Alabaster Mom

I left out one wee little detail about our lake vacation. I shall confess it now: our daughter, our one and only child, the lass whose adoption is still being paid for on a ten-year loan, she-who-only-wears-dresses . . . fell in the lake on the second day. I was in the cabin making biscuits at the time (no, that is not a euphemism for anything - I was actually making biscuits), so clearly the incident was solely her father's fault. While we had been very conscientious about putting a life jacket on her when were out on the boat, we had not been requiring it when she was simply standing on the wooden dock with one of us. We should have known better, though, because A is not a graceful, coordinated sort of child. She frequently smacks her head on door frames and recently, somehow injured herself WHILE STRAPPED IN HER CAR SEAT. At the time of the lake incident, she was fishing off the dock with her dad and somehow tumbled backwards into the chilly water. I have to imagine that his he...

As is the custom when staying at a lakeside cabin, we spent a couple of evenings gathered around a hard-won fire (wet wood is so particular about burning). We roasted marshmallows and ate s'mores. Well, technically I am the only one who ate fully assembled s'mores. The kid just ate marshmallows straight out of the bag and her dad just ate the chocolate. We had a flashlight with us so that we could see as needed once it got really dark (and if you've ever been hours away from the city, you know that that kind of dark is DARK). A is obsessed with flashlights so of course she was waving it around and aiming it directly in the dogs' eyes. "Hey, put it under your chin and say 'it was a dark and stormy night,'" I suggested. She held the beam under her chin. "I'm gonna tell you guys a ghost story. But don't worry, it's only a little bit scary." "What is your story about?" I asked her. P muttered under his breath: ...

If you are here for a massage (nudge nudge, wink wink), don't even think about coming through the front door with the respectable people.

Our little clan is doing the cabin-by-the-lake (or "the cabinet" as my daughter calls it) thing next week, so I'll be offline for a little while. P and I are looking forward to hanging out and doing nothing. The kid can't understand how we could possibly be excited about going somewhere that doesn't even have rides. I'm curious to see if our newer adoptee, Gretchen, will dig the water. Having met hundreds of Boxers during my ten-year adventure in rescue, I can attest to the fact that most of them do not care for water and do not swim. As my friend Dave says, "My Boxer swims like an anvil." They are very muscular and hence, don't float well at all. The front end is much heavier than the back, making it harder for them to keep their heads above water. Nonetheless, a few of them do like water and having seen Gretchen in action with the sprinkler in the back yard, I think she may just give the lake a try. We'll see. I told P I might get her a dog...

My neighbor invited me to attend step aerobics with her. I've been having some trouble managing my stress levels (not to mention my weight), so I thought maybe a good workout would help. That is not to say I'm sedentary; I walk the dogs all the time, do sit-ups, ride my bike, etc. But I very seldom do a hardcore, face-turns-red sort of workout. I'm a delicate flower and sweat does not become me. You know how it is. When P and I still lived in Virginia, I used to attend step aerobics classes that were held in the community center of our apartment complex. The majority of the people who lived in the complex were stationed at Fort Belvoir. Most of the time, I was the only white girl in the class. The racial difference didn't bother me at all, but let me just say that those girls could rock a beat. I had to count the steps (sometimes aloud) to keep up whereas the women of color had natural rhythm. But, I loved the class nonetheless. When we moved away, I started t...

Hey, let's blindfold the kids and hand them a bat! I lost a follower after that last post. I guess the dead bunnies pushed someone over the edge. I'll try to keep my posts in the realm of sunshine and rainbows and (blissfully unabused) puppy dogs henceforth. I know you are on the edge of your seat wondering how my weekend went, so here goes. I took the kid to Weight Watchers with me yesterday morning. I chickened out and did not weigh in (I am a Lifetime member so technically I only have to weigh in once a month). Between the state fair and a bit of a medical issue I am battling . . . let's just say I did the scale a favor by not getting up there. After the meeting we grabbed some breakfast, then purchased our county fair tickets (to be used on Thursday), and then headed to a pet expo. Normally I would be working at a pet expo but our rescue opted not to participate in this one. We spent quite a bit of time watching an agility demonstration. It reminded me how much I ...

I like to keep my blog nice and random, so I don't discuss current events too much. I mean, I could beat healthcare reform and the economy to death, but I suspect such things will die just fine without my involvement. I also passed up most opportunities to comment on the Michael Vick saga, which flared up again recently when he was released from the Big House (don't you love prison synonyms? The pokey, the clink, the slammer . . . ). If I was grateful to him for anything, though, it was that his conviction served as an example to other animal abusers. I don't think Michael Vick is at all sorry for what he did; I think he's sorry he got caught. Slowly but surely, though, the law is catching up with (and prosecuting) those who harm the voiceless. Did you catch the recent story about the young Petland* employee who drowned two rabbits in the back room? She posted a photo of herself on Facebook clutching two wet, dead Peter Cottontails. I thought kids today were using Face...

We attended the state fair yesterday. The good: Deep-fried Oreos. I don't know what the Weight Watchers points were for these, but I'm thinking triple digits. One of those "if you have to ask you can't afford it" sort of things. The poignant moment when we were viewing the Budweiser Clydesdales. One of the horses let down his wiener to pee, and I mean to tell you this thing was the size of my forearm. Our adorable little sprite pointed at the horse's junk and yelled, "He's got a penis just like you, Daddy!" I couldn't tell if my husband was having a moment of pride or mortification, but he did leave the exhibit toute de suite. Let's hear it for swings you don't have to push. (At what age to they learn to pump, fer cryin' out loud? My arms seriously want to know.) Meeting a bunch of fellow rescue people at Buca di Beppo for dinner. Watching my child slide out of a pig's butt. You don't get that kind of entertainment just a...

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry , my body recently decided that, as it plummets into middle age, it would be fun to develop a food allergy. For almost two years now I have been scratching my head over the specific ingredient (or combination) that might be causing me to get sick. It often seems to be a baked good that causes a reaction, so I've learned to be wary of anything that appears to contain lots of ingredients. If it's a packaged muffin that contains lots of artificial ingredients and has not been touched by human hands, I seem to be fine. However, if it's made from scratch and contains ingredients actually found in nature, I might be in trouble. Yesterday I took the kid to a street festival downtown and she wanted a cookie, so I bought one for her. She took one bite, realized it was a "healthy" cookie, and spat out the bits still in her mouth (onto my plate, which I appreciated oh so much). Not wanting it to go to waste, I took a bite myself. N...

During our drive back from our vacation in Virginia last month, we stopped at a Burger King in the middle of nowhere. Aside from our little clan, all of the other patrons appeared to be construction and utility workers who were wolfing down a quick lunch before heading back to their respective job sites. We had been in the car for hours and apparently the lack of social interaction was taking a toll on my daughter. As we were tossing out our garbage and preparing to leave, the kid headed back to the front of the restaurant and started chatting up some of the men who were in line. Picture a sea of steel-toed work boots and one wee pair of pink flip-flops from Old Navy. "Okay, let's go!" I said loudly, as P and I were inching towards the exit. I could hear her telling them her name, advising them that she has a Barbie princess movie, and informing her new friends that her aunt had painted her toenails. Basically, she seemed pretty determined to impart enough information tha...

Had sex in any sort of unusual location, at least not that I can recall. (Hi Mom!) Drank a beer. (And why would I when the humble grape has given us something so spectacular and perfect?) Had a cup of coffee. (People who absolutely cannot function without coffee in the morning do irritate me a bit. There, I've said it.) Had a pedicure. Most people think I'm joking when I say I've never had a pedicure. I have to confess that I do keep my toenails painted at all times (usually in a shade that's best left to streetwalkers). If you ever spot me with naked toenails you can rest assured that I've just hatched out of a pod and that the aliens have taken the real me away. Won't they be surprised when they implant an alien spawn in my womb only to find that it no worky. Why have I never had a pedicure? In my mind, having a pedicure is akin to saying, "Hey there! I'm pretty important. So important, in fact, that I'd like to pay you to get down on your knees a...