Tonight, Dan was busy elsewhere.  Home alone, I put the kids down, and snuggled up with the baby to watch a movie.

Throughout the movie, I had to hit pause to holler at my youngest (before baby) to GO TO BED.

At 9:32, my sister called to check up on me.  I had just put the baby down and we started chatting.  While we talked, the dog barked to be let in and I got up and opened the door.  The baby started fussing.  Putting the baby off a bit, I paced and continued to talk.  I started to notice a very foul odor.  “What is that?” I thought.  And, as I watched my dog rub her entire body against the leather chair, it dawned on me that she had been skunked.  YET AGAIN.

My sister tried her best not to laugh out loud as I hung up the phone.

The baby cried louder, needing to be fed.

I threw the #$%#! dog outside, thinking that the neighbors were just going to have to deal with it if she barked.  My baby needed to eat.

Damn that dog.

While I nursed, I watched some more of my movie.

Thankfully Andrew fell asleep and I was able to put him down.

I paused my movie, put the baby down and, cussing, got out my deskunking supplies and whipped up a batch of potion.  As I walked out my front door (the skunk is in the back) to give the dog a bath, who is there but my neighbor.  The perfect one, out walking her perfect dog, with a flashlight to smartly keep the skunks away.  “Oh, no!” she said.  “Oh, yes!” I replied.

Donning my beautiful purple playtex rubber gloves, I bathed my dog, flooding the front yard and entertaining the neighborhood in the process.

I dried the dog off and, finished with the nasty business, I then had to bathe myself.  With the house unbelievably quiet, I took a hot, cleansing shower.  As I stepped from the tub, I swung my towel around to dry myself off…

…and the end of it landed in the toilet.

This morning, we loaded the kids up and headed over to the (kick-ass, 2-story) Barnes & Noble.  I know that seems like a crazy thing to do with my kids (ALL those books to be unshelved!), but there were two of us today to keep them reigned in, and the store was having a special C.G. story time.

A woman read one of the books to the (million or so) kids that attended, handed out coloring sheets and then everybody got to meet Curious George.

They all had a good time, but Sam, being the George affectionado, enjoyed it the most, I think.

Here are a few pics from the weekend.  The highlights were swiming and visiting Grant’s Farm.  Cousins are so awesome – so wish we had more time with all the cousins on both sides of the family!

Cousin Joey, poolside

Samma Jamma

Cousin Matt

Sean feeding the goats

Goat feeding on Maria

Paige and Sam

Jack and One Big Horse

Today was the 21st Annual Spring Road Pet and Bike Parade.  And we didn’t just attend, we participated.  How could we not?  There were signs all over town and Jack and Maria can read that much, at least.

Of course there was the bouncy house and face painting.  But, Jack really got into the bike decorating.  And, he did an awesome job of it.  As a matter of fact, he won.  Unofficially.  A woman came up to me to get his full name, but when she saw the last name she said she thought we were already up for a different award and she thought she should “spread things out.”  So, he didn’t get a blue ribbon, but he knew he’d won.  And, deservedly so.

The official winner, of course, was Cheerio.  She won the blue ribbon for Best Dressed Pet.  We were going for the Fancy Nancy look.

All dressed up

Beautiful Back

Flames on the face to match the helmet

Beautiful Maria

The Winners' Circle

Best Bike

Growing up, we always had at least one pet.  Often more than one or two.  I’ve always been an animal person, and didn’t really understand people who weren’t.  To me, having a family means having animals, too.

But, they can be… trying.  And expensive – in more ways than one.

The Cat Who Won’t Go Away is having more problems, so yesterday I called for yet another appointment with the vet.  And then tried to put it out of my mind, lest I become depressed.  (And, unfortunately, not at the thought of losing him.)

Later in the evening, as Dan was cleaning the kitchen and I was reading in bed, he wandered back and forth between the the two rooms and we discussed the kids, the day, his work, etc.  Seconds after one of his trips back into the kitchen, there was an absolute ERUPTION.

Did I mentioned I cooked a roast for dinner last night?  And that it wasn’t ready in time for the kids to eat?  So they ate something else and Dan and I ate some roast a little later?  And there was a LOT left over?  And it was sitting on the counter?  WAY too close to the edge?

Ummmm. Yeah.  So Cheerio attempted to supplement her dinner with ours.  Dan stopped her mid-chew.  Lose-lose.  But look on the bright side!  It’s Lent!  Today is Friday!  We couldn’t have had the leftovers anyway.  Today, that is.

Apparently after an eruption like that, Cheerio decided she needed a little extra comfort.  AND SLEPT ON OUR LEATHER COUCH last night, where Dan discovered her upon waking.  Not such a hot idea.

A few hours later, I dragged The Little Boys to the vet to get Chewy looked at.  After taking blood and urine from Chewy and my arm and leg, the vet came back and said she’d also like to do a CARDIAC ULTRASOUND on the cat.  His blood pressure is out the roof.  Could be his meds, could be a heart problem.  I just stood there.  Too dumbfounded to speak.  I may have nodded.  Thankfully there is no US machine in there office, so it has to be arranged… if we do it.

She left to write a prescription for some blood pressure medicine while we tried to entertain themselves in the exam room.  Thankfully, the boys were happy with my iPhone, unlike the cat, who chose to take a dump on the counter.  Immediately there were wails of “EWWWWWWWWW!  Disgusting!!!”  Stinky!” from the boys and much holding of noses.  (As if they’ve never stunk a place up.)  Luke wanted me to throw it away.  I explained that we couldn’t put it in the regular trash, that the vet probably has a special poop trashcan, and that we’d just have to wait for her to come get it and throw it away.

The cat then jumped down and peed all over the floor.  Guess they didn’t get it all when they took their sample.

As the boys huddled in the corner by the door begging to leave, the vet returned with the prescription. Luke promptly pointed out the gifts our cat was leaving behind.  As the vet tried to explain a few things to me, Luke peppered her with questions about whether or not she had a poop trash can and could she go throw the poop away?  Now?

So… anyone interested in a roast-stealing, couch-sleeping dog or a medicated, counter-pooping cat?

Photo of cat currently unavailable (but I swear it isn’t because he’s not around.)

Anyhow, soon after we returned, Caroline called.  I couldn’t answer in time, so I called her right back.  We chatted mostly about The Snow.  We’re both buried in It and getting just slightly annoyed with It.

During this conversation (literally 6 minutes), Luke asked for a piece of pumpkin bread.  I acquiesed, telling him to take the remainder of it (a huge chunk).  He walked over to the table with it happily.

A few minutes later, Jack was downstairs in the kitchen telling Luke he had messed up his room. (All rooms are spic and span because Santa doesn’t come to messy houses).  In a panic, Luke ran up to check and returned wailing that Jack had messed it up.

I told Caroline I’d have to call her later and hung up.  Then I calmed Luke down and sent Jack back upstairs to repair the damage.

A placated Luke returned to the table only to find his pumpkin bread missing.  And the dog licking her chops.

Thankfully, I had a spare loaf and all was saved.  For the time being.

We have a lovely new fence.  An absolute necessity with kids and a dog.  Especially a dog that runs off and kids that give her every opportunity to do so.  In just a month without a fence, I thought I’d go crazy.  I can’t tell you how many times I had to run down the street calling for the dog with my little ones following behind.  A few times we had to get into the van to track her down.  More than once she accompanied us to school because she chose to run off right when we needed to leave for a pick up or drop off.

The times I’ve had to give up tracking her down in the name of my kids’ safety she’s always come home after a short stint around the neighborhood, keeping me from worrying too much.

I thought our beautiful new fence was going to solve some of my dog/kid problems.

What was I thinking?  I mean, it’s not like I had the fence guys install high-tech locks.  And, since all of the kids are able to open the gates, I’m not sure that having the fence has improved our run-off to not-run-off ratio.  It’s not that the kids don’t shut the gates (or close the doors), it’s just that they do it very sloooooowly.  And, they have to hold the door/gate open allllllll the way so that they have plenty of room go go through it, you know?  Which, of course, means that Cheerio has plenty of time and plenty of room to also go through.

Today’s run-off experience has to be in the top 10 worst.  So far, anyway.

After school all of the children and the dog were playing outside in the beautifully fenced backyard.  I was on the deck and in and out of the house keeping an eye out.  So, I happened to witness the opening of the gate, the running off of the dog and the looks of two guilty boys.  (Just because I saw it didn’t mean I had time to stop it.)

Off I went, leash and treats in hand, with my children trailing behind, to fetch the dog.  She hit the park, though, and none of my tricks worked.  There was too much sniffing and running to do.  I gave up and headed back to the house, gathering my children as I went.  After 30 minutes or so, I decided we needed to take the van on a Cheerio Hunt.  We drove slowly through the neighborhood shouting “CHEEEER-I-O!” as my neighbors looked on in pity.

No luck.

We returned home dogless and I started to worry and wonder how much a dog catcher ticket would cost me. I also started to envision having to explain to four sad faces that the dog had met with some terrible demise.  It didn’t take much imagination to know what Dan would say about it all.

After about an hour, the phone rang.  It was the vet.  Had we lost our dog?  Yep!  Okay, they’d give my number to the person who found her.  I waited… no call.  I called the vet back.  It’s the police that have her, they told me and gave me the number.

Shit.

I called the police, got passed around, and then someone told me that a neighbor actually had Cheerio and she was going to bring her home.  Just in case, they gave me her name, address and phone number.  Great on the one hand – we’d have our dog back, not so great on the other – the police were giving out people’s addresses somewhat freely.

As my neighbors looked on, a very nice woman (with a dog of her own) brought Cheerio home.  I thanked her profusely, of course, and then got Cheerio and myself back into the house and away from the onlookers as quickly as possible.

Whew!

Of course I called Dan.  And, just as I launched into the story, I happened to glance out the back window.  Some man was back there, shutting my gate.  Weird.  What was that about?  I went to the front door and there he was (a neighbor) with my next door neighbor (who has a perfectly behaved dog that is never on a leash and always comes back. [Whatever - they have no kids]). They saw me standing there and told me they were just shutting the gate behind Cheerio – she had run off again and had come back.  “No!” I said.  “Yes,” they said in unison.  “Uh, thanks,” I said meekly, shutting the door quickly.

I’m thinking we should have gone with high tinsle electric.

After Sam and I returned from church, I set about vacuuming all the creepy spots in the house.  You know, all the tiny corners and basement rafters that are full of cobwebs and little crawly things.

Since the Orkin man wanted my first, second and third born children in return for a little pest preventative spraying, we decided to go the DIY route.  I bought some spray last night at Home Depot and thought I’d put it down today while 3 of the 4 were in school.

After vacuuming, I got the spray out and went to it.  I was finished with 10 minutes to spare, so I thought I’d do the outside perimeter of the house before going to pick up Luke and Maria from school.  As Sam and I went out, I checked the door knob and found that it was locked.  I unlocked it and then closed the door behind us.  (I’d leave the door open and just screen door closed, but Sam can open that himself.  Which means he can let the dog out.  Didn’t want that happening.  AGAIN.)

Sam frolicked in the yard while I sprayed and with about 2 minutes to spare, I was finished.  Screw Orkin.

I gathered Sam and we headed into the house.  Almost.

Impossibly, we were locked out.  I couldn’t believe it!  I had checked!  I guess, though, when I turned the lock to unlock the knob I didn’t turn it far enough.  Or something.

There we were, needing to pick up Luke and Maria, the dog needed to go out, and we couldn’t get into the house.  I didn’t even have my iphone on me.  As if that would help.

I was NOT going to be late picking up my kids.  Not, not, not.

Quickly, I thought about breaking a window pane, but I really didn’t want to do that.  There’s enough broken shit around here to fix already.

Like Pinky Dinky Do, I thought and thought and thought and thought.

The kitchen window was open a crack.  But, we have locking screens.  Not just those annyoing don’t-work-anyway peg things, but actual lever lock thingys.  I looked around for something skinny and hard to poke through the screen so I could unlock it, but found nothing.  I checked my watch.  Ugh.  I had to get in!

Screw it.  I broke the screen.  I figured fixing that had to be cheaper than fixing a window.  I then grabbed a garbage can (luckily the garbage man had already come so it was empty), put it on top of the 30-year-old air conditioning unit, climbed up, and pushed the window open.

Sam was standing right there (you know, to catch me if I fell) and I thought it would be easier to shove him through the window and try to get him to let me into the house than if I tried climbing in.

I guess I need to get my brain checked.

All Sam did was sit on the counter and play with all the cool things he couldn’t normally reach.  I encouraged him to get down.

“No,” he said.

I ran to the door and jiggled the handle and knocked on the door to try to entice him.  No dice.

I went back to the window, grabbed his hands and lowered him to the floor.  Again, I encouraged him to open the door.  I think he actually tried, but wasn’t able to turn the knob.  Dammit.

Back to the garbage can-on-the-air-conditioner I went and tried to pull myself through the window.  Thank God the window was to the back of the house, because it was very embarrassing.  Sam stared at me while I tried to hoist myself through.  I’m not nearly as flexible or as strong, I guess, as I am in my imagination, ’cause I had a hell of a time.  But, I did it.  Somehow.

Quickly, I grabbed Sam, my purse, my KEYS and the dog and we headed out.  We were short on time, so I figured we’d just take Cheerio with us to school.  Again, I need that brain checked.  As soon as Cheerio was out of the house she took a dump (which I had to stop and clean up) and then she jumped into the car and shook herself out.  Hair everywhere.

I set my ever-present Diet Dr. Pepper down, buckled Sam in and then came back to find dog slobber all over my soda.  Ewww.

We set off for school.  At the stop sign I looked down and saw that my dark blue pants were covered with dog hair and my t-shirt was smudged with dirt from climbing in the window.  Terrific.

Here comes Susan Clampett to join the preschool line.

Jack’s doggie and Maria’s bear.  I guess he buckled them in before jumping out at drop-off time.

Me: Well, where do you think it is?

Luke: I think it got eaten up.

Me: [Trying not to laugh because this is a new one...] Really? Eaten up? By who?

Luke: Cheerio.

Now, Cheerio (our yellow lab) does eat a LOT of things. However, she has yet to show an interest in, much less eat, a blankie (thank God). I know where the blankie is. It’s downstairs, where it would take oh-so-much effort to go and locate.

Unfortunately for Cheerio, I have a feeling this isn’t going to be the last time she gets the blame for something.