Puppy Love

We are still living in the depths of Puppypalooza here (lots of chewed shoes, stolen snacks and gnawed on power cords) but we are finally experiencing glimpses of moments where I think all will be well with the world again. 

George seriously loves my kids. I do not doubt this. He puts up with a lot. My Lucy constantly "snuggles" him, and throws herself down on his dog bed and lays on top of him while she sings him lullabies. (I have video of this that I will post once I sign an ASPCA waiver). Annie  grabs him by the neck, hugs him tighter than one would like, all the while yelling "Youuu are such a cute boy!" Despite this, he contorts himself into the silliest of wiggles when they come home from school. 

He props his paws on top of the tub and won't take his eyes off of them when they are bathing. I can't decide if he's pretending to be a lifeguard, or contemplating jumping on in. When they ride their bikes in the afternoon, he's right there beside them- running along side their wobbly training wheels, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

He's only five months old, but is trying to assume the role of family caretaker. If Lucy is upstairs, and Annie is downstairs- the dog doesn't know where to go. He won't settle down until everyone is on the same floor. He just woke me up with a growl because he heard Lucy talking in her sleep upstairs. 

Puppy love- I'm starting to see what it's all about. Somebody remind me of this the next time he shits in my living room.

The Big Day

I am birthday partied out. And we haven't even had her shindig yet. On Saturday, we invited all available family over for a "birthday dinner party." She got to pick the menu. Here is what was served:

selection of cheeses & parmesan crisps with grapes (appetizer)

fruit salad (blueberries, blackberries and strawberries)

Asian salad (lettuce, crispy Chinese noodles, mandarin oranges, green onions, cucumber and enough Paul Newman's Sesame Ginger dressing to take a bath in)

corn on the cob

a huge platter of Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets.

The grandparents haven't eaten Chick Fil A in forever, and watching them gorge themselves on the nuggets was like watching Bill Clinton interview interns. We had 9 people over for dinner,- and this group ate 110 chicken nuggets.  That is OVER 12 nuggets per piggish person.

For dessert, I attempted to make a pink lady cake from Smittenkitchen.com. This was the strangest cake. Instead of creaming butter and sugar- you mix the dry ingredients and then add fruit puree and butter. It almost burned out the motor on my mixer. After all was said and done, I say "eh." But she liked it. It sure was pink.

Today, on her actual birthday- I got to sit in her class and watch them decorate her birthday cupcakes. She wore a crown with red glitter candles, and they invited her big sister to join them for snack (which was very nice and made Lucy feel special). After school, I changed her into her Sleeping Beauty halloween costume and walked her over to the school theatre to attend a fundraiser. They had a famous author (who writes popular girls books) to come, host a tea party and sign books. All the girls wore the fanciest of dresses. It was sugary sweet.

During the afternoon, she rode her new bike and dictated the menu for tonight's gourmet feast.

Hot Dogs.

Macaroni and cheese.

Cucumbers.

Matt almost fainted with joy when he saw the Kraft blue box on the counter. (Not something we eat very often- and we only have hot dogs on the 4th of July, so this was indulgent). 

We capped off the night with a serious round of Wii bowling, and Lucy told us she feels much bigger now that she's three. We smiled, because after this weekend, we're a bit bigger too.

My Almost Birthday Girl

My Lucy.

On Monday, you are turning three. Three years ago, I was baking Halloween cupcakes and waiting for my water to break. The time has gone by so fast! It seems like yesterday when you were eating at the "all you can eat boobie buffet" and nursing 24-7.  Now, you are tall, and so thin that I wonder how you got in this family! You are very, very Irish, and I see my grandmother in you every day. When you are angry with me, and furrow your brow- you are channeling Me-Ma. 

You are Irish with your storytelling skills. You are constantly making up stories, and love to show me an imaginary boo boo on your knee and tell me about the huge crab that took a bite out of your knee. (he lives in the backyard). Yesterday you were dressed up in your princess dress, sitting on the floor, telling me how you're going to a wedding and meeting your friend named Shampoo, and her sister Conditioner. We giggled about this the whole afternoon.

You are dramatic. When you don't get your way, you scream. A lot. At the top of your lungs. You are mostly easy going, mostly a good listener. But when the wind blows a certain way, you show your stubborness that is stronger, and more definite than anything I have every seen. No one, and I mean no one can change your mind. About what to wear. About when to go. About what to say. It's awe inspiring and scary at the same time. 

You are in a hurry to grow up. You constantly tell me you are turning "four" and it makes me think you want to skip over all of this three business. You had a big year. You kicked the diaper habit over spring break. You learned to ride a trike, and quickly moved on to your sister's bike. You moved. You got a dog. You got your own room that you got to pick out the paint colors for (pink stripes, of course). Your vocabulary has skyrocketed. 

But through it all, I still see glimpses of that delicious little baby I held three years ago. The other night, your Aunt Sheri snuck you an extra taste of frosting. You held the spoon in your hand, licked the frosting and with what can only be described as rapture- closed your eyes and savored every bite. 

You are still shy. You still won't answer when a stranger asks you what your name is. You have gone from being the ultimate Daddy's girl back to being my girl again. The other day, Annie grabbed my hand in the parking lot and you shooed her away and said "Hey! I was using the Mommy right now." 

You only wear dresses. You have no problem with showing the world your big girl pants when you dance. And you dance ALL the time. You love to play dress up and pretend you are going to parties. You have an impeccable fashion sense. You freely give me advice on what to wear, and are very critical of my choice in shoes. (You'll say, "Mommy! That's not a match!" And you know what? You're right). 

You can't wait to go back to Houston to see your friends. You love your dog, and he loves you. He hides under your bed every night, hoping I will forget about him and leave him to sleep in your room. It's funny, because you asked us to give you a small, white dog, and the other day you said "Mommy? Why did you get me a big, black dog when I asked you for a small, white dog?" This made us laugh.

Happy Birthday, my love. I hope three brings you the independence you crave, and I promise to patiently offer you more choices. (You can't eat dinner naked though- we have to draw the line somewhere). Your Daddy and I love you-----

From Looky Daddy

Now is the time to donate. Let your support be known.


Now is the time to donate. Let your support be known.

Bad Dog

Bad Dog. That's what I have now. Apparently, it's "normal" for a dog's hormones to surge right now, which causes him to regress and ignore a lot of his learned behavior. Let me tell you. It's not normal in my book to get up with the naughty pooch, feed him, let him out, encourage him to do his business and have him turn around and run into your living room to violate it in ways that Britney Spears would even cringe.

He spent most of Sunday humping his dog bed. Matt and I would nervously giggle as the girls would exclaim "Look! Goerge is playing choo choo train with his bed!"

Oh yes, my friend. The scissors are coming. The scissors ARE coming.

The other night, my friend was over and we were assembling 1000 ladybug invitations. She asked me to change it to a cable music station, and remembering her tastes from college, I picked the one with the 80's hair bands. We're cutting away, when suddenly we hear growls coming from under the table.

"What's the matter buddy?" I ask the seemingly sleeping dog under the table.

"He must be dreaming." my friend adds.

He wasn't dreaming. Ten minutes later after a chorus of growls, bared teeth and raised haunches, we figured out George was watching the pictures of the hair bands on the tv, and is not a fan of tight leather pants or men using hair spray.

Sigh. I hope I can survive until his next vet appointment.

Fairy Tales

Reconnecting with old friends has been one of the best parts of moving back to California. Last night, I solicited the help of an old college buddy to help me assemble 10,000 ladybug birthday invitations for my girls' upcoming shindig. I went to college with this buddy, and in most ways she hasn't changed.

We met in a Scandinavian Literature class at UCLA- and after studying together for a couple of afternoons, we were walking through campus together.

"You're a bit of a princess, aren't you?" I asked her.

"Excuse me?" she says, shooting me a dirty look.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm one too!" I say.

"Oh, great!" she gushes. "I'm the biggest princess you'll ever meet."

And with that, our friendship began. This said friend, I should really mention, is drop dead gorgeous. She's six feet tall, her mother is from Norway, and whenever we went to Strattons (local UCLA bar) and I was low on cash and sadly in need of a drink, I would ask my friend to casually do a "bar lap" and walk around until someone sent her a drink. (which she then graciously passed to me). I never went thirsty for longer than 3 minutes.

Last night, my girlfriend came over, and my girls fought over who got to sit next to her at dinner. We giggled about how different our lives are, but how much fun we can still have together. She has a very high profile job- and was constructing a ten million dollar deal before she came over to our house. I was cleaning up dog pee. She carries an uber expensive designer handbag, and everything is perfectly organized. I carry a backpack that is crammed full of coupons, doctor receipts, miscellaneous toys and maybe a stray penny or two.

It's a cool friendship, because we get to live vicariously through one another. I get to hear all about her getting picked up on by a professional football player on a flight from Phoenix. She gets to help put my daughters to bed and hear what they are thankful for. And 14 years after that fateful Scandinavian Lit class, we are still princesses- with very different outcomes.

Comfy Cozy

The end of a very quiet weekend. With Annie being sick, we all laid low for the last couple of days. Since the weather has grown chilly (an icy 65 degrees, but we'll take it)- we baked pumpkin bread, drank cocoa and figured out how to use our gas fireplace. (I cranked the gas, lit a match, almost lost my eyebrows and got to hear Lucy squeal "Magical!").

I Now Pronounce You Freaky and Disturbing

We hit Disney again this week. The girls didn't have school on Thursday, and it was the day before Annie came down with pneummonia (seriously!)- so we spent six hours with Mickey. I love how excited my kids get- but there is something really creepy and sinister that always befuddles me.

Disney newlyweds. Have you seen them? Newly married brides and grooms- wearing bridal Mickey Mouse ears and usually severely overweight and in dire need of lasik eye surgery. They can usually be found standing on the huge lines to meet various Disney characters. Clutching their autograph books, they shove the little kids aside and take their picture with a guy dressed up like Winnie the Pooh that you know is dying a little on the inside. When I took the anklebiters to Ariel's Grotto for some lunch, the newlyweds in attendance completely upstaged the princesses with their freaky gasps of wonder. It really, really scares me. Their enthusiasm and eagerness to fill their autograph books with meaningless signatures is akin to seeing a 42 year old man walk around in diapers. Highly inappropriate and disturbing.

We are home now, safe from the Disney freaks and going to call it a quiet weekend filled with breathing treatments and antibiotics.

Nasty George

Aack. Almost a week has gone by. Not much to report. George decided to eat Matt's only pair of glasses on Sunday, and culminated his Naughty-palooza by devouring most of a poopie diaper for breakfast this morning. Luckily for him, he knows how to work his baby brown puppy eyes as he is still a member of our family. Do not accept any kisses from him for a while. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had my first play date yesterday- in tony Newport Beach, at a house that must cost over $5 million. Lovely family, but just not my style. I know it will take time to hit my groove, but I wish it would get a move on.

Down In The Dumps

So, what did y'all think about the debate? I was seriously hoping for some Alaskan train wreck, and was disappointed. Hats off to the die hard Republican debate coach that made Little Miss Sunshine camera ready. She was gung ho with her answers, whether they asked the question or not. "Let's get back to energy..." Whatever. I promised no more politics.

In other news, we're hosting our first shindig tomorrow at the new digs. My family is all coming to town and we're having a small party for my sister-in-law's birthday. Matt's gonna do the cooking, so let's hope he stays sober enough to make it entirely through the dinner this time. (Last dinner party didn't fare so well).

Lucy's going to have her tonsils and adnoids taken out- hopefully before Christmas. "Look Mommy! Santa brought me a Krups ice cream machine! I can use it morning, noon and night!" She's doing much better, and so am I now that I don't have to look at the mucousy pus coming out of her ear. Who knew being a Mom was such absolutely disgusting work? We haven't washed her hair in a week, and I look like I'm hanging out with a greasy street urchin that likes to eat Cheetos for breakfast and calls ketchup a vegetable.

And finally, after I picked Annie up from school today, I asked her why she looked a little down. Apparently, I said "down in the dumps" because she thought this was the funniest thing she had ever heard, and said George liked to be "down in the dumps" all the time. Yes indeedy, he sure does.