisper something in your ear’. I bent down. “What are those things sticking out of Papa’s neck?” I patted her on the head
“Those are veins, sweetie.” She tugged again “They weren’t there a while ago.” She said.
“Don’t worry, Papa has medicine that he can take for that.” I tried to be reassuring, but she insisted: “Where is his medicine? Why doesn’t he take some right now?”
“He’ll take it when he gets home – besides, he prefers it on the rocks.”

Cat Hoarders ?

My parents, Randy & Daisy, are still alive and kicking. They live on about 40 acres in the heart of south central Kentucky – so beautiful! My Dad made the lawn look like a park, leaving trees and flowering plants but nurturing the grassy knolls in and around everything. There is a HUGE old barn, and a log cabin, which my parents restored and now live in. Talk about picturesque! And you should see it in the Fall! They are retired and almost self sufficient. We were ‘green’ before anyone else was. The last time I was back for a visit I went in October, when the humidity and the bugs were both at minimal numbers. There is something comforting about falling asleep in your mama’s house, and the sleep on that first night there is always fantastic! I woke up the next morning and my Dad had made coffee, so we sat at the table and visited while my Mom made breakfast; I felt like I was 12 again! While I was sitting there, looking out the big window by the table, I saw a couple of cats stroll out of the barn and up on the porch. My family has always been cat lovers, so no surprise there. But when I looked out the window a few moments later, there were 5 cats on the porch and 2 more in the yard. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I watched more and more cats appear, all headed for the front porch. And all the while my Dad was talking and laughing, seemingly oblivious to ‘The Cats’ that were silently stalking the house! Suddenly one of the cats jumped up on the window sill, then another, then another until 4 cats were perched there, staring intently inside, not blinking or moving. ‘Dad!’ I said ‘Get the gun – a herd of cats has surrounded the house!’ I kept thinking of that old movie about the birds – yikes! Dad turned around and looked outside. ‘Uh-oh, Mama, we better feed them babies!’ he said and opened the front door. Immediately a fuzzy wave of felines oozed inside, and my Dad grabbed a bag of cat food and started shoo-ing them back out with his feet while they rubbed against his legs, walked between his legs, climbed his legs, sharpened their claws on his legs.. I gotta tell you, I was a little freaked out. My Mom began to call them by their names, and tell me their medical history. Evidently they are free range cats, but have all signed up on the Lytle Health Plan so they are all fixed, cleaned, de-wormed, flea bathed, and whatever else the local vet can think of for my soft hearted parents to do for their little fuzzy friends. My Mom says more and more show up each year ‘It’s like they know they’ll be safe here.’ More like the locals ‘know’ where they can dump cats now that my parents have opened a Sanctuary. Any hoo, they weren’t keen on strangers, so I was unmolested during my visit – creeped out, but unmolested nonetheless. A cat here and there is fine – but when there are so many of them that they develop a collective consciousness, that’s when I make travel plans!

Mr. Jiggles

Our grandson, Zac is 14 now and turning into a fine young man. Well, he is beginning to turn into .. Ah, well, he is trying.. Never mind, he is a dork to the 99th power and proud of it. Every day he does something new that makes me reach for the Tylenol bottle. In the last 2 weeks, he has done the Erkle Dance on the front porch for the neighbors, complete with pants pulled up under his armpits and a WWII flying ace hat on his round head. Then he discovered ‘Mr. Jiggles’, where he takes his shirt off and shakes his white, rotund midsection as fast as he can, which produces waves of blab like throwing stones in a pond… which he also did on the front porch for the neighbors.. The latest installment of dork-dom was the Mohawk Haircut.. Just 3 weeks before school starts back, and his first time ever in High School. The neighbors gave it 8.5 out of 10, but I am thinking GUARANTEED wedgie, swirlie, beat down in the locker room (sigh). He is one of a kind, though, keeps us in stitches and his friends think he is the greatest! His Papa says ‘He’s a natural entertainer! One day he’ll be big in Hollywood!’ His Mom says ‘Pass the Tylenol.’ My life would be so dull if my Red Headed was just one of the crowd!
Besides,what would the neighbors do for entertainment on Friday evenings?

Why I love taking Paul with me to Wal-Mart

He likes to prance through the store singing ‘I’m FAB-u-lous!’
He always wants to buy candy ‘for the grandkids’ …
He holds up women’s clothing and says ‘does this make my butt look big?’
He likes to ride on the cart when I am not looking.
He likes to put cookies in the cart when I am not looking.
He likes to put power tools in the cart when I am not looking.
He waits until we are in a crowded aisle and then yells ‘Alex! Stop grabbing my butt!’
He wants to see if the Pharmacist has any free samples.
If they are playing music in the electronics section, he will start dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
He waits until we are all checked out and then says ‘I thought YOU were paying!’
Everywhere we go, he makes people forget about their problems for a few minutes and just laugh. It is so much fun to go shopping with him - he is my best friend!!

Kyeli's Routine

Wake up: 7:30 AM
Cereal and milk with big brother Drake: 7:45
Cereal and milk on the table, chair and floor: 7:47
Cleaning up Kyeli: 7:50 – 8
Combing Kyeli’s hair: around 8 AM
Catching Kyeli in order to comb her hair: about 10 minutes
Finally letting Kyeli just do it herself: about 20 seconds
Keeping Kyeli off the cat, out of the garbage & toilet: rest of the morning
Nap Time! Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!
Change Kyeli’s diaper: 1PM
Kyeli running through the house naked: 1:01
Kyeli shooting out the door on the front porch naked: 1:03
Cornering Kyeli on the porch with new diaper: 1:05
Kyeli peeing on the porch before you can get the diaper on: 1:05 and 30 seconds
Feeding Kyeli: 1:15
Kyeli’s food on the floor: 1:17
Dog & cat eating Kyeli’s lunch: 1:20
Kyeli eating off your plate with her grubby little hands: 1:25
Keeping Kyeli off the computer, the remotes, Moms makeup and the litter box: rest of the afternoon
Papa’s home! 5:15
Handing over Kyeli: 5:16
Peace and quiet until time for Night Night: about 2 hours
And the next day you start all over again!

my life as a pig farmer

Our family is famous for good ideas gone awry. We will have a plan, a good one, but there is always some detail that we have overlooked which brings everything to a screeching halt. For instance, there was the time we became pig farmers…
My former husband Gene (may he rest in peace) came in one evening from a trip to Idaho with his ‘partners’. Don’t ask me what they were partners in, but it was 50/50 all the way! He burst through the door and announced to the family that he had a sure fire money maker which would make the family fortune solvent again. He led us outside to the back of the pickup and there, in a cage full of straw were 2 small pigs. ‘We can fatten them up, then sell one and put the other one in the freezer!’ Gene explained as he lifted the cage gently onto the porch. The kids were aghast until I started naming pork products: bacon, ham, sausage, chops… soon we were all in agreement about the fate of the little pork-ettes. So, we made a makeshift sty and I started reading on how to fatten pigs. After about 6 weeks, we noticed that they were only slightly larger, and not exactly fattening up. I called a friend of mine over to see what I was doing wrong. She took one look and started laughing. ‘Those are not regular pigs, they are pot-bellied pigs, they’re not the eating kind!’. Just our luck! So we tried to sell them, but this was right after the ‘pig as a pet’ fad had passed and we couldn’t even give them away! All the while, I had to feed them and clean up after them – and they may have been miniature, but the BLEEPING smell was massive! This went on for about 2 months. Then one day, we pulled in the driveway from church, and there stood the pigs on the porch. They had broken out of their enclosure and were munching on my flower box contents. The kids piled out of the car amid shouts of ‘We’ll catch ‘em!’ and rushed the porch. But this is what happened; ever see birds in flight, how they all turn at once and go in a new direction? That is what those pigs did – at the speed of light! They were running so fast their little hooves were just a blur! And they were screaming their lungs out!! High pitched, shrill – sounded like I was murdering an entire pre-school class! They were weaving and bobbing, around and around the house, the kids right behind them laughing and yelling. One of the boys yelled for me to get the hammock and use it as a net. I grabbed it from the tree and stood at the corner of the house. Here came the 2 little race horses, and I dropped the net, but they were so fast I could NOT let go of the net quick enough to catch them! This went on for about 15 minutes, then they did an extra turn around the property to gain momentum and shot out the driveway and down the street… screaming like banshees, with all my kids in hot pursuit. The neighbors who had all come out to be eyewitnesses to whatever I was doing to my victims now joined in the pursuit, and after about half an hour they were rounded up and returned to my loving care. We couldn’t eat them and couldn’t find a buyer for them, so I was at my wits end! Two weeks later, we returned from church - again - and found the pig pen was empty. It was still intact, but someone had purloined our pigs! My son Andrew sized up the situation and said ‘Someone has stolen our pigs – Mom, you need to call the police!’ I thought a minute and then said ‘I will, son, I will… in a week or so.’ The next morning I placed the large bag of Pig Feed out by the curb with a note on it that read ‘You Forgot This’. It was gone when I returned home from work. From then on we had a new family motto: never invest in anything that eats.

Kyeli Strikes Again

Kyeli loves to swim and does it almost every day. Most 20 month old toddlers are fearless, and so is she. She tries to climb the little ladder like big brother Drake to do cannon balls, but she mostly just paddles around, splashing everyone and then tries to use the net to get the grass out that she carried in the pool on her feet. She will spend an entire afternoon getting in the pool, then getting out of the pool to grab the net and use it, then getting back in the pool – with more grass on her feet. It is hilarious to watch. And she already knows the sound of the ice cream truck, and will run grab her Papa by the hand to get some ‘keem’. Since she is still in diapers, the first thing her Mom does when she brings her out is strip her down and then turn her loose. Of course, we have had a few ‘accidents’, much to the horror of the older kids, but nothing’s been left floating in the pool or anything like that. Yesterday we were in the yard while she and Drake were swimming. Drake was acting like a dolphin, jumping in and out of the water, and Kyeli was circling the pool, buck naked and brown as a biscuit, trying to get the grass out with the net. After a few minutes she walked over onto the sidewalk, picked up one of the pool toys – and casually proceeded to pee on her feet, legs and the concrete. Her Mom ran over and grabbed the hose we were topping off the pool with and hosed her down from head to toe. Kyeli was left standing on the sidewalk in a puddle of water. As her Mom started back up the step to the porch, Kyeli knelt down - and started licking water from the puddle!! The neighbors had to come outside to see what all the screaming was about, as me, Mom, Dad, Papa and older brothers all chimed in, trying to stop little Sweet Sweet from Licking the Pee Water!! Aagghhrr!! How can such an angel be so nasty?? She just looked at us all like ‘wha..?’ as she wiped her chin and toddled back to the pool and jumped in.
Just thinking about her makes me smile and gag at the same time.

The (other) Cat in the Pool

Summertime at last! This time of year is so much fun, with cookouts and fishing trips and just setting on the front porch in the evenings, watching the grandkids play in the pool. Our family LOVES having a pool and every year we get it set up and ready for fun at the first sunny day that comes. When my kids were little, we had a HUGMONGOUS above ground pool, 18 ft across and 4 ft deep, which we practically lived in during the hot spells. They are a hassle to upkeep, though, because water does not just stay clean and clear on its own. As a matter of fact, the big fight every year was getting the pool ready to go in the spring – no one wanted to help me un-winterize it or clean it or fill it, so every year it was my job. Straightening the vinyl liner and scrubbing it would take 2 days – what a pain! One fall I had the bright idea of just leaving some water in the pool so in the spring I could just stir in some Clorox, give it a scrub and we’d be ready to go. So I left about a foot and a half of water in it, covered it tightly and let it marinate until May. The cover was just a couple of big tarps with weights on them, which worked pretty good, but by the time spring came around they had disintegrated and the pool was open for viewing. The clear blue water had turned into a brackish soup, and it had a bad smell. My kids and I were standing around it, trying to decide how ‘we’ were going to get THIS clean. My son, Noah, grabbed the rake and stuck it in the foul liquid and began to stir it around a little when suddenly something bubbled to the surface. Noah hooked it and started to reel it in, and then we saw what it was: a slimy bloated carcass of a stray cat, all grizzly and green, its twisted, foamy form rocking gently on the waves! Oh, Gawd, it was too horrifying for words to describe!! I am gagging just thinking about it!! Its eyes were still open and its lips were drawn back over its teeth like ghastly grin!! We all started screaming and gagging while Smiling Jack bobbed ever closer to the edge of the pool! So slimy and green – I can still see it! So repulsive was the object that it was the next day before we could overcome the gag reflexes and remove it from the pool. And if I had had trouble in the past getting volunteers to help me clean it, you can bet NO ONE would go NEAR it that spring! By the time I had the pool ready to go, there was so much bleach in it that birds flying overhead would hit the toxic cloud above our pool and nose dive into the back yard, totally overcome by the fumes. There was one good side effect – that year, none of the neighborhood kids even asked if they could swim !

The cat - again

We thought we were getting an inside cat when we adopted Rascal, the cute little black and white ball ‘o fur. He likes to eat inside, and sleep inside, but he would much rather be on the streets with his posse than chasing mice in our house. He slips outside every chance he gets to meet up with the neighborhood toughs, and when we try to call him in, he acts like he doesn’t know us. (Kind of like when you take your teenager to the Mall..) But, boy howdy, better not let that food bowl get empty! Then he starts yowling like the 3 minute warning on a missile launch! But he and I are not on the best of terms; I don’t like being shredded like cheese when he wants to ‘play’ and he does not like my foot up his BLEEP. So we have a wary truce, which I would NEVER violate.. Voluntarily. Paul and I left the house yesterday morning on the way to the Salt Mines. Paul opened my car door and up popped Rascal, stretching and yawning, evidently sleeping one off in the front floorboard of the car. I shooed him out, because we were a little late. I got the seat belt on and shut the car door suddenly when a 7.0 magnitude earthquake hit! The car was rocking back and forth and the noise was like a thousand fingernails on chalkboard with banshees singing backup! I peered over the edge of the car’s open window, expecting to see a gaping hole full of molten lava. Instead I saw the cat, clawing through the cold steel of the undercarriage like a chainsaw, ricocheting off the ground and the side of the car like a blurry fur covered pinball, and screeching his lungs out because I had CLOSED THE DOOR ON HIS TAIL!! ‘What the BLEEP!’ I quickly opened the door and he was gone in a flash. ‘Oh my gosh! Is he alright? Where did he go??’ I asked ‘I bet he is 2 counties away by now!’. Paul nodded toward the corner of the driveway. ‘There he is, by the fence, convulsing’ he said as he started up the car. ‘Oh no!’ I cringed. Paul just laughed. ‘No, just kidding, he’s just sitting there.’ As we pulled onto the street, I looked back toward the house. There was Rascal, peeking out from behind the fence, shaking his furry little fist at the retreating car.
I didn’t even know cats HAD middle fingers!

life from Kyeli's point of view

• Your Papa always buys ice cream and he keeps chocolate hidden in his bedroom.
• Teenage big brother Zac will give you whatever you want if you cry.
• The easiest way to carry a cat is by the neck.
• I can get water on my face in the tub, but you’d better not splash me in the pool!
• Cereal tastes better out of big brother Drake’s bowl.
• Making Drake yell is fun!
• Wiping my hands on my dress gets them clean enough.
• Why do you get upset when I stick my hand in your glass and get a piece of ice?
• You mustn’t say ‘no!’ to Mom… and if you do, even Papa cannot save you!
• .. but he will hold you when it is all over.
• Sharing suckers with the dog makes Mom and Nana yell.
• So does licking almost anything..
• They also yell when you bite, kick, scratch or pull hair.. or when you say 'BLEEP'.
• Moms and Nanas like to yell a lot.
• And Papa tries not to laugh out loud when they start yelling, or they will yell at him, too.

The Talk

When my grandson, Zac, was about 10 years old, he and I were having a quiet evening at home when he turned to me out of the blue and said “Nana, do you know what sex you are?”
‘YIKES!’ I thought ‘He wants to have The Talk!’

Immediately my mind began to race, trying to come up with a way to avoid this conversation. It’s a known fact, in our family, that if you give a kid money, he will shut up and go away – but all I had was a $20! There had to be another solution. I remembered when the day came for my Mom to have The Talk with me – only she didn’t say a word, she just handed me a little booklet with something about flowers blooming in the spring. To this day, I have no clue what that meant…. When my own sons were old enough, I took each one aside individually and calmly told them the truth. I would say “Son, sex kills. Avoid women at all costs for as long as possible!” (Needless to say, 12 grandkids later, that dog didn’t hunt!) Zac’s persistent little voice broke in on my thoughts and jerked me back to the present crisis.
“Nana – do you know what sex you are or not?” With a sigh of resignation I reached for my wallet.
“Yes, I do. I’m a female.” (Please, let him drop it! Please, let him drop it ...)
Zac stuck his little chest out proudly and gave it a resounding thump. “Well, I’m a male!” he proclaimed.
We sat there in silence for a moment, while cold sweat tricked down the back of my shirt. After what seemed like an eternity (about 30 seconds) I turned to Zac and asked “Did you want to say anything else about the subject?”
“Naw.” He picked up the remote. “We have been learning about stuff like that .. Oh! Wait!” He turned to me excitedly. “Do you know how babies are made?! A boy finds a girl he really likes, see and then they – “
“Whoa! Twenty dollars! Thanks, Nana!”

Juliard, here we come!

We have 3 ‘Zac’s in our family; Big Zac, the father of Kyle & Kayla, Medium Zac, Paul’s 16 yr old son, and then Little Zac, the 14 yr old grandson. Little and Medium reside here in our big house with the rest of the inmates. Medium is at the stage where he is almost an adult, and so has extra privileges, such as a later curfew that the others. One Friday evening he had been out past our bedtime, and when he came in, he simply crashed on the living room couch. So, Saturday morning, there was Medium, sprawled all over the couch snoring away. Now, if you want to sleep in at our house, it has to be away from the main living area, because most of us are early risers, including 19 month old Kyeli & her 3 yr old brother, Drake. That Saturday morning was no exception. By 8:15, 6 of us were awake and in the living room, sipping coffee and wondering where to sit. ‘Medium!’ Paul said, gently shaking his son. ‘Get up and go to your room.’ The only reply was a low groan and the covers pulled up over his head. ‘Zac! We need the couch!’ Zac just rolled over, burying his head further in the couch cushions. Just then Little Kyeli walked over to her Papa. She had a small white box in her hand, and she wanted her Papa to open it for her. Paul looked down at the package and started laughing. ‘Here you go, Sweet Sweet!’ he said as he opened the case and pulled out his harmonica. He handed the instrument to Kyeli (who LOVES playing the harmonica!) and she began to inhale and exhale with gusto. Uncle Medium pulled the pillow over his head and emitted a muffled expletive, which Kyeli mistook for ‘Louder, Kyeli, louder!’ She toddled over to the couch next to Medium’s covered head and renewed her efforts, only an octave higher. This went on for another 15 minutes, when finally Uncle Medium sprang up, cursing and stomping, and went to his room, slamming the door behind him. After a moment’s pause, Kyeli simply strolled over to his bedroom door, took a deep breath ..
‘And a One, and a Two..!’

Noah and the Numchucks

We were watching our granddaughter, Sofya, the other day while her Dad was at work. She is her Daddy’s best friend! She always says ‘My Daddy makes me laugh!’ Who knew that my macho son Noah would melt into a fuzzy puddle as soon as that little Angel came into his life! I remember when Noah was a kid: he channeled Chuck Norris for years, karate-ing anything in sight! When he was about 13, he talked us into buying him a real pair of numchucks with his hard earned savings. He was ecstatic! No human has ever had more joyous anticipation of being beaten and bruised than Noah on the day he received the numchucks! The idea behind using numchucks is to be able to swing them around in a precise manner, carefully choreographed and at a furious pace, which would scare the BLEEP out of anyone who wanted to do you harm! That way you can uphold the true Ninja code of doing no harm unless absolutely necessary while still proving that you are an apex predator! Noah’s confidence was such that on the very first day, he arranged for a demonstration for the family in our front yard. We all got our lawn chairs in a big semi-circle and proceeded to watch the show. Noah began his routine slowly, explaining how the whirling sticks would strike fear into the most dangerous criminal and would be the best deterrent ever! As the weapons spun faster and faster, we broke into spontaneous applause, marveling at such skill in a novice. Noah was in his element, the numchucks a blur in the wind when he misjudged a move and whacked himself Right Square in his manhood! Immediately the show was over, and his siblings started howling with laughter! His Dad looked at what was left of his son, writhing on the ground and said ‘He’s right – that would scare the BLEEP out of me! If he is man enough to knock his own BLEEPS off, ain’t NOBODY gonna’ mess with him!’
When Sofya is older, we will tell her the tale of her funny Daddy and his numchucks.

Nemo's Delicate Constitution

The 4th of July! What a weekend! We had the usual suspects over both days for food and playtime, grandkids up the whazoo, their parents acting like they are still 14 (‘Mom! He’s touching me’ … from the 30 year old!). Like always it is controlled chaos, but this weekend, there was gunpowder! Nemo, the dog, was a nervous wreck all weekend from all the firecrackers popping; and yes, they are illegal, but that did not stop anyone from using them in our neighborhood. You would think he would be used to hearing gunfire by now since we live in ‘da hood’, but it still made him jumpy. And, for some ungodly reason, 19 Month old Kyeli would not stop licking stuff! I am hoarse from screaming ‘No-no, Kyeli!’ as she slowly raised her brother’s sweat sock/my sandal/the cat/the mop to her lips. What the BLEEP is with licking every BLEEPING thing she comes in contact with?! Then she got an emery board, and wanted to file everything down – toenails, teeth, eyebrows – by the time she went Night-Night, I was exhausted! Saturday night was normal, gunfire and sirens in the distance, the usual. Sunday morning we were all up bright and early, little ones running around in pajamas, Nana in the kitchen, cleaning up from the night before. I had Little Zac give Nemo the left over spaghetti, got another one on the dishes, and started making breakfast. I love the sound of a house full of family! Paul was sleeping in, and the other adults were stumbling around like a scene out of ‘Dawn of the Dead’, lined up for coffee, when we heard the dog at the front door. Nemo was yelping and clawing at the door, desperately trying to get inside! One of the kids ran to open it for him, and he nearly knocked them down as he sprang inside. ‘Nemo, what the BLEEP!’ I thundered. I stuck my head around the kitchen doorway just in time to see Nemo leap to the center of the living room – and barf a stomach full of spaghetti on the carpet! For about half a second everyone froze – the only sound was saliva dripping from Nemo’s chin. Then the room exploded, grownups bellowing curse words, teenagers screaming and trying to flee the scene, younger kids gagging… and Kyeli, standing there, looking at it. She took one step toward the steaming mass and I flew into action. Well, maybe not ‘flew into action’, but I DID start screaming at the top of my lungs for somebody to kill the BLEEPING dog and someone else to clean up the BLEEPITY BLEEPING blob of barf. By the time I finished the sentence, everyone had evaporated into thin air, including Kyeli, who was scooped up by big brother as he dove thru the plate glass window and barrel rolled to safety. All the while, there stood Nemo, giving me the stink eye. This was not his first offense: for some reason he thinks that when his stomach is upset, he can only barf IN the house. The expression on his face read ‘Man, I almost didn’t make it this time! You guys need to get it together!’ He turned and strolled out the storm door that was still open from the mass exodus. Just then the bedroom door opened and in walked my Hero, my Best Friend, and the Legal Owner of the dog – my husband Paul. He ALWAYS remains calm and takes charge in perilous situations – it is his Coast Guard training. He took in the scene: retreating dog, steaming pile of barf, hysterical wife, and took immediate action by locking himself in the bathroom My only solution was to pour gas on it and set it on fire but my daughter Elanea came to the rescue and took care of it. The rest of the day was uneventful compared to that, and we had a safe and joyous Independence Day. But the BLEEPING dog is on borrowed time.

Things I learned from Kyle & Drake

LESSONS ABOUT 3 YEAR OLD BOYS:
1. They can be brave enough to jump off the high dive but still yell for Mom to kill a spider.
2. Even though they are toddlers, the sound of a motorcycle makes them sit up & listen.
3. A cat litter box can be mistaken for a small sand box – yikes!
4. It is very, very important that the ladies in their life think they are ‘strong’.
5. They don’t have a ’10 second rule’ for food on the floor – it is more like a ‘10 day’ rule.
6. The best way to identify an object is to lick it.
7. Even if Nana has her hair up in rollers she is still ‘pretty’.
8. Girls are called ‘grills’, and they are NOT to touch Big Brother’s stuff – EVER.
9. If you tie something around your neck, it makes you a super hero.
10. If it bounces, then you must try to make a basket with it..
11. .. this includes the cat.
12. Watching a ball game or looking at muscle cars with Papa is the best way to spend an afternoon.
13. The only girls you would ever kiss are Sister, Mom & Nana… and maybe Aunt Liz if you are Drake.

The Landlord

It was time to drop off the rent check. Our landlords are nice folks, but evidently they live a secluded life. When we go to drop off the check for the monthly stipend, they will physically pull me in the house and make me stay a while. These are not elderly people, just … very glad to see us, I guess. As soon as I press the door bell, they will both jump for the door, knocking over stuff in their haste to greet me. And it does not matter what they are in the middle of, answering the door is the priority! They have answered the door half dressed, half asleep, and with food dripping off their chins. Their doorbell might as well be the starting gun at the race track, ‘cause They’re Off! And they both talk, at the same time, different subjects - AND they stand at the door to watch me get in the car and drive away. It kind of gives me the creeps. I am not sure why, but it does. I can feel them watching me as I drive down the little lane they live on until I round the curve out of sight. It’s not that they are smiling and waving, they are just … watching. So I usually have Paul drive me over there, and then after a couple of minutes I say ‘well, Paul is waiting in the car, so I’d better get going (insert big smile here)!’ and then they both walk me to the door and they watch me walk over and get in the car. Yesterday was no exception; I ran the check up to the door & Mr. Landlord appeared as if he had sprung up out of a trap door. The Missus was nowhere in sight. He had brown, gooey looking stuff on his chin and no shirt on .. and he is the kind of guy who should definitely wear a shirt.. He reached to pull me in the house, but just then his phone rang, so he was trying to grab my arm with one hand and stretch backwards to grab the phone with the other, all the while talking a mile a minute. I pushed the check in his hand and said ‘Paul is waiting (big smile)!’ and walked quickly over to the passenger side of the car. He picked up the phone, and was speaking into it while I reached for the handle – which would not budge! Paul had locked the BLEEPING door! I couldn’t believe it, I let go, and the lock popped up, so I grabbed the handle again – but not fast enough, he locked it again!! I was stifling the urge to claw at the window, trying to appear calm and NOT to start yelling, and all the while Mr. Landlord was watching, his eyes getting narrower as I just stood by the car, the brown stuff still oozing down his chin. When Paul realized my nails were leaving marks on the paint, he unlocked it. I casually got in and we pulled away. As soon as we were out of sight he started laughing like a hyena ‘You should have seen the look on your face!’ He was almost crying, pounding on the steering wheel and slapping his knee. Such a funny, funny man! Sure pulled a good one on me, didn’t he! Ha ha!
Wonder if it will still be funny when I pick him up in front of his office this afternoon … in the rain ..

Nemo and Big Daddy

Our family consists of 7 – 10 humans a dog and a cat. The cat, Rascal, is the bane of my existence, but our dog is a pretty good ole’ dog. His name is Nemo and he is a yellow lab, about 9 years old, and wouldn’t bite a steak. He is a barker, though, which is nice in our tough neighborhood. But he is also .. what is the phrase I’m looking for? A scared-y cat. He is afraid of thunder, cars backfiring, people yelling, train whistles, helicopters, the wind blowing in the trees… but he does bark at anything that moves! Most of the time, he sleeps inside, because my main concern is – what if something tries to crawl in the window?! I realize that I wouldn’t have to out run IT, whatever IT is, but I WOULD have to out run Paul and the rest of the clan, so if Nemo will bark, I might get a head start! The other night, we were all tucked snuggly in bed and were just drifting off when we heard a noise at the door: Nemo. We had forgot to let Nemo in. Paul stirred a little, and I whispered ‘We need to let Nemo in.” I was using the word ‘we’ in the royal sense, meaning that Paul needed to let Nemo in. He sat up and then said ‘are any of the kids up?’ You see, my beloved husband is very modest, and will not step outside the bedroom without a shirt AND a tee shirt on. I am the only human that sees him otherwise. He thinks it would scar the kids to see us without full attire, and he might be right. Anyhoo, I said ‘No one is up, just slip out and open the door.’ Paul said ‘But Nemo would see me’. I said ‘…So, let me see if I can visualize the scene: Nemo, faithful hound that he is, waiting patiently for the Master to let him in. The door swings open, and there is Big Daddy, shirtless, in front of God and everybody! Nemo turns tail and starts galloping down the road, going ‘YARP, YARP, YARP, YARP..’ off into the distance until he runs into the dog catcher. He then pounds on the side of the truck until they open up, and he throws himself into a cage and assumes the fetal position!’ I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Paul gave me a withering look and opened the bedroom door.
‘A wife who thinks she is witty is a social liability.’

Cooties

When I used to babysit for the grandkids, I tried to keep a handle on the household chores. I would throw a load of clothes in the washer, make up beds, whatever was needed. The kids would help with some things, but that usually wound up being more trouble than it was worth, so I’d just do it myself. It was the same way when my kids were little. Take doing laundry, for example. I have 4 sons, & when it came time to fold the laundry, it was a riot! Not in a funny way, I mean they would go to any lengths to avoid it. I really couldn’t blame them – with 8 in the household, we didn’t have a ‘dirty clothes pile’, we had a dirty clothes mountain range! (You could seriously see the snow line, it was that high!) We would take the snow shovel & at least keep a path cleared, but occasionally we would have to detonate explosives at the top of the slopes in order to reduce the avalanche threat. Every so often I would take an entire day & just do load after load of laundry, and after each load was dried, I would place the warm, clean clothes on my bed. Then, when the kids arrived home after school, I would march them into the bedroom and tell them to start folding. They would get their own clothes and put them away, and then start on towel, socks, etc. But there was one unwritten rule – no one would touch Mom’s unmentionables!
Now, you have to have the mental image – mounds and mounds of clean clothes, being churned over and over by 8 little hands, high on my 4 poster bed. Usually big brother Andrew would be trying to pull a pair of Dad’s boxers over the younger ones’ heads, or they’d be balling up socks to use in a pretend snow ball fight. Then, suddenly, one of they would pull something out of the pile that was silky and lacy – Mom’s undies!! Aaaugggghh!!
They had a very strict protocol for this situation, which was broken down into 3 parts:
1. The kids who had not touched the garment immediately began to yell and point at the one who did.
2. The one who had contact with it would immediately try to stop the cooties from spreading by pouring Clorox, hot coffee, battery acid, etc on the infected site.
3. Basically all the boys would flee, screaming bloody murder, trailing clean clothes all over the house, out in the yard and down the block.
I tried to explain to them that they could not be harmed by touching my underwear, but it was to no avail. They were convinced that they would be emotionally scarred, veritable social outcasts if I forced them into close proximity with lacy, girly things. (At least they felt that way for a few more years …) I would not relent, however, and a compromise had to be reached. One suggestion was to try & procure one of the Haz-Mat suits from Hanford, but that didn’t pan out. I suggested those thick rubber gloves that go up to the elbow, but they said it was not enough protection. Then one day they discovered the cure: one of the boys brought in a pool cue! Why hadn’t we thought of that before!
From then on, laundry was a snap! When a lacy, frilly under garment churned to the surface, all activity would stop while someone grabbed the pool stick. Then, with precision that you would normally see in scientists removing radioactive rods from a reactor, my unmentionables would be carefully lifted and gently deposited on my dresser. It was a win/win situation: I didn’t have to flog the boys for refusing to help with chores, and they didn’t need counseling from touching Mom’s underwear. As time went on, they boys grew older & got jobs, so they began to purchase their own clothing, and so wanted to do their own laundry. Eventually our massive laundry day blitz became a thing of the past, as so did the trauma of touching silky things. I would like to say that all of my sons grew up to be healthy, productive members of society …. I would like to say that, but too many people here know my family personally. So I’ll just say that they have all lived to reach adulthood, and most of them kept their real names.