While we are on the topic of balls.....

I am an animal lover. Wonderpup has been like my child for nearly 10 years. Granted, now that Murph is here he's more of a red-headed step child, but a child none the less.

That being said....I hate the neighbor's dog.

Ok, even that isn't fair to say, because I think that "Lacy, Laaacy, God Damn it Lacy" is a sweet enough dog. She just is starved for attention. The "Loudlys" are not nice to the dog. Even though they have a fenced yard, she is often chained up out there. She doesn't have a dog house, can only crawl under the deck. We did finally see them take the dog inside when the wind chill was sub zero, one time. Now that it's warming up she's back out on the deck.

Did I mention the deck was about 20 feet from my bedroom window. The window of a poorly constructed, lightly insulated, rental home?

So while they are in their house, stuffing thier oversized faces and those of their oversized children, the dog sits on a picnic table looking through the window and barks.

And Barks.

AND BARKS.

Last night I had had enough. Standing at the door screaming "Shut Up!" at the top of my lungs didn't seem to have any affect on "God Damn it Lacy".

So in a moment of weakness and idea came to me.

Meatballs.

Anti-freeze meatballs.

But then that little angel who so rarely appears on my shoulder poped in to say hello.

"It's not the poor dog's fault," she said.

She was right, I knew that.

Then the little devil (who is there MUCH more frequently) spoke up

"Make the meatballs. Just leave them on the front porch as a gift for the Loudly's. They don't look like they would turn down free food"

Tempting. Verrrrry tempting.

I settled for yelling "Shut Up" one more time.

I figure using Antifreeze didn't work too well for that Jensen guy.

and I'm too pretty for jail.

That's what he said

We got a phone call this weekend from Chiefy's ex. Incase you aren't aware, over 2000 miles seperate us. Five states lie between our state and their state. We won't see them again until a month from now when they visit for spring break. Seems that our 11 year old told the 8 year old to "lick his balls."

WHAT the heck are we supposed to do about it?

She seems to think that instead of picking up this kind of language at their public school, which they attend every day, they picked it up from their cousins. Of course those would be their 17 and 10 year old cousins on OUR side of the family. Cousins that they see 2, maybe 3 times a year. We are to have a "talkin" to with the nephews to explain why they shouldn't use that language.

She's a nutter. This is the same person who went on and on about how they aren't allowed to play those video games at her house, or at any of her family member's houses. Then the boys told us how much fun they had with their uncle (her brother) playing those same games!

So Chief held in the laughter as he explained to the 11 year old why he is not allowed to say that to his infuriating little brother. And promised that he would "once again" talk to their cousins.

Thank goodness she doesn't have anything serious to worry about. Like the fact that the 8 year old is falling behind in school. He might repeat third grade, but at least he won't say BALLS.

Grandma Great's Grill

Before Flava Flav or Nelly had them, my great grandma was rockin some gold teeth. Not many, just a few, but that tended to make an impression on a little kid.

When asked how she came to have these gold teeth, she didn't just offer a standard answer, no Grandma Great had her own sense of humor. She said that if you lose a tooth, and don't put your tongue in the space left, you would get a gold tooth.

Everytime I lost a tooth I would try to keep my tongue away, but sadly I never got a gold tooth of my own. It's impossible to do, you know.

It seems Murph is doomed to have boring pearly whites just like me. He's gotten his first tooth, and more are on their way, and he can't leave them alone. Every time I look at him he either has his finger in his mouth or has his tongue stuck out.

I told him Grandma Great's story. He thought it sounded ridiculous.

(Thumb placed firmly on forehead) It wasn't me!

I hate public restrooms. (I would hold "it" all day if I could.)

I hate a stinky public restroom even more. (Do your "business" at home")

But even more than that, I hate walking into an offending restroom when no one is around, and out of it when a crowd has gathered.

Because you KNOW those people think I'm the reason it stinks.

And she wonders why I make fun of her..


My younger sister is a good person. She is a great aunt to Murph, his brothers, and his cousins. She is loyal to a fault. She is well liked and has some really great friends. Sure there is the occasional moment that she gets a burr in her saddle and her heads spins, but all in all, I can't complain. Much.


She, on the other hand, will tell you what a horrible person I am, and how I have always been mean to her. She'll tell you of all the mean things I did and said to her. She'll tell you how I used to put her in headlocks (for her own good) and that I made her eat dirt (because if you double dog dare someone it means they HAVE to do it). She will convienently forget the things she did and said to me. Like the time she called me fat and I called her stupid. She claimed names hurt her more than they hurt me (I think that just goes to prove my point)

But that's mud under the bridge.

I prefer to think of it as my duty as an older sibling to toughen her up for the mean, outside world. I think I have failed.

Here is an excerpt from our last phone conversation.

Her: Sometimes when I sit on the toliet I weigh my legs. They weigh like 11 pounds each. Do you think that's right?

Me: You know this is going in the blog right?

A letter to Me

I normally swear to most people that I don't like country music. Or will pretend to not listen to it as much as I do. But lately it seems that those are the only stations playing music I'm not ashamed to let Murph listen to. I read a report yesterday that said that the average 15-18 year old listens to 2.4 hours of music a day, and in that time hears 84 references to drugs and alcohol. Yikes.

But once again, I digress.

My roundabout point is that yesterday I heard the song about a man writing a letter to his teenage self. I got thinking about what I would want to be able to tell a younger me if I could go back in time. I'm a bit like Doc. I'm afraid that the letter Marty hands me could ruin things, so in my usual way I would want it to be informative yet cryptic. So here goes.

Dear 17 year old me,

Right now life is so simple. I know right now you are worried about what he said, or she said, or what they think about you, but I promise you in a year you won't care. Infact, in a year you won't even think about 98% of those people anyway. Trust me.

Be nicer. Filter more. Sometimes you say things to be funny, but words can wound. Years down the road you will still regret little things that you say and do now.

Love those around you. And if you love them, tell them. Don't take those close to you for granted. One day you will stand in a cemetary regretting not picking up the phone more or visiting more.

Love yourself more. Respect yourself more. Others will learn to do both more if they see that you've learned it.

Stop cutting your bangs so short.
Learn to tweeze
Put down the hairspray!
Flannel is NOT flattering
College will be amazing.
Hide the phone when you start drinking.
You will love Europe. Both times.
He is NOT worth it.
Neither is he.
Nope not him either.
Getting warmer.

Life won't always go as you plan.
25 won't be as bad as you think.
26 and 27 might be worse.
28 is when your life will really start.
31 is when it will finally have meaning

Mom and Dad are right.
About almost everything.
But sometimes they aren't.
So trust that they raised you well enough to know the difference.
Because sometimes YOU will be right,
and they will have to trust that they raised you well enough to know the difference.

Technology will change your life.
You will have amazing friends, even if some of them you never get to see face to face.

When things are right, life will be simple. You just have to trust that there is a plan for you out there.

Be good. Have fun. And don't do anything I'm going to regret.

It's not that I love the Giants.......


I just really hate the Pats.