Tidbits: Brrr.

• Warning: Knit gloves can become entangled in orthodontia. Should one's gloves become caught in one's brackets, seek a mother out immediately. She can probably fix it, and if you plead the photos won't be posted to Facebook or her blog.
• Cinnamon Vanilla Pancakes eaten while still in one's pajamas snug in a nice, warm kitchen looking out the window at the night's snow accumulation may be a perfect breakfast.
• The weather may be affecting Middle Child's hunt for a Science Fair Project on the net. (Her original project "...had too many variables,", and she messed around too long to be able to complete it.) Most of her ideas center around snow and ice. I wonder if the Home School population is skewing the online results by searching for science projects with ice/snow today?
• If the back door is left wide open, the heater cannot keep up. I do not care if, "Bella [the cat] wanted to go outside."

Stinker

The mister and I dragged ourselves out of bed to walk the dogs at 5:00 a.m. Despite the darkness, the shape of a skunk was easily defined in the grass behind the middle school. We opted to avoid a closer inspection after making out the telltale shape. Our dogs? Not so much getting the idea that there are some things best left without investigation. The mister and I veered away from the skunk after seeing the tail stand up in readiness. It trundled off into the first row of available hedges as we reached the concrete sidewalk. Whew.
Buster was sniffing the air in hopes of determining what he had just been forced to miss when his giant doggy head ever so slightly nudged my hand. The hand with five butter-fingers holding on to my phone non-too-tightly. The phone made a suicidal leap to the pavement landing flat and the screen giving the telltale crack that announces trouble. Oh, but no.

By 6:00 a.m. I was wishing for a do-over on this day, but also glad to not be bathing in tomato juice in an effort to kill the skunk stench. That would have added some serious insult to the phone's near-terminal injury.

Level 4

This morning I have been playing a lovely little game. The stated goal of the game is to get dressed, get offspring out the door for school (where they are doing nothing since standardized testing is over), and possibly knock out a couple of loads of laundry. One levels up by adding degrees of difficulty like carrying an overly full cup of hot coffee without spilling or successfully navigating obstacles. Today saw a previously unknown level. Call it Level 4.
Level 4 begins with the player hopping up and down on one foot to pull on shorts standing on the landing of the stairs while trying not to get in Little Bit's way as she slowly takes the stairs two at a time without bending her knees. Player is holding the next load of laundry for the wash in the arm not struggling with the shorts. (Perhaps Player wins extra arms, hours, or hired help at later levels? Or maybe that's a bonus that comes with finding the lost cup of coffee?) The fourth circle of Hell level really gets exciting when 150 pounds of Labrador retrievers go snarling, barking, drooling insane and bash themselves against the front door indicating a potential witness to the impending fall visitor. Shorts almost on, laundry trailing, child still playing her own little game (as if nothing else is happening), Player reaches the front door through the sea of angry fur by banishing dogs to their crate only to trip over the cats who are moving into the space recently vacated by their canine counterparts. Stopping to catch a composing breath after the obstacle course, and to be very sure the shorts are actually fastened while still holding the load of laundry that Player suddenly realizes is almost all underwear. Dropping the underwear/laundry onto the floor to be hidden by the opening door, Player finds the prize behind door No. 1: a flyer advertising a local Chinese restaurant and the rapidly retreating back of the guy who hung said flyer on the door handle. Oh. But. No.
Game over.
Laundry stays in a pile where one of the previously mentioned furballs will no doubt nest leaving behind massive quantities of hair to clog the washer and dryer. Little Bit, who has finished traversing the stairs with her odd gait, silently takes the flyer and heads to the recycle bin. Mommy goes to find the cup of coffee that is no longer too full since a third of it was earlier deposited on Mommy's shirt before the one-armed shorts wrestling match on the stairs began. Refilling the coffee cup, Mommy slides onto a stool for further caffeination to re-up Player's energy tank before pushing "restart" to take on the racing game "Carpool Line".

Floored

Note: the following message is not for those who cringe at words like, "vomit". We thought we would perhaps just leave the carpet in New House for a while. Then Buster threw up on it. The new flooring planks were picked up and stacked in the dining room to wait for installation. Well, what's the rush? This weekend is Easter... then Buster threw up on the carpet again.
Good Friday saw furniture moved, carpet pulled up, and a race to purchase a larger saw before DIY Big Box closed for the night. Saturday was a long day of the mister's hard work, smashed fingers, and the new floor creeping across the concrete from wall to wall. Sunday dawned, and we took a break from Home Improvement to celebrate Easter.
Immediately after marking the biggest day of the year with the great herds of the faithful, we returned home to breakfast al fresco on the back patio where all the dining room chairs resided temporarily. After six hours of solid work, the mister took another brief, but well-deserved, break to eat Easter dinner in the living room. We were at the dining room table, having brought the chairs in from the patio long enough to eat. (I can see the women's and lifestyle magazines racing to get to the newsstand with the headline, Progressive Easter Dining.) Anyway.
No sooner was our feast concluded than the man was back at work on the floors. As I finished the dishes, he discovered an insufficiency in his supplies. We headed over to DIY Big Box to procure one more package of moisture barrier. It was the closest thing to a date we are likely to enjoy in the weeks to come. On the way, we talked about what a pain the floors were, and how it was taking up all of the weekend. The mister again mentioned repeatedly thinking about leaving the carpet, but that Buster had convinced him otherwise.
While we were out, the phone rang with a call from the girls at home. From the mister's conversation, it became quickly evident that something had thrown up on the floor. At least the floor wasn't carpet.

Long Story Short

It's been some week.

• Pleasant Suburb has experienced temperatures that barely reached the double digits. And temperatures that factored in windchill sometimes missed that mark.
• Middle Child has a delicate stomach, and she and I are going to Honduras in March.
• "The 21 Days of Prayer" study is good stuff.
• One doctor has determined that her second biopsy sample contains all the nasty little pre-cancerous cells found lurking in a biopsy before Christmas. Another doctor warns that there is still an increased risk of assorted cancers with my specific type of immuno deficiency. I can only deal with screening for those one at a time without going a little crazy.
• We are giving Bad Bella Cat ear drops (that require storage in the refrigerator between feline torture sessions applications) twice a day for a stubborn ear infection.
• After signing off on a form explaining that should insurance deny medical treatment being given by the provider the insurance company chose, I will be responsible for a stated $21,000+ . (Yes, the decimal point does go after all three of those zeroes.) I would like to have a few minutes with the people in Washington, D.C. to discuss my "Cadillac Insurance Plan".
• We are incredibly blessed by the friends sharing this sometimes crazy life with us. Especially the ones who hear all about it over coffee.

Assortment

• My parents were in town for an early Christmas this week.


• My in-laws will be here tonight for an early Christmas.


• I have somehow managed to develop both a sinus and a jaw infection that will interfere with my holiday weight gain. Here's to the silver lining.


• For some reason it was truly upsetting that The Boy would not have Chocolate Bread for Christmas. To me. And to him. Someone who is able when I am not made it for him. I heart people who are kind.


• The house has been moderately company ready off and on all week. I like that, too.


• My glass is half-full. And I think there's a refill headed my way. Woo-Hoo!

Oh, yes... the nameless cat? She is now officially saddled with Zoe Cupcake Sparklepants for her full name. I? Suggested "Jelli"--- as in Jellicle since we'll never really know her name, but I was overruled. Besides, she really does look like a Zoe.

Tree

The tree has been up since the day after Thanksgiving. It stood naked inviting all sorts of feline predations for the first couple of days. Then the mister stepped in to apply lights, garlands, a tree skirt, and the star so the thing would look less pitiful. The girls and I wrapped gifts and tucked them beneath the largely bare branches. The cats continued their games in the newly created maze.
Last night, the mister and I put on our party clothes and headed into Dallas for a dinner out with his coworkers and their spouses. 3 Forks was decked out in all sorts of greenery garlands and wreaths while our home featured a half-naked tree. After the Christmas Party, it began to seem a bit odd to have a partially decorated tree parked in the living room. (Then again, there's a still as yet unnamed cat hiding beneath the tree in living testimony to my failure to meet convention.) The mister and the girls rather wanted the tree decorations completed, so the ornaments were applied tonight. And the whole effect really is rather festive. Especially with the reemergence of last year's pink flannel sock monkey pajamas.

Nameless

My mister likes cats. He likes to take the kids to look at cats. They all like to "ooh" and "ahh" over all the kitties.. My job? Is to be the official veto. I look all the feline cuteness right in the fluffy little face, and say, "ohbutno!" Then the family walks away from the kitties. Except that my veto broke. We walked into Pet Supply to stare with goony eyes at fuzzy creatures. The mister and Little Bit continued past the Grandma sitting at the adoption table. I? Stopped.dead.in.my.tracks. So much for "ohbutno!"
The ball of growling fur curled in Grandma's lap was transferred to my own where (he? she?) it made a valiant effort to hide in my sleeve. My kitty was a tortoise shell ball of variegated black and tan without so much as a spot of orange anywhere on her. We learned that kitty's supposed name was "Penelope", and we filled out the papers to be able to a) bring her home and b) change her name. Having decided that the kitty is not "Penelope", we have yet to determine what name does suit her. The list of possibilities is downright disturbing. Stella Cupcake? Alice/Alyce? Jinx? Perhaps she shall remain Nameless.

Over

It's a weekend for overnights. Katie is gone for a weekend at camp with her youth group. She'll come home tired, but with a million anecdotes and stories to relate in a pre-teen exhalation of jumbled words, giggles, sighs, and eye-rolling. Her absence means there was an empty bed in the girls' room, so Erin invited a friend to spend the night.
Erin's friend does not have a cat. Erin's friend really likes cats. Really, really likes cats. Our Bad Bella is relatively tolerant of our children. Their friends? Well, not so much. The cat's looking a little frazzled this morning. She finally made a somewhat wild-eyed escape (paws scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floors while little hands grasped the writhing furry midsection with an excess of enthusiasm) when the mister appeared with donuts to distract Bella's captors.
I think the cat will be the most thrilled to see the tail end of Erin's overnight guest and the return of Kate from overnight camp. She's definitely over the current arrangement.

Snapped

The cat has officially broken with reality. It may have had to do with the recent renovation of her personal space. She had happily adopted the use of the master bathroom tub and shower area. The shower was out of commission for the entirety of her life with us, and the bath has been ignored except for occasional dusting. How could she have known? Imagine the surprise when water spouted from the wall of her new digs to rain down on her furry feline head. Hee.
Now she's sleeping in the dog crate and hissing at pot holders. Poor Bella.

Wild Life

Well, sort of anyway. This week, the goal of walking fifty miles was set before rational thought could intrude. Since it was set, it will be pursued. Toward that end (29.5 miles so far), the mister and I set off with our daughters in tow (The Boy was gone for a sleepover.) to walk to the nearest McDonald's for an end-of-school ice cream treat. The 3.25 mile trek would bolster Mommy's mileage while giving us all plenty of time to chat.
All went entirely according to plan on the way to the nutritional blight restaurant; however, the trip home was not ordinary. As we crossed the entrance drive to Starbucks, we waved to friends enjoying an evening on the coffee shop's patio, pleased to see them unexpectedly. We next passed the Beach and Tennis Club (The Beach is a landscaped swimming area complete with sand.) where there was a wholly unexpected sighting. A wholly unexpected, and less pleasing, sight than that of familiar faces.
A brown blob shifted in my peripheral vision, and a sideays glance yielded the view of a tarantula creeping along. Heh?! We all stopped to stare. A discussion of whether this was "really cool" or "way gross" followed. A herd of walking women paused to see what we were looking at, and then went on their way a little startled by the object of our fascination. The determination was made that the critter was likely a pet that some enterprising Mom or sibling had freed into the wilds of the suburban landscape rather than a sign of any burgeoning local population. Still, the girls and I jumped every time a blade of tall grass brushed our bare calves or the slight breeze carressed a bare arm with the memory of large fuzzy legs so fresh in our minds' eyes.

By Degrees

That is not a smiley face. No. It is a COLD face. See the white world behind me? It is not pleasant. No. While, it's nothing compared to Canada, Wisconsin, Poland, or Arkansas today--- it is too cold to suit this Texas native. Especially since I was out walking around in the cold at the mercy of my dogs' digestive systems while they happily wandered along sniffing the intriguing frozen ground. Yesterday was a little more fun because we discovered that a 90 lb. lab can pull a mother of three down an icy street in a manner reminiscent of water skiing to the hysterical delight of watching children.
Feeling particularly pitiful with my red, frozen feet and hands (despite layered gloves and socks) after this morning's walk, the weather on the net held a special sort of appeal. Reading that some communities face an extended time with no power, there was a prayer of thanksgiving on my lips for our fully functional heating system and appliances. (I could beat laundry against a rock in the creek/drainage ditch to get them clean, but the coffee maker is kind of a needful thing.) My Dad chose precisely that moment to call from his car. Because he is in the northern mountains of Arkansas. His temperature is a few degrees higher than ours, but he and Mother have been without power for heat, cooking, or light since Tuesday. Sitting in the car with the engine running allowed for a source of warmth, and gave him the chance to charge his dead cell phone. I asked if they could come south to enjoy the modern conveniences, but they are essentially trapped by the ice and downed trees.
I will never, ever willingly live in the woods in the mountains. I also know better than to proclaim that particular thought out loud while my parents shiver in their home heating water in a fish fryer to make instant oatmeal this morning. (Before the image becomes too dire, they do have a fire going and an apparently endless supply of downed trees.) Here's hoping that power will be restored to those experiencing outages sooner rather than later.

Sleepy Head

10:16 p.m. - A phone call states schools will delay opening for two hours. Woo-Hoo! We're all sleeping in tomorrow!
11:00 p.m. - The trash bins get dragged out just in case the trash trucks somehow manage to hit the streets before my feet hit the floor. The Duggars are on t.v. with their seventeen kids smiling and sweet. I am washing one more load of laundry and thanking God that I only have three kids' worth of towels. And that my lovies have finally fallen asleep despite the excitement of a possible day of freedom tomorrow.
11:52 p.m. - The blankets and pillows refuse to perfectly accomadate rest. There is a mister-shaped space in the bed, and I am cold. There's no real rush to sleep because quick calculations indicate there's no need to begin waking kids prior to 8:00.
4:40 a.m. - The mister's alarm begins to beep in an ever more insistent manner because he is not here to hush the thing.
5:40 a.m. - The dog's stomach is growling loud enough to cause the cat distress. (Her love may or may not be loud, but her distress has volume switch that goes to eleven.) Looking at the clock, it seems reasonable to roll back over and try for a bit more sleep while ignoring the four-footed fleabags. (Okay, they don't have fleas, but it is prior to six a.m. and there was sleeping in planned.)
6:00 a.m. - The phone rings. School will open so late today that it will be tomorrow. Since I am already out of the cocoon of warmth made up by assorted quilts and pillows, it seems that the time to make coffee has arrived. And then another attempt at going back to bed where the dog's stomach growls still louder.
6:15 a.m. - I am growling as once again the covers are thrown back. With a cup of coffee in one hand and the dog food scoop in the other, the night's fast begins to break. While the hairballs inhale their breakfast, a batch of cinnamon rolls go in the oven. The dogs and I slide around on the porch and sidewalk so they can mince around the yard in the cold and predawn dark which clearly indicates that we should all be asleep.
7:58 The world is generally better now that the second cup of coffee is beginning to take effect. The cinnamon roll didn't hurt anything either. The Boy crawled out of bed excited about snow only to hear it was ice, and go back to bed. The girls are still zonked out, and I am thinking it is time to go crawl back into bed for just a little while.

Dog's Dinner

The mister and I made the big, hairy grocery run for the week. We planned out meals for the majority of the week, and knocked out the shopping so that the necessary foodstuffs were on-hand for those meals. Except for one last item which was on sale at another store. We delivered the groceries, and headed off for our final purchase with the kids in tow. Relieved to have the shopping completed, we headed home again.
In a surreal moment, we slammed on our brakes to allow a chihuahua carrying a slice of pizza to cross the street. (I kid you not.) Only to arrive at home moments later where we found a certain pair of labs had made a dog's dinner of our preparedness plan. While we were out, the dogs helped themselves to the hamburger and hot dog buns intended for tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch. *sigh*
The hamburger buns must be replaced because they were for Katie's favorite meal on the evening before her oral surgery... and the advent of squishy foods for a couple of days as she heals. Hopefully, "three's the charm"...

Best-laid Plans

Our New Year's Eve plans in years past have been simple. We first hit a party store for streamers, noisemakers, and silly hats. Then the whole family heads to the local market's frozen food aisles where each member of the household picks an item of their choice (nothing is off limits) to create a fairly disturbing end-of-year case of heartburn. We hang out drinking sparkly beverages out of tall glasses and watching t.v. or a movie. It's generally pretty low-key.

Last year we opted for an alternate plan: poker with candy for ante. (I always have a big ol' "Whoo-Hoo!" for candy.) Except we never made it to the party where the poker games were held because a certain 90 pound lab ate a pink bath fizzy then had a seizure. Ew. Needless to say, there was no way any humane soul could crate the oversized baby who looked like a rabid Barbie dog courtesy of the steady pink foam dripping from his muzzle--- not to mention the falling on the floor and twitching.
Should the assorted critters avoid falling ill, we are going to attempt to attend poker night for at least a portion of the evening. The mister and I are not big fans of driving on the same roads with geniuses who think their reflexes are "just fine" after knocking back a few celebratory beverages. So we will likely head for home before the clock strikes twelve, but maybe not. It's a hang loose sort of an evening as we look toward the coming of the New Year with anticipation.

Brrring

Whoo-Hoo! Today the school called to say that we have a two-hour late start due to ice. It takes very little ice to make Texas roads unsafe because of all the drivers who think they can drive on ice. The ones that know they cannot tend to stay at home.
As soon as the vet's office opened, I called to reschedule Bad Bella and her canine cohorts from their 9:40 appointments because we would be in the midst of dropping off kiddies at the assorted middle and elementary schools. I finally gave in to the guy who seemed determined to fill the 11:40 slot today even while thinking that later in the week would be better, but when?! Assorted relatives come in and out from Thursday until next Tuesday. I wonder if any of them would enjoy an excursion to the vet? Like a field trip. Anywho.
Then the school called back. Guess what?! The darlings are out all day. So I called the vet back hoping we would not incur the wrath of the receptionist, er, a fee for a no-show and total lack of cooperation in rescheduling. The only available slot ths week is Friday morning at 10:20, and one set of grandparents will be on the way to Austin while the other will be not yet here. Mmmm. Okay, I'll take it. And I will rearrange a little bit more.
Time to call the doctor with whom a people appointment was scheduled at 10:30 Friday (in between the holiday preparations) to beg for a different appointment time. Except they are probably home with their kids who are out of school, too. The answering service opted to not give me a new appointment, but they did connect me to voice mail so I could leave a bright and cheery plea for a new slot. I was then able to get that appointment moved to the following Monday. I do hope it won't coincide with the Boy's appointment that day, and that my parents won't mind too terribly that it was the only way to squish everything in on the offices' availability.
The mister suggested that a people doctor appointment should have precedence over the vet visit. I goggled at his lack of understanding. A necessary explaination of my logic followed so he could decide that I had not quite lost the ability to reason. There is more flexibility to slip a half hour appointment for just me (in Pleasant Suburb) into the schedule than to fit in an hour-and-a-half appointment (in another Pleasant Suburb) for three totally uncooperative patients who will be rebelling by shedding all over the car or yowling for the forty minute roundtrip.

Still. I'm hung up on that big, ol' Whoo-Hoo moment of realization that the whole day is wide open with us all at home unexpectedly. Except for Erin who has a birthday party to attend this afternoon, and Don is still working since the path from the bedroom was pretty clear of ice. It's 25 degrees and liquid keeps falling from the sky. Imagine driving a herd of squealing girls to Build-a-Bear this afternoon on slick roads with inexperienced winter drivers. Another Mama will likely be making phone calls soon, too.

Twas

Twas in the weeks before Christmas, when all through the house, several creatures were stirring, all larger than a mouse. The stockings were piled on the arm of a chair, in hopes that someone--- anyone, would take the decorating from there.
The children kept popping up out of their beds, pursuing the ideas that come into their childish heads. And the Mister and I had just begun to settle in, having turned off the t.v.. The drowsing was just about to begin.
When from the kitchen there arose such a clatter, that we looked at one another in horror of what might be the matter. Away to the dining room I flew like a flash, prepared for the worst and ready to make the kitty hash.
With the flick of a switch, the lights shone down on the objects below, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but twelve furry feet all scrambling in fear.

With three kids not far behind, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment we'd be in for a time.
Despite my shouts of , "Be careful!" and "Stay back!" still onward they came, so I called them by name:
"Out Buster! Out Maggie!
Bella, you terrible, very bad beastie!
Hey, Evan! Hey, Erin!
No, Katie, not you, too!
Go back to your rooms!
Get back in your beds!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

Knowing better than to stand around and gawk, my observers fair flew off to their nests. Each one figuring it was better to lay low than chance being blamed for the mess.
Once all the wee beasties were quit of the room, I reached for my broom.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard kitty paws patter back across the floor. That dreaded feline beastie was back on the counter! As I drew in my breath, and was turning around, the mister saved Bad Bella from what was about to come down.

She was covered in fur, from her head to her foot, but all I could see was the trail of broken crockery and glass--- her sins black as soot. A bundle of dinnerware lay where it fell after crashing to the floor.

Stupid cat.

BBC meets FBG

The Bad Bella Cat has only recently met a human baby. I imagine her tiny cat-brain response being similar to that of Miss Lady in Disney's "Lady and the Tramp" though. Bella's first exposure to a baby came a week ago when Favorite Baby Girl and her big sisters came over for a visit.

Gratuitous Kitty Pictures

What Bella Bad Cat does while she thinks everyone else is sleeping... alternately titled, "Why I cannot ever find an oven mitt".

Boogers

I don't get it. As I scanned the headlines online this morning, I was a little thrown by an article regarding cloning Boogers. Booger was a dog. Booger's owner paid the bargain rate of $50,000 to have her dog cloned after the critter's death in 2006. (The cost to have your pooch genetically reproduced is estimated at up to $150,000, but the Boogers' owner helped with publicity so she got a deal.) Yesterday, I posted the web address for a site detailing an opportunity to assist a family who are in the midst of raising the necessary funds to bring their daughter home from Guatemala. Today, I am nauseated by a woman who spent more than double the cost of bringing home baby to have her dog (okay, her beloved dog-who-saved-her life) cloned. Of the five cloned Boogers, two will be donated as service dogs while three will return to the owners' property to live amongst the other critters. Okay, I do get it, but it still bugs me.