Pick of the Week

I have to say, some of these youtube videos lately make me laugh out loud. This one just made my day.

Man...I totally just fell in love with this kid. Want to pinch his cheeks and shake his hands. Kendall wants to be his Secretary of State. Some days kids opinions should be our opinions. Today is one of those days. Who doesn't need a pep talk?


'I Love Hamsters!'

You can just go ahead and call me a sucker. That is seriously what this post encompasses.

I would like to start off by asking why children ages 7 to 10 years old want to have small rodents as pets? I am quite certain that 88% of elementary school's population either wants one or has one or a gaggle.

One day in December, my daughter announced that she would just love one. I already was a loser in this battle since she and her father agreed that they would be the greatest hamster owners of all time and I wouldn't have to worry about taking care of it at all.

So you know how that goes. I still laugh at this classic line; you don't have to worry I will take care of this pet. I believe it is mandatory statement in life on the check list. God's like, 'yup, got that one down, on to the next one which happens at a sleepover....Mom, I promise we will go to sleep when you say it's time.

So Bailey came home. Cause why? Cause I'm a sucker.

Oh and Bailey is a dwarf hamsters, and this 2 inch rodent was picked because they don't bite...uh huh.

What I didn't know about hamsters previous to owning one was that they are up all.night.long. It's really awesome. And what they do is run on their wheel, all.night.long. So here's what. When wheel and cage came home it was tooted that said wheel is just wonderful. It's plastic and doesn't squeak like its metal counter parts. Instead it gets to sound like a hallow barrel rolling down a hill, all.night.long. Really great invention.

 So Bailey was danced around with. Bailey was placed on everyone's head, and 'isn't it so cute, Bailey just ran up my pant leg.' I assured said person that it would not be cute if Bailey did in fact bite and bit her who-ha.

Said child had library one day at school.This child only brings home non fiction animal books. Books about poodles, and parrots, and rabbits. My mother's comment was, 'oh she just loves books about animals.' I really didn't have the heart to tell her that Kendall could really care less about library but has to check out a book. So girl walks in and walks to the same spot she always does, grabs a book, and her job is done. I know this because, 'I Love Shi Tsus!,' has come home like 5 times already. Girl does not love Shi Tsus that much.

I will go off a little bit here and tell all you that I read to this child and still do religiously. When she was an infant I was reading to her as she came out of the womb. Presently, she is required to read or be read to 15 minutes daily, at some points this is like pure punishment. So in the study that children who are read to daily develop a healthy hobby of reading is so not true as of yet for my lab rat. It kind of breaks my heart a little bit. I am all like, 'We can read chapter books together!!! Let's go read Little House on the Prairie!!' Girl is all like talking to herself about her loose teeth within five minutes, then attempting to find lost book mark so that it is ready, because, 'two chapters is good for tonight.' I tell her she has no idea what she is missing out on, apparently this does not matter. I can only hope that Ramona the Pest at some point becomes so very entertaining, otherwise I have failed her.

But on this particular library day girl is ecstatic. In her 'go to' spot she picked out a winner. A book about hamsters, perfectly entitled, 'I Love Hamsters.' Riveting.

So we read it after dinner that night. As the sentence is coming out of my mouth I am regretting it, but that night my brain must not have been functioning on all cylinders because I couldn't ad lib fast enough and stop myself. 'Hamsters do well in pairs. They enjoy the company and warmth of another Hamster, and have proven to become what might be the human equivalent of lonely on their own.'

Immediately. 'Oh no, poor Bailey, she must be so very lonely.' I tried to assure both the oldest boy and Kendall that I was certain that dwarf hamsters are different and they like to be alone. Yeah, well see what happens as your children grow is they catch onto your little deterrents. 'Well Mommy, I think the book would say that, like say that hamsters are lonely when the only one in a cage, except for the dwarf hamster, and it doesn't, Mommy.' So Bailey was cried and apologized to on a nightly basis.
'We are so sorry Bailey that you are all alone in that big cage.' I could not take the weeping or the delaying of bed time. And here's my f-d up brain, what's one more? So they had to do chores for two weeks. These kids wiped freaking toilet seats.

So another female hamster was brought home. Star Fire.  Cause Why? Cause I'm a sucker. The requirement I had was that this thing must have a who-ha. I went as far as to tell them that if a male was brought home and babies were made that the male then eats the babies. I have no idea if this is true or not. Maybe I heard it somwhere, or totally made it up...that happens a lot when raising children. However, it is now a fact in my house.

Here's what everyone, but me, forgot. We have a two year old child. It does not matter where you put the cage of hamsters. This child scales walls. On a good day he will come downstairs no fewer then two times with a hamster in his hand telling us, 'ook, ook, Bawee loves me, awwww...' as he squeezes it, stretches it, rubs it on his face,and has the thing crawling all over his arms. And here is the kicker. Occasionally, two year old will not mention that he has freed a hamster. And he will take it to playroom. He then must get totally involved in trucks and then all of a sudden remembers he had a hamster twenty minutes ago. He will then come find me and say, 'uhh Ma-yee, Bawee is lost.' So then I have to spend an hour looking for a neutral colored three inch hamster in a 500 square foot pile of toys. Really rad. As this is going on I have girl standing in the midst of this, who mind you is a future oscar winning actress, weeping like it is the end of the world.'If anything, anything happens to Bailey or Star Fire, I will just die. I want pink roses at my funeral, I won't be able to live another day without them. Jacob, I just cannot believe you are so careless. Mommy, this is devastating!'

Stanley however hates these things. He tries so very hard to behave when they are out and flying around on the children's arms as I instruct him to be a good boy. He shakes with anxiety sure that the kids are going to get their eyeballs eaten out. Of course we find this incredibly entertaining.

What!?!?! Your family doesn't totally hang out in Power Ranger costumes while torturing animals?

Lillian on the other hand could really care less, she just wants to know why her food bowl is empty and where she can sleep the day away.

Hamsters live two years on average.
I have now invested two years of my life to cleaning hamster turds out of a cage.
Because as you know, if you are a mom, it doesn't matter what they say or promise, the animals are yours whether you wanted them or not. It's part of our contract.

And Star Fire completely bit my nose the other night while attempting to read a chapter book with the girl. Totally want a refund.


A Letter to the Two Year Old

Dearest Jake:

If you could be ever so kind, will you please now refrain from waking up at 3 a.m. demanding junk food? As you know, I cannot resist a treat, however 3 a.m. is where my sweet tooth draws the line. Midnight Snack, dude, no later. We had this discussion at the boob a few years back, maybe though this time you will get the message.

Also, would you please stop bullying your older and bigger brother and sister? I know, on occasion, I too find it somewhat funny that they squeal and run away from a two year old. But see when you grab the light saber and start swinging it like an ax, I worry about picture frames and my owl figurines getting smashed to smithereens. Beyond that, when your siblings start screaming in my ear like they are in some horror film and hanging on me, again, this is where I draw the line.

Since I have you, I must squeeze in this request. Will you please eat normal meals? Seriously. The bagel and cream cheese, cereal, french fry diet you've got going on makes me a bad mother. How about a nice and healthy Go Gurt? Oh, that's right, you slurped down all 8 of those yesterday. Irregardless, kids your age eat fruits and vegetables. Or how about a chicken leg? You can even dip it in ranch and ketchup.

I also find the need to let you know that jumping on the bed after I have made it, is just not acceptable. Your brother has 5 zillion stuffed animals that I just arranged to his obsessive compulsive likeness and when you jump, they just scatter. And please stop asking if how high you jump is awesome - o.k., maybe it's a little awesome, do you have springs in your heels?

Opening the front door when religious solicitors knock during the days is not o.k. We don't need to be hospitable to everyone, most especially when you answer with no pants on, let the dog out, and I have clearly instructed you to stand frozen nice and quietly in the kitchen like me and that we are playing a really fun game. You are potty training, you are 2 years old, and you are not the welcome wagon. Just because they hold a bible in their hands doesn't mean they are your friends and want to play choo choos.

And another thing, the grocery store is not an obstacle course military boot camp, or a running track. I am sorry to be the one to break this news to you. People don't find it cool that you and your brother can jump over a box of bananas. I also don't think they will be cheering the two of you on as you race down aisle six and slide across the end cap, 'finish line.' I am also quite certain that the shelf stocker doesn't find it absolutely fascinating that you and E can slither behind boxes of food on the bottom shelf only knocking down five or six boxes from one end to the other. I'm just saying.

I also feel that as your mother I need to tell you that when volunteering at the SPCA, its is not recommended that you put a cat in a half nelson and then ask, 'you like me, Meow?' Not all cats are like Lillian, she is fat and lazy and doesn't give two sacks of cat nip what you do to her as long as she is fed.

The bathtub, my love, is not a pool. Despite what your brother says' he did not learn his mad swimming skills from practicing in the tub. He is just a plain old 5 year old fibber. So please stop jumping from the toilet into the tub, the floor is going to rot right through to the kitchen floor.

Arguing with me at 6 a.m. about what you want to watch on t.v. is just not kosher. Diego is not on all the time like Sex & the City and The Big Bang Theory. I realize this is unfair, I mean you only have 600 channels to choose from that are something "Jr", times are tough. And Little Bill needs to be your favorite? Could you pick a show that is on anymore random?

Hey, and how about we sit down and get serious about some potty training? You're clearly ready. You can't fool me, ask your siblings. So stop hiding in the corners with your face all red, and quit grabbing your wiener to get ready to feel the warmth come into the front of your diaper like its a magic trick. Quit blaming everyone else for the foul smell in the playroom. Mom Mom doesn't poop in her pants, like you are claiming. And also, not everyone wants to know that your belly hurt so you pooped and now it's better; especially not the librarian.

And lastly, please stop asking me about wieners and if someone has one or not, it's a little embarrassing. It's not appropriate to stop and point and a person and then ask me, 'Ma-yee, that guy have a wiener? That girl have a wiener?' And I'm pretty sure that everyone is aware that I don't have a wiener since I am dragging three kids around that came out of me, so please stop announcing when we arrive at somewhere new, 'Ma-yee not have a wiener.' It's not a public service announcement to be made.

Now saying all that, I think you should know that all of this becomes irrelevant when you squeeze me tight and tell me you love me, covering my fave with your slobbery snotty kisses. You have made all of this obsolete with your uncanny use of manners. Could you get on your brother and sister about gettin down with some? That would be great. With all of your sweet little two year old quirks and entertaining sense of humor beyond your years you have me, so my complaints become unnecessary. You're awfully cute, so 3 am ain't  all that bad, so long as you snuggle with me and pass the M &M's.



Tuesdays Tantrum Round 2

Yo. This kid is in it to win it. In the midst of a week gone by this kid just takes the cake this time around...again. Don't think there are angels among us. The other two had themselves their fair share. The girl had a few. One of the the best ones was her overly tired, not wanting to get ready for school, and melting completely into the floor telling me that her leggings were 'not the right kind of tight' to wear under a jean skirt. Oh, my bad. I couldn't get a clear picture of this contender because the child was convulsing on the floor as if there perhaps was electric shocks coming from these leggings as well. Oh, but she went to school in those leggings and the jean skirt...I don't play. I also put on the excuse note, under the reason for tardiness: Kendall's leggings were not tight enough today. For emphasis, when writing this at the front desk, I read it aloud for said child to hear that I was writing this...needless to say leggings will never again be, 'not the right kind of tight.'

The beast also had his own. It was too dark at 3 a.m. in his room to capture the best one. This child apparently thinks its totally cool with me on occasion to scream my given by birthing name in the middle of the night. When I respond to him, face to face, as he stands completely alert in his crib,  he tells me he wants an orange Popsicle as if I am going to say...'you know what, I just woke up from a dead sleep and craved the same thing...let's go get two and turn on Disney Jr...screw sleep.'  Anyone who know me knows...you wake me up in the middle of the night you better be barfing all over the place, not asking for Popsicles. So this child was told, no, and to go back to sleep. That response was totally uncalled for, according to him, and the fit he threw was to let me know of this. This child will be in a crib until he is 16, I will just keep elongating the rails.

But this one by Ethan won out. 1. Because I captured it and 2.because as previously mentioned, the wii is about to be run over.

This weasel is obsessed with Mario Kart. For this single reason; he is good at it. He will only now play with those who are also what he deems as good at it. So Kendall, Jake, and the Mom Moms are out, as well as Aunt Meghan because according to Ethan she is not very good with video controllers or pumpkin carving. Ok, so I totally added pumpkin carving, but it's justified.

So when playing with him, you need to be totally focused and you need to play to the best of your ability...apparently these are also requirements in his contract. So you are not allowed to have conversation in between races, put the controller down, be on the phone, or rise from the couch. FOCUSED. And you NEVER EVER give the remote to Jake to have a try. Jake gives the remote back within seconds, after his request when he realizes he has no idea what he is doing, but see now you are behind, you are losing the race!!!! Ethan's meltdown as begun, and then he starts losing and, 'See, SEE!!!!! this is what happens when you don't play serious Mommy!!!!! Look, I just fell off the road and now I'm in 10th place because you gave the remote to Jake!!! Don't laugh, this is not funny, be serious and play Mommy!!!! MOMMMMMYYYYY!!!!! PLAY FOR REAL!!!!'

I'm still laughing.


Tuesdays Tantrum

Kids do the the darndest things don't they?
So precious and sweet. So cute and endearing.
My most favorite part about them is their ability to drop everything; every sense of rational thought and behavior. Their instinct built inside of them, just below the surface is to just melt down in any given situation or place if things just aren't going their way. The best part about it is no one is completely sure of what the triggor might be. I mean you've got your hot topics; the word 'no' is a great one. You might think, 'oh I've got these weasels down and steer clear of places and things that set my kids off.' All the best to you and your ability to have no life. Beyond that, is that these little mood suckers have their sensors on and they know just when you think you might have it together they just drop to the floor and kick and scream over not getting an icee at Target when you are leaving, which you specifically told them, upon entering Target that they were not getting today because it is 25 degrees out.

Oh but you see, my children forget my supermom power of tuning them out. We mom's can continue with phone conversations, shopping, cooking, picking out library books, standing in line at the post office all while a beast is freaking out below us. When the task is complete we can lift our child with one arm, by one warm, toss them into their seats,  and buckle them. We can then continue home singing along to the radio, to then again pick up the offending mutant by one arm again, take them into the home, while carrying all shopping bags in other arm, then drop them into their beds, closing the door behind you, without saying a word. We can then take a deep breath peek our heads back in and tell them, 'this behavior is not accepted, you are in your room because of it until further notice, and to really hit it home, there is fire coming out of our mouths and smoke out of our noses.

I will admit, give me a whole day of freak outs and tantrums by all 3 children, well at the end of the day I too am having my own tantrum, and all rational thought is out the window. You might catch me by 7 p.m. threatening them that they are never ever going to play wii again because if they don't knock it off I am going to take it outside and just run it right over. But what I have learned is that it simply does not matter what you do, say, or how great of a parent you may think you are. Children are going to tantrum all over town. The more children you have, the louder the tantrums get because they are now competing for world's best tantrumer.

But let me just give you some encouragement. If you stop and look at the tantrum and why they actually are tantrumming, it can be quite humorous. Because you cannot ever be a tantrum free home, and if you are, I think that is just plain weird, what else are you sweeping under your carpets? On occasion I can also be found reenacting the tantrum for my child to show them just how ridiculous this might be. So I will drop to the floor and start kicking and screaming because I cannot get any of the caps off the markers, telling them it's no fair and that nothing ever works for me, EVER!!!!!

I have now started photographing the best tantrums, the most ridiculous of the tantrums, because sometimes I just cannot believe a tantrum is being thrown in regards to whatever subject at hand.

A few weeks ago I posted this pic of Jake throwing a tantrum in Target. Why might he be throwing this tantrum? Oh because I wasn't parking the cart the way he wanted to park the cart in the line of carts at the store. Mmmhmmm....

Since then I have decided to make it weekly. Pick the best one of the week and share with you. I know it's Wednesday, but yesterday was a Debbie Downer kind of day for me and I didn't think that posting a tantrum sounded like fun...he guess what, I'm allowed to have them. However, my plan is to call them Tuesdays Tantrums.

And here is this weeks:

This child threw a tantrum and flung himself onto the couch because there were no more purple popsicles left. There was every other color in the rainbow, but not purple. The kicker is, he doesn't ever choose purple popsicles because he doesn't like the grape flavor. But on this particular day he wanted to try it again to see if he liked them yet, and his plan was foiled because there was not any purple ones left.

Man, I love my kids. Who wants more?


Flat Stanley Part 2

....in the midst of all the chaos, Jake must have wanted to come with me. So here's me at the vet with a two year old tyrant that has not clue about the crisis at hand, and a dog who has been hit by a car looking at me with those pleading eyes. So I am attempting to get in the door of the vet juggling all of this, snot and tears all over my face, and telling Jake to please move while he is pointing out everything he sees, ' ook Ma-yee, dat's a red truck....ook Ma-yee dat's a big tree.,' and so on and so forth. You get the idea.

We get into the vet, I must have looked like a big fat idiot. You know and you feel that pressing guilt that really isn't there but you think it is there and that everyone is thinking, 'you terrible dog owner, you let your dog get hit by a car!' Maybe people do think like that... and then if so, I challenge them to a day in my house, and seriously, we are lucky we made it this long. Quickly Stan is swept away to be assessed and I am left sitting on the bench in the waiting room, with a two year old giving treats out of the treat jar to every animal in the waiting room....'aww....dat's a good meow, you want treat?...sit puppy...treat?' (he calls cats meows. I have attempted to tell him that our cats name is Lillian, even Lily. He does not respond until I say for instance, 'MEOW!!! Go and give meow her breakfast!' Then I see the light go on and he gets to business. #childlabor)

After what feels like 10 years the doctor comes out to grab us and tell us she has Stan stabilized, (highly medicated), and needs my o.k. to start more treatment to see what is wrong and attempt to fix it, they won't know the full extent of the injuries until they do this. And here I sat at the crossroads. I ask her what she would do. I am dumb like that. I ask her if he is suffering, as like snot is literally all over my face by now and Jake is jumping off the exam table. She tells me he is comfortable, but medicated and that she can't make decisions like this for her patients, but that she thinks since Stan was hit in the lower half and is showing signs of pain and discomfort that his spine is still intact. So I sign the papers. I didn't even look at the total. I just signed. I mean what am I going to do barter over treatment of my dog? 'Uh, so listen hold off on the x ray just feel the bones and tell me what you think.' Not going to happen. Stan wouldn't do that to me. I do think like that. I really do. We are allowed to go back to the ICU for animals at this point to see him, and I just all out break down and apologize at the foot of my dog, who is licking me and whimpering. My two year old patting my back, asking me where my boo boo is.

You know you hear the criticism of, it is just a dog. But Stan is a part of our family. Naughty as he is. He also is a pet that I agreed to care for, good and bad, and unless I hear he was suffering, I was going to take care of Stanley. When I got home, Kendall was sobbing asking about Stan and not wanting him to die...this sealed the deal...WE MUST SAVE STANLEY!! She then looked down and asked me why I was holding Stan's leash. Here's me. For the past 3 hours I have been holding a dog's leash; since he ran out of the house. Ever hold anything tightly for 3 hours? My hand was stuck in a grip position for like 5 days..

The doctor called late at night to tell me what she thought was going on right at that moment. Stanley had a broken femur and his hip was out of socket on the other side. So basically the back end is broken. I imagine Stanley better running around with one of those wheel carts attached to him because he has no back legs. She doesn't know the extent of internal injuries since everything has been traumatized and they need to wait for some swelling to go down.

A few days go by. In this time, I of course visit Stanley daily, if not a few times, with the kids, alone. I see Pug things everywhere just to exaggerate the guilt and worry I feel. Pug on card, pug on walks, pug in a commerical. Salt on wounds I tell you. But they say Stan is improving and getting strong for surgery. Progress People.

Let me just tell you. This surgeon? A-maz-ing. I can't say his name and I can't even say where I went for treatment because of privacy stuff on this blog.(but if you look closely you might get some hints)  But this man has an incredible heart. You need a pet surgeon, message me. He did the surgery on the femur and put a pin right on in it. He attempted to put the other leg back into the hip socket, but it popped back out. We decided to wait on this side of Stan until some major healing occurred on the other side. And then consider some fancy named surgery on the hip. Stanley's extent of internal injuries were swelling and bruising, that lucky son of a, well you know the rest.

After ten days. Stan got his catheter out, was wobbling around and pooping and peeing on his own, so he was able to come home, but on a strict bed rest. He was using the leg that was out of socket and babying the broken one. The dr. wasn't sure about prognosis yet because Stan had a long way to go. So here's me. 3 children. A dog to take care of that can't move from a crate unless its to go to the bathroom. I about die from anxiety inside convinced someone isn't going to make it through this recovery, like russian roulette, it could have been any one of us.

But here's what. I have this woman in my life who is incredible. She keeps my head above water on a daily basis and makes sure I am ok. What's that? Oh yes, she puts my needs first. It's like that big fluffy cloud you want to land on when your life is a mess and it will encase you for even just a few moments? That's my Mom Mom. Without me even saying a word about my worry, she lets me know that Stanley will be recovering at her house and she will see that he is taken care of and that I would be crazy and then committed to think that I could do this with the kids, more specifically Jacob.

Stan was estatic to come home,...well to his second home, kissing and crying for everyone. I was stressed beyond belief worried about his every move, his med regimen, his eating, his pooping, his sleeping. Beyond me being an incredibly guilt ridden pet owner, this dog now has an immense price tag and live or die, it will still be there...so this dog is going to make it at least seven more years!!! He however was in a ton of pain and of course you always think, 'did I make the right choice?'Ah but you see, no turning back now. I kept reminding myself and everyone, 'hit by a car', it would be like me getting hit by an airplane. Recovery is going to take some time.

I visited that darn dog almost daily.
He had weekly visits to see his surgeon.
He came home, home on Halloween.

Stanley babied and still babies that leg that was broken, and walks on the leg with the hip, 'issue.' He limps. I tried all the doctors suggestions to get him to use it, he wants no parts of it. He still visits the surgeon every 4 weeks. He would like to see Stan use that leg again, and so the pin is coming out next week. But Stan has adapted to life with 3 legs for now. Up and down stairs, off the bed in the morning, after the cat, and following the kids around. He has even managed to sneak his way out the door a few times, but now when you yell 'STAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!' He freezes. Plus, he really ain't all that fast on 3 legs.

The hip. The surgeon states he has never not fixed a hip but that Stan seems to have fit his life to live with this out of joint. We agree, why mess with a good thing?

Most importantly, Stan is pain free.
However now, he is always on the hunt for me, is under my feet, and basically for lack of better words, up my butt. So I suppose he is thankful to be alive and with us.
I guess we aren't so bad.

Below is Stan a few weeks ago playing with his cousin Donovan....sure he slept for 3 days after this...but I would call this a recovery:


P.S. Our Stan-lo turns five on the 19th....big shout outs for a better year. 


Flat Stanley Part One

There are some stories in life you hesitate making public until you know everything turned out pretty much ok...this is one of those stories.

As many of you may already know, we inherited Stanley from friends moving to California. And in anything that is handed over to you, you are constantly, well at least I am constantly, reminded that this job was bestowed upon you by someone entrusting you with their goods and you need to take care of it. It could be anything; a car, a pair of jeans, a home, a couch, a dog. And I got Stan as my charge and I needed to keep him happy. I mean for crying out loud, there are four little curly headed girls in California who love this dog, and it is my responsibility that his life is as fabulous as his life would have been with them.

Stanley, as many of you also know, was born to run and wander without a care in the world. He is constantly on a mission, not sure if the result is know to him until he accomplishes it, but he always has something to do. This dog numerous times daily would run out my front door. If you as much as opened it a smidgen he was gone, not sure why he was always there when the door was being opened, but he was. He also detested UPS trucks, trash trucks, blah, blah, and would charge the door full force and bang it open, escaping, and on some occasions running right up the steps and into the back of the UPS truck. He was seriously destined to make it to his girls in California, and since I was doing nothing about it, he was. Our neighborhood spends much of the time in the warm months yelling, 'STAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNLLLLLLEY!!!!'  With all the children chasing him.If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times, 'he's going to get hit one of these times.' I myself would also yell this at him as I would hold him under my arm like a football carrying him back into the house after I had caught him.  But here's what. When Stan got out there were always two things going on. Something boiling on the stove with a child hovering the kitchen wanting to climb, BAM, trash man pulls up, Stan is gone. So I either have to get my child secured and away from danger, or jet out the door and make sure Stan is safe and have my child burn its face off. I hate to say it, Stan was always second. I may have inherited Stan, but I grew these kids, inside of me. They rank.It would be a mere few minutes, but just the same, I had to do it, or seriously people would question my position as a mother.

Stan also has trigger words like; farm, mom mom mom, ride, let's go, potty, come on, treat, you naughty little thing, the kids, and bus stop. Any of these words and phrases have him jetting.

So it's the afternoon, in the end of September. I am finishing up planting some mums in the garden, Jake is just inside the door I am closest to playing trucks on the floor. My alarm goes off reminding me of the time, I say aloud not thinking, as usual, 'Come on, time to get Kendall at the bus stop.' I say it to Jake, but remember the Stan words too late. Out bounds Stan from charging the door. Jake follows suit to race to the bus stop. I snag Jake, walk him back inside the house to get the leash, and come back outside. In those 2 minutes, it happened. A man, who is not really a fave, for no other reason then he gives he dog commands in german and once told me his dog would eat Stan, is running up my sidewalk asking me if I own a pug. Which he clearly already is aware of since we walk past each other with our dogs daily.  I show him the leash in my hand with a look of annoyance, and he says, 'he just got hit.' Sheer panic is then racing through my body. I sit Jake on the front porch and yell for Ethan who is across the way playing with a friend. I tell him to sit there with Jake and to not move, Stan is hurt. And those darn kids, they listened. Just when you think they never ever listen, in an emergency those kids respond like cadets.

The fake german who told me the nightmarish news, is running over to Stan with me and in the midst of it says, 'he had it coming to him, he is always escaping.' I pause, look at him, and I swear to you, I wanted to lift him high above my head and throw him back down to the concrete we were running on like I was Randy Savage. People who state the obvious in a time of crisis are like finger nails on a chalk board to me.  Like for instance, a person dying, everyone standing around in vigil, and numb nuts has to say, 'oh she looks terrible.' I mean really, REALLY? How is a dying person supposed to look? So I look at him and say, 'really, REALLY!?!?!, is there something wrong with you?' I have since apologized. Ok? I had to, his kid is at the same bus stop as mine. I mumbled something like, 'sorry if I offended you, I was in a panic.' He just said, 'hey, no big deal.'  It actually was a big deal you salt to wound adder, but I only have to look at you for maybe 2 minutes a day.

Back to story, I run over to where the stopped vehicle is. Right in front of the bus stop where Stan was headed to get his girl. I, in a blur, scoop him up. I don't know what I said to anyone there, I just wanted to get him up before the bus full of kids and Stanley admirers pulled up, the most important being Kendall. I walk back to the house to assess the damage, at this point the boys are distracted by some neighbor friends. I can feel the back leg limp and out of joint, and I'm terrified as the swelling increases. The old man who hits him pulls up and asks, 'is there anything I can do?' And you know in my head I think, 'yeah you can get your fat butt Cadillac out of neighborhood where everyone knows to watch for Stan, you trouble maker!!!!' But of course I don't, because, one, that's just plain neurotic, and two, it kind of is my fault Stan was hit. I obviously didn't ring his neck hard enough all those times dragging him back to the house. Alright, alright...kidding, but it is my fault, I agreed to take him from the Californians, he's my charge. And if he is going to run in front of cars to get to the bus stop, I should have been there to save him.

I sat on the porch waiting for the bus to come and go with Kendall looking down at Stan saying to him, 'not this week, nope, you aren't going this week, you naughty little thing.' Cause here's the kicker. As this is happening, Stanley's bull dog brother that went with the family to California is sick and being put to sleep that week. We were following it on facebook and attempting to break the news lightly to Stan. It was so very sad, Charles was awesome. And I know, right? Only in my life people. Only in mine would these two things happen in the same week.

So Kendall gets home, runs over having already heard and Stan sees her and starts to whimper. I call the vet, hand over my kids to a neighbor and rush over there.

To be Continued...I know, pins and needles you sit upon...