The Scene In Which, If I Tweeted, Today Would Look Something Like This

When Twitter first became popular, I started and briefly tweeted under my corporate name.

Then I realized I liked making flowers much more than I liked tweeting about them.

Plus it wasn't easy to do, because I don't have a smartphone, because, ummmm........I break nice things.


But today, if I tweeted, would look like this (and yes, I know these are more than 140 characters. Deal. #perfectionist):

Dear makers of doggy "doody" meds: something about the medication to make the Fab Finn stop pooping is making him throw up. #thanks side effects

Dear moms of Indy: Just drove past a dad pulling his twin toddler daughters around in the snow with a rope attached to those "silly saucer" activity seats. #genius #parenting FTW #not recommended use

Dear driver of large van: yes, we are playing chicken due to the unplowed side streets, however, turning left directly in front of someone else is still not allowed #rules of the road #moments of douchery #snowplow fail

Dear week: you have missed the memo regarding vacation and general ability for laid-back-edness. Also, please add at least ten hours to yourself tomorrow. #back to work

Dear patrons of 4-way-stop-signs: here's how it works. The firstperson who stops is the first person who goes. I totally acknowledge that you've safely stopped and counted to one-onethousand two-onethousand three-onethousand, however, it is still the other person's turn first if they were there first. #rules of the road

Dear unnanamed Mass Ave restaurant: no matter how good they taste, brownies are not made from vanilla cake mix and I remain a teensy bit disappointed #dessert fail

Dear Cute Boy: I can't wait for our date tomorrow night to see Wicked. I <3 you! #oh the cuteness

Happy Holidays!!

From my little bloggy family to yours, have a wonderful holiday season! I look forward to sharing more stories, book reviews, failed craft projects and what-have-yous in 2011.

- Becky, Cute Boy, Finnigan, Princess and the "That Wasn't..." gang.

PS: Enjoy a little something I've been driving everyone nuts playing and singing this holiday.

The Scene In Which I Think My Dog Is Actually A Small Child

Our foster friend Princess has been with us for about three weeks now, and if the present situation is any indication, we're in for a lot of fun and snuggles with this one.

And a lot of patience.

I think she may actually be a small child, and by that I don't mean the "children of the four-legged sort," I mean there might actually be a small child going through her terrible two's while teething, crying and going through a destructive phase hiding inside my dog.

See, here's the thing. The last time I had a PUPPY was in the second grade when my family brought home Molly the Border Collie (yes, we'd actually refer to her as such on occasion). When I was in high school, we found Bennett, our first rescue golden, in a park. After Molly passed away Benson came to live with our family, another golden rescue. And when Bennett passed away, we took home Maggie, a -you guessed it- golden rescue.

Even Finnigan, despite his blindness and relatively young age at time of rescue (we think he was about two) came fairly housebroken and well-behaved. Sure, he peed in the house a few times, but he got over that pretty quickly, and he has been known to make some messes playing with a toy, but big deal.

So when we got Princess, I figured, "hey, whatever." She is at least 6 years old, so I figured the puppy-energy was gone, and as long as she was housetrained, we'd be fine.

Holy crow.

I was wrong.

In fact if there is any sort of good indication as to just HOW WRONG I WAS, it might be that I'm finding myself relating to my two favorite mommy-blogs as they write about all the weird things they've said outloud to their kids this week.

(Random sidenote? My favorite is "I don't believe you when you say you're afraid of corn." HILARIOUS!)

Because if she isn't actually a child, I'm pretty sure this dog, in fact, has been sent by the angels to teach me what it will be like to have toddlers one day.

Or she's a demon.

Either way.

Overheard at our house this week:

"Please don't bite him."

"No, that is Finnigan's food, not yours."

"My glove is not a chew toy."

"No, this is Finnigan's treat. You just ate yours."

"My hat is not a chew toy."

"NONONONONONONO!" (Peeing on the rug. AGAIN.)

"My hairbrush is not a chew toy."

"No, this is Finnigan's food. This is yours."

"What do you have? Put that down. Don't put it in your mouth."

"Hey! Drop that! Gimme that. Gimme that out of your mouth. Open your mouth."

"That's his food. I said THAT'S HIS FOOD! Hey, that's HER FOOD! Come on guys-that's not your food! Ok, if you want to eat out of each other's dishes that's fine. Whatever."

"My underwear is not a chew toy."

She's lucky she's stinkin' cute.

The Scene In Which It's (NOT) Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Towards the end of last week/over the weekend I was feeling like a Scrooge, big-time. Normally, I am ALL ABOUT CHRISTMAS.

Just not this year.

Ahem.

'Twas the night weeks before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a Many a creature was stirring, not even a mouse thankfully except for our mouse

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care (oh fudge it, I STILL can't find mine. I found the dog's. I bought Cute Boy a hockey-skate one. But mine? Gone. Gone. Gone.)

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there would stay the eff away until I have time to finish shopping.

The children dogs were nestled all snug in their beds running amok through the house

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads chewing every dog toy, sock, pair of underwear and the occasional pen, plastic bottle, and OH FUN, paycheck into a soggy heap.

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my (new adorable) cap, (now covered in dog slobber)

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap effin' glass of wine

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter didn't much notice amongst all the chatter.

THAT'S WHAT IT'S BEEN LIKE AROUND HERE, FOLKS.

Scrooge. Scrooge scrooge scrooge, that was me.

I wasn't done shopping, I hadn't started wrapping, my cards were not done, and I was NOT FEELIN' THE HOLIDAY LOVE, ok?

That was then.

Since then I've put up some more decorations in the house, wrapped some garland around the outside, managed to snatch all my underwear back from Princess' hiding places (SERIOUSLY DOG, you have gotten waaaaay too used to cushy indoor life waaaaaay too fast) and addressed, if not written, my cards.

And I've been reminded that the holidays are about love and joy and the opportunity to be with one another, and I'm filled with the shiny happy holiday spirit.

So if my house is more cluttered than usual (it is), if I am using a tupperware ornament container instead of a coffee table because we haven't brought the coffee table back out from storage after Thanksgiving yet (we are, and we haven't), if the combination of new dog and old dog is producing an unholy amount of hair despite vacuuming (they are), and even if I STILL can't find the freaking stockings, or a perfect gift for Cute Boy, or the opener for the wine cork........it's ok.

Wait. Not the opener for the wine cork.

I need that.

The Scene In Which We Do Not Pee On That. Please.

I love talking on the phone to my friends that have kids, because they are possssssssibly the only people more distracted than I am at any given moment. In particular, I love talking to my friend L, who has two kids and absolutely none, zero, nada difference in vocal inflection when switching between phone conversation and kid conversation.

This would be a lot less hilarious if her kids, particularly her oldest, didn't do some really funny things.

For example.

L: Hello?

Me: Hey! Sorry I just missed your call.

-General pleasantries exchanged-


Me: So what's up?

L: Aside from the fact that I'm pretty sure I'm going to drink this entire Wine Cube tonight?

Me: What's a Wine Cube?"

L: They're from Target. They're like four bottles of wine in one cube.

Me: Neat.

L: Yeah. Normally I try to wait until the kids go to bed but I'm not sure if I'm going to make it tonight.

Me: I may need to get one of those.

L: Well, I was actually calling to see if you had any good ideas. I'm trying to think of a good title for my new blog, which I'm thinking is going to be something about the kids, and me, and my job, and stuff like that.

Me: Ok.

L: I was thinking "My So Called Life," but that was kinda already taken.

Me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's taken.

L: So then I was thinking something funny, and I thought I'd ask you because you're witty, and you can have more food if you want it but I'm not going to feed you, 'cause I've already fed you a plate and you can feed yourself 'cause you're a big boy.

Me: Whaaa?

-Kid Noises-

L: Ok, then are you done? If you're done you need to go get in the shower, because we're starting the movie at 7 and you need to be showered and in your pjs by then. So get naked!

-Kid Noises-

Me: Wh-

L: Get naked!

-Kid Noises-

Me: Is tha-

L: GET NAKED!

-Kid Noises-

Me: -laughing hysterically- I'm pretty sure you're the only person who calls me to yell Get Naked at me.

L: Thanks Beck.

Me: So you need a name for the blog. Maybe it should be something funny that you say.

L: Like what? I don't really know of anything. Please don't pee in the shower.

Me: Huh?

L: Oh my god. Seriously? He's PEEING IN THE SHOWER. And believe me, it's not anything classy like the water's already running or anything; it's just pee and a shower. It looks like a urinal in there.

Me: I definitely think you can name your blog something you yell at your kids.

L: Like what?

Me: I don't know. In the past five minutes I've heard you say "I'm not feeding you, get naked, and don't pee in the shower." I like the last one.

L: Yeah, I don't know...oooooh Rudolph, I gotta tape this shit.

Me: -LMAO- you have to tape this shit?

L: Haha, yeah, and oooh, the Grinch, gotta tape this one too.

Me: I think you should name it "Please Don't Pee In The Shower."

L: But he pees on other things too.

Me: Seriously?!

L: Well, you know, he's a boy. So he sort of pees at the park....and sometimes in the yard......and sometimes in the wastebasket.....and, well....

Me: I feel like "Please Don't Pee On That" might serve you better.

L: I'll think about it ohhhhh sweet Jesus.

Me: Oh no.

L: He's taking a bubble bath.

Me: ......

L: In the shower.

Me: Oh god.

L: With an entire bottle of Bath & Body Works stuff.

Me: OMG.

L: I gotta go.



Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in welcoming "Please Don't Pee On That" to my blogroll...and hopefully to yours!

The Scene In Which We Kind Of Have A New Dog

In case you don't follow me on Facebook (which would mean I don't actually really know you)(which would be kind of strange)(which is fine), you may not be aware of the addition of a certain adorable blonde to our home.

A 60lb, shedding, kissing, barking, whining, cuddling, food-stealing, food-nomming, rug-pooping, toy-destroying, water-bowl-splashing, absolutely adorable little angel :)

SERIOUSLY, THIS FACE.

Did I mention she sleeps on the floor right next to our bed at night?

Sigh.

Did I also mention she's (justifiably, as she's spent the first five years of her life living outdoors) sort of just about, but maaaaaaybe not completely housebroken?

SIGH.

But it's still absolutely worth it. We are currently fostering her for an elderly neighbor. Though very, very loved by her owner, she has been an outdoor dog for her entire life. Despite this, she's rapidly become accustomed to two tasty meals a day out of her own brand-new ceramic bowl, a comfy bed to sleep on of her very own, and a bucketful of squeaky toys (Finnigan could care less about them, so they just sort of stockpile).

The squeaky toys are the best. This is a dog who (again, though very very loved) has probably not had many toys in her life. She loves them. ALL of them. ALL the toys belong to her.

She tosses them up in the air to herself.

She noses them around the floor.

She cuddles them.

And then she tires of them, rips their heads off, and disembowels them across the rug.

It's a little disturbing.

But seriously. THE FACE.

It gets me.

It gets Cute Boy too :)