A Spider Ate My Blog!

Original sculpture by Lil Sweetie

Here's Blood in Your Eye

Just an update...

• The doc says my continued vision problems are just due to a lot of blood in my eye.  (Oh boy!)  It should resolve in time. 
• Mr. Sweetie is home!  Mr. Sweetie is home!  Life is so much better when Mr. Sweetie is home.
• My beloved sister-in-law is doing better.  The chemo appears to be shrinking the tumor.  She still has a long road ahead but things are looking hopeful.
• Work is going better.  I had a big win this week.  A weird win, but a win nonetheless.  To quote one of my favorite movies:  "I love winning!  It's like, better than losing." 

Weird Weekend

Things that probably should not have happened this weekend:

• Lil Sweetie singing "I like big butts and I cannot lie, you other fellas cannot fly, when a girl walks in with a pretty good chin and farts in your face."
• Dreaming about Rhinestone Abraham Lincoln.  All I remember is rhinestone-covered replicas of the Lincoln Memorial, a dread "the emporer has no clothes" feeling around my friends who were very enthusiastic about this endeavor, and (with apologies to Glen Campbell) singing "Like a Rhinestone Lincoln."  I still can't get that stupid song out of my head.
• A drastic reduction in my vision in my right (bad) eye.  It's like I'm looking underwater.  I worry that I may have another tear to my retina.  Fun times.

Gone Too Long

Mr. Sweetie has been gone so long.  Absolutely weeks and weeks.  (Ok, only in Sweetie Pie time.)  He is in Houston helping out his sister who is receiving cancer treatment.  A noble and worthy cause, one for which I am gladly willing to sacrifice. 

However, I am not cut out for single parenting.  I lose patience with Lil Sweetie, there is no one to step in when I lose my cool and need a break.  I don't ask for much, but just to get to go to the bathroom without being forced into cookie negotiations through the door.  When Mr. Sweetie isn't around, it's the little things that fall by the wayside.  The laundry is never completely done, the mail stacks up, the dogs start to stink.

I know that some people do this all day, every day.  There should be a Congressional Medal of Honor for single parents.  And the families of our troops, who add the worry about the safety of their loved one to their never-ending list of things to do.  Other days, I am too sweaty and petty to care about anyone's pain but my own.

More Stinky and Dogboy

Pet Parade

This is Dogboy. He is so ugly, he’s cute. He is a great dog, the Cary Grant of dogs. He is suave and debonair and always carries a handkerchief. He hover-sits so as to not wrinkle his trousers. He is extremely low maintenance. He would rather die than potty in the house.

This is Stinky Weaselton. She is the Amy Winehouse of dogs. Don’t invite her over, she will get drunk and throw up on your rug. She pees out of spite. She was Catherine the Great in a former life and has a vastly exaggerated sense of entitlement. She demands your attention every minute. She has every bad habit a dog can have—she’s a barker, she’s a digger, she’s a chewer and a trash picker. We thought of the people we hate most in the world and put their number on her tag, but we can’t get her to run away. She’s an a-hole.

An Important Question

As children, we color, cut, and paste regularly. We squeal with joy when an adult pulls out the glitter or paints. We skip, we laugh, we dance. When something moves us, we mooove. We don’t stifle the urge to laugh, to cry, to wiggle our bodies to the beat.

As adults, we say, “I’m not an artist...I’m not a dancer...I’m not an athlete.” We decide that glitter is messy and a waste of money. We take up hobbies and take lessons and practice, practice, practice, striving always to improve, turning our hobby into work. We pass by playgrounds without any temptation to swing upside down from the monkey bars. We never skip. When moved, we choke back laughter or tears. We stifle the urge to wiggle to the beat.

Why?