If the Name Fits

My husband came home from the gym last week and said we were going to have a house guest coming the next day for a week. There was no need to kill him as this guest did not require the beds to be stripped and remade or even a spotless house. We would be dog sitting for a friend of his. A little wiener dog, appropriately named, Oscar.

The kids were thrilled, I was underwhelmed. (but supportive - good karma and all that) Tuesday am the little guy made his appearance. Complete with little cage and unexplainable large food and water bowls. He happily integrated himself into the house and yard, barely casting a backwards glance to his owners. He hasn't cried or whined once. He has had exactly one accident. All-in-all he is nearly the perfect guest. 

EXCEPT he is driving our Daisy insane. She can not be on the ground for more than 5 minutes without the dirty old man bothering her. She has taken many different approaches to the issue. She has tried moving away, growling, nipping, and whining at my feet. Nothing phases him. He is determined to be near her. The fact that his parts don't work and she is disgusted doesn't phase him a bit. Daisy now gets to sit on the couch for the week as wiener-dog tries diligently to live up to his name.

Falling Off the Roof

One pleasant morning everyone was busy playing and relaxing. Boy and Hubby had gone outside to test fly Boy's new light weight remote control helicopter. They hadn't been gone long when Boy came in to tell me, "Dad got it stuck on the roof."

Being the nosy helpful creature I am, I went out to investigate. (Still sporting my slippers and PJ's) Hubby was warily eying the ladder and the roof when I arrived on the scene. Quickly sizing up the situation, I announced I would make the trek up the ladder. Hubby promptly held it stable as I climbed up to and then on the roof. I shimmied to the run away copter and returned to the roof edge with the prize. Hubby said he had the ladder and that I should watch my step getting onto the ladder. After making some flippant comment, as I've been known to do once or twice, I slid my slippered feet to the ladder. I am not sure, even now, exactly how it happened I blame the slippers. I know I had felt the ladder rungs and then I didn't. Just as my brain registered it was about to be bashed into the walkway leading to the front door, I was landing in Hubby's arms.

He looked down at me cradled there and said, "Hello, love." While trying to swallow back my heart which had lately realized the danger and was threatening to escape through my mouth, I hugged him close, speechless. (Boy of course thought this was hilarious and cool all at the same time and was laughing and babbling excitedly.) 

Though this happened over 2 years ago, it occurs to me today, on our wedding anniversary. There has never been a soul who I have felt is more firmly in my corner than my husband. And just as he illustrated so well that Christmas morn, we make a great team. So, to Hubby I say thank you, I love you and it's a good thing you caught me, or I wouldn't have a story for today!

Dad's Stories

I could have been listening to a recording. The morals and analogies echoing in my ears were as familiar as a comfortable pair of slippers. The tone was calm and meaningful and at some points the inflection was so accurate I was tempted to sneak a peek into the backseat. But, it would do no good. 

It was not my father lecturing my teenage self. It was me! Lecturing Teen!

Her trespass, though not worthy of writing about, was enough to make me angry as all hell. And it was in this state of heightened emotional distress that I seemed able to channel my father's spirit directly through my words. Amazing really, how quickly we can become our parents. Teen sat stoically answering when one was required, enduring the uncomfortable silences when I was counting to 10 in my head so I wouldn't kill her I paused the conversation for reflection. No sign of listening was readable on her face or in her actions.

But, I know she was absorbing every word. Just as I had when my father gave them to me. So, to my storytelling father who always has a point, and all fathers everywhere I wish you a Happy Father's Day! Your work is not in vain, as children we hear your messages and they become part of who we are.

Now, it's FatherHood Friday. So, go ahead, click the link to head over to DadBlogs and take a break to read some wonderful blogs by some wonderful people!

Wordless Wednesday

First there was the excitement of this.

 

Look closely - the flower girls are peeping out of the door waiting for their turns.

Then there was a whole lotta this.

It's no wonder she ended up like this on Dad's lap.

An Oily Grief

For those of us that have live in society it is a given: no matter the steps you take, you can be reaping what your neighbor sows. If that neighbor finds it to be financially practical to run a shooting range in his yard, no matter the steps taken for safety you may be playing in the yard with your family and end-up shot. The same can (and is) being said for oil drilling.

Please do not get me wrong, I am not going to moan about oil drilling. As with the neighbor running a shooting-parlor in his yard, it is a financial decision made by that neighbor. The neighbor never intended to harm himself or others, and I know this is the case with the oil steadily heading my way. What interests me is the attitude of grief that has fallen over most everyone I run into. Grief in its various stages and accompanied by various coping mechanisms is evident everywhere the talk turns to our Gulf.

There are the speechless head-shakers. These folks have no words for the sorrows they face and the tragedy that grows daily. They merely give a slow shake, and try valiantly to change the topic.

The deniers. These poor people cling desperately to the hope that this tragedy won't reach them and to the relatively-low numbers of reported deaths. Completely ignoring the fact that the majority of causalities are well below the surface and wouldn't ever wash to shore.

The angry warriors. These folks are pissed. At everyone. They rant about oversight and oil companies. Sarcastic and biting comments are made about the situation at large and a certain oil company in particular.

The we can fix-it people. "If we just head-out and do "xyz" we can save the ecosystem." "There needs to be a better plan," they reason. Or, worse yet, they pin their hopes on the fact that it will not spread and while the destruction is devastating it can be contained.

Nowhere is there a person without some level of grief or fear that the oil will wash its way upon our beaches. If not by natural tides, then surely by the next hurricane. I, personally am a "hope for the best prepare for the worst" kind of person.  There is always hope. So, I will be heading to the beach with my kids today - as soon as I check my hurricane insurance to see if it covers oil-laden flood water.

Grass is Greener

Way back when Hubby and I ran neighborhoods with the abandon and surety that comes with youth and knowing you are invincible we had a running joke about grass as in lawns, jeez Remember life was a bit simpler then. We actually went outside to skateboard. 

The ramp being conveniently located a few miles from my house meant that we all spent a lot of time walking through neighborhoods.  Since we weren't informed enough to talk politics at the ripe old age of 15 and we spent many, many hours cruising the town we would talk about anything. Front lawns were right there. They are diverse some with nice thick grass, while others are weed infested and sport bald patches. There was a house somewhere with green, lush grass that called to me. I proclaimed that the grass looked soft and my feet were tired. We had a seat near a curb and the grass was in fact luxuriously soft and thick. I'm sure I hammed it up a bit then we moved on. But, the tradition had begun. When boredom hit, or a walk brought us through new neighborhoods, we would rate the lawns with me running ahead to touch the grass for the feel-it test.

Fast forward too many years to count and we live in Sunnyville. The grass here is what Northerners would attack with hands or weed killer. It is infested with bugs of every size and shape. Not where you want to lie back and look up at the sky. But our children seem to have the need for "soft grass" embedded in their genes. 

So, every time we hit the north-of-fire-ants line they feel a need to just lie in the grass. This was exactly what happened while we were visiting the Statue of Liberty. The grass there wasn't even up to my teen standards, but we made do.

Wordless Wednesday

I guess they do clean-up pretty well.