We're Official. I just updated my Facebook status.

As I was sitting in my cubicle at work I heard some of my coworkers talking. I wasn’t really paying attention until one of them said “Hey do you want to take a look at the picture on my phone?” I thought that it might be a cute picture of one of her cats since we both loved kitties. I said “Sure, why not?” As she clicked to the picture, I got a glimpse of a man proudly showing off his junk for the camera.
Boy, has dating changed since I dated almost 14 years ago. Forget getting to know someone. Evidently, now a days a good way to see if a girl wants to date you is to send her a picture of your junk via text. If she likes what she sees you just scored yourself a date.
You want to meet a man or a woman go to a dating website don’t try to pick someone up at a bar or grocery store. That is so last decade. I remember back in the day when me and Mr. P were dating. That was almost 14 long years ago. The consensus about dating sites was they were for socially awkward people who couldn’t talk to someone in person. But that was before technology really took over our everyday life. You’re over 50 there’s a sight for you. Looking for a specific religion there’s another site for you. The possibility is endless. Why get to know someone and reject them after a few dates because of how they chew their food. You can reject them right away if you hate Bojovi and they list that as one of their favorite bands.
I recently read about someone going on Twitter after their date and giving a play by play of all of the bad qualities of her date. Needless to say the guy found out and there wasn’t a second date. And the tweeting just doesn’t stop there. Remember when wedding proposals were private between the 2 people that would be getting married. Now it is only a secret wedding proposal if the bride or groom to be knows nothing about. At the same time all of your followers on Twitter know the big question is coming. How romantic to tweet about it as it is happening. Getting married. Take your phone to the alter and update your Facebook status after you are married. Hell, why not update your status as you are walking down the aisle. I’ve seen some people do this. Because you aren’t truly married until you update your Facebook status to “married.”
Don’t get me wrong. Technology is great. It saved my little micro HP. But, please oh please let my husband die after me. Because, between the junk shots, constant tweeting and Facebook updates I don’t know if I could survive dating 21st century style.

My Addiction

Last night I had a bad dream. The vending machine in the cafeteria at work was sold out of #42s. I have visited this machine so many times that I have memorized the number where my chocolate goodies reside. Number 42 peanut M & Ms. Those yellow bags of goodness help me make it through my workday. I work in Human Resources if that explains anything.
On really bad workdays I have to buy 2 bags but hope knows one notices. Some days I hide the second bag as I leave the room. Other days I hope that they think the other bag is for a co-worker. Because no one buys 2 bags at the same time from the vending machine.
Damn you vending machine man when you like to mix it up and put plain M & Ms in a spot reserved for my precious peanuts. The disappointment is deep. Why couldn’t you have started a second row for the plain M & Ms I didn’t notice the Whatchamacallits disappearing quickly and those Honey Buns sure have stuck around for a long time. I guess I’ll just have to buy the regular M & Ms. And yes I will eat them even though I don’t like them.

Tumbling Tumble Weeds

I occasionally imagine myself in a black and white movie. Roger Rogers and Dale Evans are singing “Tumbling Tumble Weeds.” And I’m toting a vacuum trying to suck up the tumbling tumble weeds of animal fur in my house.
I’ve always liked animals. Generally if I am going to a party or someone’s house , I immediately gravitate towards their animal family members. Lizard, gecko, flying squirrel. I pay too much attention to it and end up talking to the animal like it is a tiny teeny little human. I grew up with a dog that was my little furry brother. Max lived with us for 17 years. So I am familiar with fur.
But this familiarity has grown more intense as my animal family has grown. As the seasons change so does the amount of tumble weeds that invade my house. Autumn. I can look up and see long white hair flying through the air. Spring. My cats walk away and so much cat fur is left behind that a new member of the itty bitty kitty committee could be named. Even if my clothes are hung up in my closet I still manage to get fur on them. I need to have one of those human fly walls with sticky paper on it so I can defur before leaving home.
It gets worse when you add small children and laminate flooring. We have 3 human spawn to go along with the 4 animal children. That combination provides all the sticky hairiness of your dreams. You get the floor all clean. Then, Bam! You turn around and the kid has dropped some unnamed stick on the floor and Snoop Dog decides to walk through it. And yes Bassets shed way too much. It is a never ending battle in my house to fight the stickiness and the tumbling tumble weeds.
But we will never get rid of the itty bitty kitty committee and the Snoop Dog. They are our family. Who else could I depend on to leave drool spots on my couch like old Snoop? Or to eat all the spiders I’m afraid of like Minnie Winnie and Little Lucy Lu?

The Begining of my La Vida Loca

"Whoever you are stop whatever you are doing right now."  It had come to this.

You have one child.  You hear something breaking and you know who the culprit is.  Add a second child and things get a little bit tricky.  Add yet another child, three cats and a Bassett hound and someone is either breaking something, vomiting on something or just doing something they shouldn't be doing at all waking hours.  Probability is working against you in this situation.

Growing up, I never really thought about having kids.  Sure, I had baby dolls; Cabbage Patch kids the whole gambit.  Hell, I even use to dress up my dog in baby clothes and make him eat while sitting in a toy high chair.  Max was such a good dog.  Even when Mr. P and I were dating the subject of kids never really came up.  It wasn't that I didn't have any maternal genes.  I didn't kill houseplants.  All of my cats were fed, accounted for and healthy.  I just never really thought about it.

Then the big 3O was fast approaching and we decided that if we were going to have a baby it was time to get this party started.  Eventually I became pregnant with my daughter A.  She just kind of fell comfortably into our life.  She was independent, not very high maintenance for a baby.  Sure you had to change her diaper, feed and water her but besides that she wasn't very clingy. 

While heavily pregnant with A I had professed to my husband that I was only having one baby and it was for him.  Sheepishly after my daughter's first doctor's appointment I had to admit that I had drunk the Kool-Aid and wanted another child.

Fast forward to about a year and a half and I was pregnant with the GMan.  I was so pregnant I was rolling off the couch just to get off the furniture.  I was crabby, moody the biggest bitch around.  We can see where this is going.  No more babies again I profess.  Then they cut me open and pull out little GMan and the hormones and pain killers turn me into a pod person.    I bond to him really quickly.  This is unusual for me because I am not a baby person.  I would rather deal with a toddler that has just flushed my keys down the toilet then a helpless baby.  As we are leaving the hospital I tell my husband that we should think about having another baby.  He looks at me like dog who is trying to understand what their human master is saying. You know the tilted head, the eyes that squint   He says maybe we should think about this for a while. 

It took about a year to convince Mr. P.   But we eventually decided to throw our hat in the ring and try for one more baby.  I had made the joke that because A and the GMan were so big almost 9 pounds that they next baby would definitely top that.  Boy was I wrong.    After an eventful and stressful pregnancy that ended about 2 and a half months early little micro HP came into our world.  He weighed a little over a pound and couldn't even fit into a preemie onesie.  To say we where thrown into different world was an understatement.  You forget how to do the simplest things that you have become a pro at after having two kids.  I can remember trying to change his diaper while he was in the bed in the NICU.  My brain would not function.  It was almost like I was trying to diaper a doll.

My life is busy, noisy and hectic.  I can't imagine my children absent from my life.  I would rather live this la vida loca they any other life then I can imagine.  

Holy DSL

If my 5 year old knew what a confession was she would have one.  She curses in private.  A the first of the stair steps likes to act like she is a good girl.  Stereotypical first child.  Doing what mom and dad says.  Being nice to her siblings human and furry.  Our go to girl when our la Vida Loca gets a little bit harried.

Her mom knows how to curse with the best of them.  If it was an Olympic sport I could sweep up a gold medal or two.  If we needed to fund a fabulous vacation to a tropical faraway place in a short amount of time, the curse jar would be the perfect solution.  To make a long story short, I curse creatively and often.  Sometimes there is no other way to make your point except by the addition of a few creatively chosen curse words.

The second of the steps the G Man takes after his mama.  Some of his hits include "What the hell" and the continuation of the family tradition of dropping the "F" bomb.  The G Man will be my child most likely to be a roaster at a Comedy Central Roast if he keeps his track record up.

A got a new Little Pony for a gift and thought that it was funny to place a piece of the black packaging over the figure's mouth.  She did this to imitate what they use to do on t.v. to censor swearing.  Remember the black bar.  A has curse words she makes up now.  Holy DSL is one that is on heavy rotation.

But A doesn't curse.  No, not our A.  She acts like cursing is wrong.  She likes to let us know when the G Man lets loose “I know it is wrong and I won't do that like the G Man" said in her most sincere voice.

But most kids lie a little.  Or fiddle around with the truth a little bit.

My little Lucy Lu Lu

When my husband and I got engaged we got a cat.  I wasn't much for jewelry so I thought that I would get a lot more enjoyment out of a kitty then bling.  He was that cat that was just like a potato chip.  After him we wanted more then one.  He was an older cat when we got him about a year and a half.  Orange and white.  Big and fluffy.  With a pooch to boot.
We lost him almost 2 years ago.  Thinking about it now still brings tears to my eyes.  Even my dad who likes to proudly profess that he isn't much of fan of cats wept with us.  My dad might have like cats but Fiscal sure gravitated to him.
Fast forward to last July.  I was on maternity leave after a pretty crappy 2 months.  My daughter A  had to have emergency surgery.  We had just had a micro preemie HP after I had been on bed rest in the hospital for about a month.  I know our life isn't crazy enough.  Let's add a kitty to the mix.  We went down to the kill animal shelter when they were having there buy one get one kitty free special.  Thank goodness we didn't indulge in that insanity.  But I was ready to get the little black male fluffy kitty that I had always gone out with the idea of bringing home but hadn't yet in my cat collecting.
We test drove the little black fluffy kitty.  He was okay nothing special.  Then we saw Miss Elledora sitting pretty on top of her mommy in her cage.  The kids thought she was sweet so I said what the heck.  She was a little burst of energy in the bonding room.  The kids and Mr. P wanted him so I said what the heck no black kitty again.
So in a few days little Elledora became Lucy.  Or Lucy Lu Lu as I affectionately call her sometimes. She is the replica  of our beloved Fiscal appearance wise right down to the marks on her face but minus the pooch.  Behavior wise though that's a whole different story.
Her best friend and partner in crime is our 2 year old bassett Snoopy aka Snoop Dog.  They work together to steal food. She sleeps on his crate. He's gentle with her when rough housing and she holds him down to clean his face.  The other and oldest members of the Little Tiny Kitty Committee now that's a different story.

Working in a box within a box

You never realize how much you miss something until it is gone.  I miss windows.  I miss be able to see outside during the day.  I spend 8 plus hours a day working in a box within a box.
It is a luxury to see windows during the day.  When I walk to the rest room or fill my water cup I get to catch a quick glimpse of the outside.  Just a small one.  Then back to my box within a box.
My daily pilgrimage to the vending machine to make my selection #42 peanut M & Ms involves another glimpse of the coveted outside.  I’ve lasted 5 plus years nestled back in my  hole.  How long longer will I last in this box within a box