dog shaming

I was just going to put this on Instagram and leave it at that, but then I thought to myself, no. This needs more attention.

**And where do you mommy blogger types find the time? Days just bleed into each other and when, exactly, am I supposed to write something coherent**

So, anyway, we have kind of started a new after dinner routine where we take Kellan for a ride in his wagon to get the mail and then we all walk to the park.

I say we all walk to the park because at the mailboxes – community ones, people. It’s why Coloradans are so healthy. Our mail is a quarter mile away – Kellan decides he wants nothing to do with the wagon and he would rather walk, holding my hand the whole time or walking short distances from Tim or me to the other person. Then we play at the park and walk home.

The whole thing takes maybe 20-30 minutes, tops.

Before yesterday, we would leave the dogs out. They had free roaming privileges around the house, because we wouldn’t be gone long.

Apparently that is not an option anymore.

Last night, when we walked into the house, we were greeted by a pile of leaves and branches from a plant.

And not just any pile. These pieces had all been meticulously placed in the family room, perfectly visible from any door we entered.

Okay, you guys. The plant? It lives in the computer room. There is a very long hallway that separates the family room from the computer room. A long hallway with an offshoot to a bathroom along with a potential detour to upstairs.

So, I beg the question, what, exactly, was the thought process, here, girls?

Let’s be honest, Maddie and Lexi. If you just wanted to destroy a plant, then I’d imagine you would sit at the plant and do that.

Why even bother going through the effort of carrying, ever so delicately, each and every piece alllllllll the way down the hallway and into the family room and drop them into a pile?

Over and over and over again?

There was not a single, solitary, leaf on the path between the plant in the computer room and the pile in the family room

When we came through the garage door and Maddie saw the look on Tim’s face, she high tailed it out into the garage, squeezing by just before the door closed automatically (it’s a heavy door that doesn’t stay open unless propped). She was so stealthy that Tim had no idea she even went out. He was so busy trying to get to Lexi, he was certain Maddie was with her until I was all, “She’s in the garage.”

And that she was, hiding behind the cars.

After Tim got her back inside, she ran upstairs and tried to hide in the bedroom.

Obviously, she was well aware she had made an error with her choices while we were gone.

Lexi, thinking she was off scott free, played dumb like, “I was so good! That mess definitely wasn’t me!”

And then we checked her mouth and it was full of dirt.

That little giveaway resulted in her immediately rolling over onto her back, legs in the air, full on submission.

I’m guessing their brains went something like, “Um. Hello? You’re supposed to take me with you. And you didn’t. So, now I’m stuck here while you’re out there in nature. You know what else is nature? This plant right here. And I’m gonna take pieces of this plant and put allllll of the nature in a big ass pile so you see what I’m talking about when you get home. You go into nature, YOU TAKE ME WITH YOU.”

The sign says: We were mad mommy and daddy went for a walk without us, so we had the gall to destroy the plant and put it in the family room. I’m sure mommy and daddy got the message. Maddie & Lexi

The best part? As Tim was giving the dogs the what for, half laughing, Kellan was sitting in the kitchen, yelling like a backseat driver as many dog commands as he could remember, “Yesth! Sit! Yesth! Out! Stay! Sit!”

a dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down

(The title of my post is a quote by Robert Benchley)

Look how I’m posting on the weekend!

That should be your thankfulness for today.

Jessica gave me something to read ON A SATURDAY.

You are so welcome. I know. I shouldn’t have.

Today I am thankful for all of our fur-children – even though they drive me up the wall crazy sometimes…all the time…? Ever since we had Kellan, all of the animals took a huuuuugggeeeee backseat. Like, borderline neglect, probably.

I mean, we feed them and let them outside (dogs) and clean their litterbox (cats) and keep them up to date on vaccinations and heartworm medicine and take them to get a bath (dogs) and everything. We just don’t *play* with them as much or spend time with them like before.

Because, well, Kellan.

The funny thing, though, is that they are slowly getting more and more “involved” because Kellan LOVES them. He pets the dogs and Chloe (who is his BFF and sleeps on the bed by my feet because she always seems to want to be near him) and gets the biggest smile on his face when they walk by him.

Just wait until he’s walking, Maddie and Lexi. Just. You. Wait.

I try to be more compassionate…I try…but it is hard when so much of my energy goes to Kellan. I guess this is my reminder that the fur-children are part of my life…and Tim, Kellan and I are their whole life.

I need to remember that.

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself.  Josh Billings

5 pets + new baby =

First off, someone asked….forever ago…about how to pronounce Kellan’s name.

I’m finally remembering to address that. I apologize for the tardiness. My brain doesn’t function at all like it used to. I told Tim I felt like I was getting dumber by the day (he says it’s from sleep deprivation. Obviously, he agrees…about the dumber part).

Anyhow, it’s Kel like Kelly (Kel-ly) and like land without the d. Kel-lan.

Now, about the five fur children.

Yes. Five.

We have five four-legged ones running around on top of caring for Kellan.

I’m not sure how we’re not in the loony bin, either. Maybe we are.

Since we brought Kellan home, the dogs have been ridiculously excited – especially Maddie (golden retriever). It’s like he’s a shiny new toy that they cannot play with just yet.

Lexi, the chocolate lab, had taken up the protector role. She barks at the door if a delivery has been made. She sits at the window in the spare bedroom and barks at anyone she deems suspicious that walks by. She even barked and snarled at Tim when he walked in the front door instead of the garage door, where he usually enters.

Once she realized it was him, she acted all embarrassed like, “I was just kidding…”

The pair still get super excited when Kellan is on their level, like in his swing or bouncer, but I still don’t let them lick him. They eat rabbit poo in the backyard. I refuse to have rabbit poo on my son’s perfect little face.

For now.

The dogs have mostly figured out that:

A: Kellan comes first
B: Dad is now the sole provider
C: Mom is too preoccupied for almost everything
D: Kellan comes first

So, they mostly lay around all day, sighing, dreaming of the good ol’ times when mommy used to lay around all day with them we went on long walks most days.

They have figured out that the stroller = walk, though and ZOMG if they aren’t tagging along.

As for the cats…they all have mostly disappeared.

Alegre absolutely lives in the basement, now. It was about a 60/40 split but now it’s more like 95/5.

She only comes out to eat or when Kellan is inconsolable. She’ll do this worried, high pitched meow all, “You two are doing something wrong. Obviously.”

I rarely see Gracie unless I’m in the kitchen and then she hauls her fat ass in there as fast as she can, sliding to a stop on the hardwood floor all, “I’m staaaaarrrrvvvviiinnnggggg!!!!”

And she never is…she just likes to beg for handouts with the dogs.

That’s where you can find her, mostly. Palling (Like “pal” as in “you’re a pal!”) around with the dogs. She thinks she is one and do she’ll walk right alongside them, tail draped over their back, purring her fat little head off.

To be fair, Alegre and Gracie never were lap cats to begin with. I think Kellan just pushed them over to the, “I’m a cat and I don’t give a shit” side. If they want attention, they’ll seek it out.

(All of the cats are fat, by the way. I’m not picking on Gracie. Chloe is probably the biggest)

Chloe….sweet Chloe…still tries to be Chloe. The only cat who is lovey dovey, pet me all the time, I want to live attached to your hip (I was going to say inside your asshole but I was trying to keep it mostly PG. But now that I’ve gone and told you….fail).

Chloe is the only one of the three cats who hasn’t seemed to be as phased by Kellan. She still comes and hangs out on bed or couch or wherever we are. Actually, she’s sitting on the bed, paw on my shin, right in front of me as I write this.

It took her a bit to get used to the fact that Kellan was, indeed, a real live thing. The first time she crept up on him while he was sleeping in his cosleeper to investigate, she failed to account for randomly moving body parts.

Then, just as her nose is about an inch away from his body……

Up shoots Kellan’s arm.

Up rockets Chloe like she’s just been struck by lightning and off the bed she flew, not to be seen again…for a few days.

I’m guessing she had to go and recover from the mini heart attack given to her by phantom arm!!!

She has a self-imposed five foot radius rule, now.

They’re all adjusting quite nicely. Obviously.

“stretchy to 3″ and daddy dreams

I’m actually *not* going to be pregnant forever!

It’s really coming to an end!

OMG YAY!!!!!!!!!!

If you’ve never been pregnant before, you really have no idea how much of a relief this is, knowing that you’ll actually be able to deflate your basketball belly and walk around without pain again. I mean, sure, we all know that pregnancy WILL END at some point but having an actual “if he doesn’t come by X date” eviction date instead of “whenever it happens………….”

HEAVEN.

The sprout’s final, absolute deadline to get the hell out?

February 20.

Scary thought of the day: Tim and I will be parents in TEN DAYS OR LESS.

The 20th would put me a 40 weeks, 4 days and I have zero intention of making it that far. During the OB appointment yesterday, I didn’t find out much else other than I was “stretchy to three centimeters” but still effaced the same and baby sprout was still at a -1 station.

Let me tell you, “stretchy to three centimeters” is a painful experience and after going through that, I’m really not all that keen on experiencing a membrane sweep (where they manually separate your bag of water from your cervix), though I’ll get to talk all about one if I make it to our appointment next week.

*But* the rainbow shining through the vajayjay storm?

The OB said she didn’t think I’d make it that far, to 40 weeks.

Please, dear baby Jesus, let her be right.

She also got 700 million brownie points because as she was feeling my belly to feel the sprout she was all, “No fat. All baby.”

(thank God the baby isn’t in my thighs)

After the appointment, I decided to try as many “old wives tale” cervix thinning/labor starting starting ideas I could think to do, like eating pineapple and eggplant and certain “activities” involving Tim.

And I’m doing them again, today, starting with an hour long walk.

Baby sprout, it’s time.

COME OUT!

There are a few dates we don’t want the sprout to come, one being Valentine’s Day (this date is more Tim than me) and also this Sunday, the 12th. I know it’s harsh but I really, really don’t want this baby sharing a birthday with my dad. I don’t want to give him (my dad) anything “extra” or “special” to talk about when it comes to the sprout. I feel like he doesn’t deserve it. He shouldn’t get to share a birthday with MY child.

(If you don’t already know, the relationship between my dad and I…isn’t. There is no relationship at all. Some background as to why is here, here and here)

(and God or karma will probably have the sprout born on the 12th just so I have no choice but to get over it)

Anyhow, with this date looming, the idea of sprout being born on the 12th is really starting to get to me.

Last night I had the weirdest dream about my dad.

So, my dream: I was going over to his house to get our dogs, Maddie and Lexi. Why they were even over there in the first place…no idea. So, I get there and Maddie has already thrown up and has diarrhea because he let her eat something she shouldn’t (something about a football….that’s all I remember).

I went on a tirade about them not eating any “people food” EVER and decided I was taking them home.

He got all irritated like I wasn’t allowed to take them and I was saying I didn’t care and there was this woman there and he turned to her and asked if she was also a lawyer (no idea what “else” she was…).

I guess he was going to try and scare me into being….what? Sued? I have no idea. They’re my dogs?….

So I kept going off about how he had no clue how to care for them and they hadn’t had any exercise, yada yada yada.

I stormed out, started getting the car ready and then he comes out with the dogs, my two youngest brothers and the woman to walk them (the dogs).

I stood there, outraged he’d even attempt this and was screaming how he didn’t even know how far they actually needed to walk while he just went down the street, grinning the whole time like, “I’ll show YOU.”

I turned to the woman all, “Seriously, they need to be walked AT LEAST three to five miles”

Then I woke up.

Go ahead, dream interpreters.

FIELD. DAY.

(and to everyone else: SEND BABY/GO INTO LABOR JUJU!)

it’s the final countdown

That song…The Final Countdown song…is stuck in my head. I don’t even really like the song, it just feels appropriate because um…obviously.

I told Tim the other day that I feel like a ticking time bomb….the sprout could come any day now…and no one knows when this preggo is going to start the laboring process.

Not even me.

Also? I don’t know if this is an impending sign of labor but OMG.

I. Am. Exhausted.

The fatigue I’ve had the last few days is almost embarrassing.

Let’s take yesterday as an example. I got up at 5:30am and then, after breakfast, decided it would be a great idea to take a nap from 8:00-9:00am.

The only reason I even woke up was because I had to pee…such a disappointment…but since I was mostly awake, I forced myself to get my lazy ass off the couch and wash both of our dogs – a golden retriever and a chocolate lab – because for some reason the one thing that drives me insane right now is smelly dogs. That’s my crazy nesting, I think.

The dogs must always be clean and bathed.

Their coats must be shiny and soft and I better smell shampoo and not dog whenever they are within a thirty foot radius or else I go whacky and fixate on them getting a bath.

These “baths” are happening almost weekly, now, and it is no small feat with a belly the size of Texas getting in the way. Good thing they both know how to get into and out of the bathtub without me having to lift them or else the whole process would become entirely more complex.

(we do sometimes take them somewhere to have the baths done but yesterday I decided “they” couldn’t do it better than me so *I* would handle it)

Post bath (and post shower for me) I decided it was appropriate to take another nap from somewhere around 12:30 – 2pm.

I went to bed at 9pm but could have easily done so around 7…or even 6…and between 2pm and 9pm I lived on the couch.

It’s a sad state of affairs, the end of pregnancy.

Today I’m (probably) forcing myself to do things, mostly because they need to be done and not at all because I A: feel like it or B: have the energy to do so, like an hour of walking because GET THIS BABY OUT and (begin panic attack in my head) the LAST grocery shopping trip before the sprout comes. The items on my grocery list are mostly easy snack-type things like greek yogurt and granola, lots of fruit, granola bars, oatmeal, etc because who is going to cook anything the first few weeks baby sprout is here?

Hell, I don’t even feel like cooking anything now.

I’ve decided that we’re going to live off of sandwiches and take out.

Also, we’re out of toilet paper and how this happened is beyond my realm of understanding.

You don’t run out of toilet paper with a 39 week pregnant lady in residence.

(I’m saying I’m 39 weeks because tomorrow is CLOSE ENOUGH)

This grocery shopping trip has to be done today because tomorrow is my weekly OB appointment. During the last few appointments, Tim and I have packed all of the hospital bags in the car and dropped the dogs off at daycare beforehand just in case we end up in the hospital and not back at home.

Forethought, people. It’s the only way.

Now…to decide to take a nap before my gym/grocery shopping escapade…

holiday throwback: the series

Happy Christmas Eve!!

Who gets to open one present tonight????

I used to look forward to that tradition every year. We’d all come home after the Christmas Eve church service and then my brothers and I would get to go to the tree and pick out a gift to open.

I remember one particular year my Omi had bought brother Jeff and I Indiglo watches and we both decided to open her gift on Christmas Eve. Not that we knew they were watches when we opened them, just that we both picked her present to open. We had veeerrrry slim pickin’s when it came to which present to open, since the only wrapped gifts under the tree were from relatives. The ones from Santa didn’t appear until the next morning.

Anyhow, the watches. Suffice it to say we spent the remainder of the time we were supposed to be sleeping playing with our watches and watching them “glow.”

Good times…

Anyway, I *used* to get to open a present on Christmas Eve until I got married…and then that little bit of joy ceased happening. Tim wasn’t very keen on that idea, I guess. I don’t remember, actually. I just know there was no longer a gift to open on Christmas Eve anymore…

*However*

I one hundred percent plan on reviving the one-present-on-Christmas-Eve tradition with the sprout because OMG.

SO. FUN.

I might love Christmas Eve more than Christmas day. I have no idea why…there is just something about it…maybe I’m still hoping Santa drops in…I mean, if you decide to believe in something SO MUCH it just has to come true, right?….Right?!

*sigh*

Tim and I spent all of yesterday checking items off a list that is entirely too long.

The good news is that the dogs no longer smell like…well…suffice it to say they needed a bath, all but one Christmas sugary delight has been created, the house is clean, the cats nails are trimmed (What? Don’t you cut the nails on your cat?), we gave the neighbors our “Happy Holidays” treats (read: tied them to their front door), I picked out THE glider-rocker for the nursery (there was some debate over which one I liked…mostly because I couldn’t remember, even with pictures) and we went into Denver to capture the most insane display of Christmas lights ever. Pictures to come.

Anyhow, my point, because I do have one…probably….

Tim has been home since yesterday and will be home ALL NEXT WEEK. This? Awesome sauce for me and not at all awesome sauce for the blog.

Soooooooo instead of me disappearing for entirely too long (because one day in blog world is like a year in real time), I’ve planned some mostly funny *holiday throwback* blog posts for you.

If you just started reading this blog, first of all, THANK YOU!!! It means so much to me that you take a little time out of your day to come and visit my little corner of random and second, you’re in for a real…um…inside look at my life over the past few years.

I’m pretty sure anyone who actually read my blog back when these were first posted no longer drop by anymore (sad face…I guess I’m boring)…so, really, everyone is probably in for some entertaining reading.

The throwback starts tomorrow.

For today?

A belated Christmas “card” to you…from all of us over at booshy.

(may as well start the throwback with a picture of the cutest Christmas kittens EVER, Chloe and Gracie)

We hope you have a very Merry Christmas or a Happy Hanukkah or Fabulous Kwanza or whatever it is you celebrate, celebrate it to the fullest!

If I were you, I’d live it up now because Paris and London and cosmic shitballs will soon be flying in your direction…

the weekend of fail

I’m not even sure where I’ve been the last…ohhhh…however many days. I feel like everything is coming down to the wire and there is so much still to do before baby sprout and OMG I’m so far behind…..anyhow.

Hi.

Welcome to my world.

Wherever I’ve been, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “online,” unless you count the Christmas shopping I did yesterday…all day. I *did* actually purchase a few things in a real live store, though. I think that kind of task – when going it alone, 31 weeks pregnant – deserves some kind of credit.

Anyhow.

Remember how I said on Friday we had all these awesome things to do over the weekend?

Like go to a holiday party Friday night?

Or test drive a car?

How about that second work party on Saturday?

Cutting down my very own Christmas tree?

Grocery shopping so we have food in the house?

FAIL.

The Friday night holiday party turned into Smashburger and recorded TV.

(Smashburger…super delicious but not exactly super healthy. It gave me the Smashpoo the next morning…zero percent fun)

Saturday’s test drive was a bust because Tim and the car people couldn’t work out whatever it was they needed to work out to make it worthwhile to drive an hour to look at a car. Apparently, *my* car isn’t selling very well and so the amount we owe versus the amount the car people want to give us isn’t jiving.

FAIL.

We did, however, find out that Saturday morning would be the last total lunar eclipse in three years and that we were lucky enough to be in a really great spot to see (most of) it.

Tim and I love nature-y stuff like this and were willing to drag ourselves out of bed at five in the morning to capture these…at a dog park, no less.

(You can see the definition of the moon/eclipse better if you click on the picture and zoom in…)

(This is how the magic happens)

After freezing in 14 degrees, we grabbed a quick breakfast to fuel the chopping down our Christmas tree.

Yay!

I was super excited about cutting down a tree watching Tim cut down a tree……..until we got to the tree farm and they pointed us in the direction of an open, empty field with like, seven trees, all under four feet tall.

Tim and I were all, “Seriously?!….Seriously?….You’re…this? These?…No….”

I wish I had taken a picture…but my mind was reeling something ferocious…like, “WHO CUTS DOWN SAPLINGS?!”

We tried looking for a few other places but those didn’t really pan out, either, mostly because the closest one we found where we didn’t need a permit required us to bring all of our own supplies and we would have to drive through the snow on non-roads into a forest to find a tree.

This?

Probably not a very smart idea with a growing-by-the-second preggo wife.

SIDEBAR

Did you know that after you reach something like 30 or 31 weeks, your belly can grow a half an inch to an inch a week? A WEEK! OMG!

END SIDEBAR.

So…anyhow…we ended up……

….I’m almost embarrassed to even admit to this…

…we ended up…here.

And on the way here Tim was all, “I feel so bad. We’re not doing anything on your list from your blog!”

I just laughed all, “It’s no big deal…we’ll call it the weekend of fail…plus one add! The eclipse!”

Little did we know the “laughing” was only going to get…um…better.

When we got to the tree farm parking lot, we both looked at each other like, “You have got to be joking…“

But, we resigned ourselves to, at bare minimum, go out to look at what they had.

Wouldn’t you know it? I ended up picking out the biggest Nobel Fir I’ve ever seen.

As in the biggest tree Tim and I have ever purchased.

As in it is probably at least seven feet tall.

When the guy working the tree place saw Tim pull up our car he was all, “Uhh…how about I put this on my Durango and deliver it for you?….”

We have a small, four door car.

(I guess this is the part where I tell you which car…because “small four door car” isn’t very descriptive…)

Our “small, four door car” is a BMW 325i. Sorry…I’ve been corrected. It’s a 328xi.

Anyway….

What his mouth didn’t say but his eyes were screaming was: There is no way in hell that tree is going onto your car without something catastrophic occurring.

Funny, though, Tim and I both had overheard another family, not five minutes before we picked out our tree, asking if they’d deliver.

Their answer?

We don’t do that.

Um….

Maybe it was because I was pregnant.

Or maybe it was because his daughter and I shared a name…minus a C, plus a K…

She’s a cheerleader, didn’t y’know and they just had their “Super Bowl” where she cheered on the big, high school field….

After we had our tree?

Operation Christmas was ON.

We may have failed at almost everything we had planned over the weekend, but we did a ton of other things, like decorate the inside and outside of the house.

Mini RANT: What the hell is wrong with Christmas lights? Tim and I tested every single strand and replaced every single blown bulb so everything was in perfect working order and 100% lit before we started putting them up outside.

And putting them up wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Tim had to maneuver and stretch and teeter on the ladder while I had to hold his body weight plus the ladder on the areas where it was just snow and rocks and when we turned them on?

FULL SECTIONS OF A FEW STRANDS WEREN’T WORKING.

RANDOM, SINGLE LIGHTS ON OTHERS WERE BLOWN.

WHY?!

WHY?!

WHY?!

We had to replace the random single lights that, magically, no longer worked and then take down the entire we-worked-inside-but-just-kidding-we’re-broken strands and put up new ones.

This took twice as long as putting up the lights alone and by the end of it all Tim was cursing every step on the ladder.

I can’t really blame him.

We also made the little boughs + bows on the porch posts.

I love them…even though there were also a PITA to put up.

(I really have no idea why we torture ourselves like this every year. Tim says he does it because I like the decorations…so I guess it’s just me who likes the pain)

But, still. Lookit how pretty!

(We’ve since added a wreath to the front door and red bows to the lights on either side of the garage…)

And our tree!

(The mantle is like a feast for the eyes with all of the random…things…we put up there…including the freaky, bendy red-headed bald santa that we’re not entirely sure how we obtained)

And the puppies, Maddie and Lexi, with the tree!

(I had to coerce them with promises of “big treats!” while Tim took the picture)

We also started the Tim’s Direct Reports Holiday Gift Project. I made puppy chow (have you read my 4th grade mortification story behind this, yet?) while Tim made fudge.

We’re doing the baking for this project in stages because I cannot possibly make puppy chow, fudge, chocolate dipped pretzels and sugar cookies (including icing) in one day without wanting to murder someone.

The cookies are happening today…the pretzels + assembly of the treat tins tomorrow.

I’ll post the finished product when it’s all said and done…plus recipes.

Yay for high calorie holiday treats!

I’m also thinking of making some kind of “We’re the people who never really talk to anyone” goodie bags for our neighbors. Mostly so they know we’re not Satan and because if we have any leftover puppy chow, I’ll eat it with reckless abandon….like I’ve already been doing…it’s like I can’t stop…and the only way to quit is to remove the temptation.

I just don’t see myself sneaking into the neighbors home to take back my puppy chow all stealthy like.

For one, I’m not that brave.

Two? Pregnant does not equal stealthy.

Pregnant equals dropping your iPhone in a bowl of cereal.

(I’m so not kidding)

(I totally did that last night)

(I don’t even know how it happened)

(It wasn’t my fault)

we had to stick it in the sink to dismantle the bomb that went off

Not only does he work a zillion hours a week, he’s now also chief animal throw-up and diarrhea cleaner upper, since I’m carrying the sprout and probably shouldn’t be handling “live cultures.”

And for whatever reason, it’s like all of the animals, except Chloe, have decided that NOW is the time to puke and assplode – literally – all over the house. I can’t even tell you how many times we’ve woken up to a gigantic mess in the loft or downstairs in the kitchen.

OMG. It’s like poetic justice. As I’m writing this…what happens? Lexi starts making the puking noises in the kitchen and SURE ENOUGH.

BARF.

(I’ve learned to put a kitchen towel underneath her mouth, which makes cleanup way easier)

(Regardless, it’s still absolutely disgusting)

We have no idea what the problem is (food? change of water? me being pregnant? aliens?) but since we moved out to Colorado, it’s like at least one of the animals decide to puke or expel their bowels every. single. week.

Except Chloe.

Chloe is the only one who is still in Tim’s good graces.

It really just keeps…happening. It’s like this horrid, perpetual, never-ending cycle.

This morning at 4:20, I awoke to Tim yelling from downstairs.

Apparently, THE POO had struck again.

I stumbled downstairs, still half asleep, trying to mumble something about how I could do it. Tim just ignores me, now, when I offer to help. It’s fruitless for me to even utter the words anymore – but it makes me feel less guilty.

At least I offered.

Instead, while he was firing off expletives and cleaning up Lexi’s apparent bowel issue, which spread from one end of the kitchen to the other, along with part of the family room (I’m pretty sure this intestinal upset is due to us changing their food), he was all, “ALL YOU ANIMALS ARE GOING TO LIVE ON A FARM. SOMEWHERE ELSE………..except Chloe!!!!!”

I honestly think he’s serious. I mean, the poor man is at his wits end. Just yesterday, Alegre decided to have her own assplosion that required – in addition to cleaning the carpet in the hallway – human intervention with her rear.

As in: we had to stick *it* in the sink to dismantle the bomb that went off.

We singlehandedly keep Bissell and Resolve in business.

My day has gone to crap – in the most basic sense of the word. I had big plans today to go to the gym and you know, leave the house to purchase important items like toilet paper (For serious. We’re totally out) but now? Now that Lexi has decided she has to run outside every thirty minutes?

None of that will be happening.

Sure, Lexi. I can’t wipe my own ass with more than one tiny square but as long as yours makes it outside, we’re all doing just fine.

Instead?

I’m on round the clock Poo Watch.

*sigh*

(guess I’ll be productive and super clean the house)

(because you have to have a clean house for Thanksgiving)

(it’s the rule)

(I’ll have to talk about our seven year meet-a-versary date night tomorrow. I can’t even focus on anything else other than poo at the moment)

forgotten date night

Remember how I’d give you the skinny on Tim and my date nights?….Then it was like that whole idea fell off the sharp side of the planet? WELL. That’s not entirely what happened. Technically. Because I’m lazy pregnant and because my blog has been (and still is) broken, I’ve had these pictures sitting on the desktop just waiting to be posted. Tim and I are the kind of people who hate having a ton of files spread all over the desktop, so you can imagine how the anal part of our personalities cringe every time we sat down at the computer and saw FILES. STREWN. ABOUT. EVERYWHERE.

So, today?  Pictures for you!

Instead of narrating every. single. one. I’m just going to say all what happened in one long, run-on sentence: These pictures are back from the weekend (however long ago it was…late July) when we went to a concert at Red Rocks (yay!) to see Train, Maroon Five and Gavin DeGraw (ok, we never saw Train because we had to leave early because apparently smoking is allowed and no one follows the “where you can smoke” rules and obviously smoke = bad mojo for the pregnant chick). (Ok. so much for the run-on sentence…).  Red Rocks was fantastic, though, and you can see the entire city of Denver in the background…like its own little entity.

Funny story: while we were standing in line to get into the amphitheater we were behind a dude from somewhere overseas (Europe-ish?) and these two Asian girls who kept giggling like everything he said was THE FUNNIEST THING EVER.  At some point, he started showing them a picture on his phone all, “Lion King? You know?”

And the girls were looking at each other and then back at him all, “Huh?”

So, he changed his tactic and was all, “King Léon? You know?” And then he pointed to the phone again and started singing Hakuna Matta (100% true story).

That – the “King Léon” – must have triggered some kind of lightbulb because the two girls start giggling in absolute fits.  This, however, made Tim and I start laughing for no reason other than people were hysterically laughing and how can you not join in?

The dude, astute as he is, notices us laughing and turns around to show us the picture. King Léon, no?  And it so WAS.

(Ok. ONE narrated picture)

Doesn’t that big rock in the background of the parking lot look JUST like the one from the Lion King when Simba is held up for the kingdom to see…all “The ciiiiircle of liiife!”

Maybe you had to be there…

Anyhow, after the Lion King…err…King Léon, the rest of the concert was fantastic. Except for the smoking part.  And the parts where no one really has an assigned seat so people keep cramming in and squishing you closer and closer together.  Tim and I never really had that issue, we seemed to look mean enough to deter anyone from trying to sit between us, but a poor, young couple in front of us? MISERY. They kept getting their space eaten up by one couple after another. The last one was a lesbian twosome who preceded to grind on each other during every song.  Not that I have anything against lesbians…but regardless of who was doing the dancing, it was slightly….how shall we say…inappropriate…their dance moves…but then again, the older couple next to Tim and I were dancing like they were still in high school, so…..to each their own. Still, the poor young couple literally had maybe one butt-cheeks-worth of space to sit on after these two chicks came and squished themselves in and the poor young couple kept glaring at them all, “WE WERE HERE FIRST.”

And they were.  Just not aggressive enough to maintain position.

Now, Red Rocks. In pictures.

(Tim was super proud of this picture because he managed to get the word “call” in the picture as words flashed on and off that screen)

Also during our Red Rocks weekend, Tim and I took a mini road trip to a place in Colorado called Devil’s Head.  It’s a short, but tough, hike to the top of a mountain where there is one of the few remaining (working?) fire towers in the area. We took a very scenic drive to get there – minus the part where we had to drive on a bumpy dirt road for ten too many miles.  Our navigation system (correction: MY navigation system) kept trying to take us on these backcountry dirt roads that looked more appropriate for four wheelers.

We don’t roll that way.  Not in my car, anyway.  My car is a chicken hybrid who doesn’t understand “off roading.”

Our drive…and visit…to Devil’s Head (with the pups!)

(by the way, this is where Maddie and Lexi chickened out. There were still two more flights of stairs to climb before you actually got to the fire tower, so Tim went first and I waited with the two…then he came back and took them down while I went to the top)

(one of the many panoramic views from the top)

The.

End.

you should be here, already. like, now.

What happened today? Well, today I was retarded.

And today you should be visiting booshy’s new home. Yay!