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Tuesday, January 30, 2018


Today was a glorious winter morning, like any other...until it wasn't.  The snow was falling softly and I let SoCo out to play as she loves the snow.  First thing she did was run around the tree at the end of her 50' run [don't judge, she's a scent-hound that can't be off leash and her breed is known to climb trees so fences are also out].  Then she began harmlessly eating snow...and thus why in winter the kids call her Snow-Co.

Snow-Co: Mommy, I am dog.  And I am done eating snow.  And I'm stuck.  Come get me.
Me: Dude!  Go around the tree. [now, she knows this command, but it appears we will revisit the training this summer]
Snow-Co:  But, I am dog and I cannot.  Wait.  I got it!  This way? [runs the wrong way around again]
Me: Come on you moron...go around the tree!
Snow-Co: YOU. WILL. COME. GET. ME. I will it so!
Me: Go around!

[this continues for about three minutes that felt like an hour; I go back inside to swap my slippers for BJ's sneakers inside the door and begin the long tromp out there]

Snow-Co: Haha!  You want to play!  I will run around the tree!  Twice, because you said so more than once.
Me: Jeeeee-Zus, are you kidding me?  These foot yachts are full of snow already!
Snow-Co: You want to play?  I'm coming for you!

She begins running for me completely untethered from the tree, at full bore.  She begins barking and running like a mad woman around me while I duck and pray I don't get taken out by the run/tie-out.

Snow-Co: Play!  You will play!  See?  I will run and you will run and we will run and PLAYING!
Me: Stop, God stop! [I duck down again, while putting an arm out bc she is now trying to jump ON me]
Snow-Co: Woooo-Hooooo!  Playing!  I love the snow and when you play and RUNNING MOMMY!

At this moment I fall into the snow.  With men's sneakers on that are about six sizes too big for me - seriously, who in the hell has feet this big?!?  I feel like Ralphie's kid brother trying to get up.  I roll around like a marooned Yeti for a moment until I find my footing in these pontoons.  At this, the dog runs up and knocks me down again.

Me: DOG!  Quit. That.
Snow-Co:  I love to play with you Mommy!  Here, eat the snow too!  It is yummy! [at this she somehow flings up snow and covers me in a shower of it...only on my face]

More rolling ensues.  I get up to find she's casually strolled to the back door.

Snow-Co: Mommy, I am dog and I am done playing in the snow.  What are you doing?!?  Stop with your nonsense and come let me inside!


Thursday, January 4, 2018

Oh What Fun!

There is nothing quite like a holiday party to put things in perspective.  And booooooy, do we love a good Holiday Party.  This year was no exception with over 40 men, women and children partaking in our festivities.

See, I'm a clean freak.  That's not to say my home is a sparkling gem - Noooooo.  Mainly, being a clean freak means that I walk around frustrated over doing the same chore 17 times in a row and muttering to myself as I make my rounds tidying up after my non-clean freak family.  Enter the Holiday Party.

Most people spend days cleaning prior to a party.  Not this girl, nope.  I let my joint go, barely cleaning anything outside of the essentials for about 2 weeks, because well - people.  Jammed into my house.  The real cleaning comes AFTER the last guest has gone home and I've recovered from drinking too much of my neighbor's moonshine eggnog [Thanks, Paige...I'm still recovering from THAT].

That's when I get to see that maybe my family isn't such a hot mess after all.  And over the years of us having this huge shindig, I think I've seen most everything...included but not limited to:

  • Hot chocolate spilled in a kitchen drawer
  • A booger wiped on a bathroom mirror (more like finger painted on)
  • Fudge smooshed to the underside of a table
  • Crayon marks on walls
  • Soda drips down the side of the couch
  • Remotes covered in cracker crumbs
  • And I don't even want to know WHAT that is on my ceiling...
And I wouldn't trade any of it for the world!  However, when the yearly cleaning process starts, I'm sure you would hear the most fantastical things mumbled as I shift from room to room with my cleaning spray and a rag.

"Wow, that Eggnog...JESUS - how did that get there?  [wiping] And I don't even think we had fudge that color.  Hmmm, wonder where the OMG, [spraying] is that a booger?  [scrubbing] Why isn't there a vacuum that [bending over and inspecting large pieces of furniture] sprays and wipes too?!?  And then the - IS THAT SOUP?  WHO IN GOD'S NAME ATE SOUP IN...SoCo!  Don't eat that...whatever it is!"

Typically, I emerge from the cleaning frenzy about three days later to have my house back to the natural state of chaos that my family resides in.  And it feels good.  And I am content.  

Well, except for wondering what ADULT wiped a booger on my mirror; because no kid can reach that high...