Rather recently, a canine came to live with us. It has been several years since there has been that species of four legged baby at our house. We are the crazy cat family. We have five- yes, I said five- cats. Not on purpose mind you. Animals just sort of happen to us. I am fairly sure there is an animal hobo mark on my house. Only one of the now 6 animals that I feed did I go out and get on purpose. The others were apparently fate.
Several years ago, I had to put down my Molly dog. She was 15. Molly chose me. I did not go out to get her either. We loved her for years. After Molly went over the rainbow bridge, I have said I was not emotionally ready for another dog. Also, I am not a dog person.
When approached by my children’s father over the last year about taking in his stepson’s dog, Miya. I resisted. I was a Molly person not a dog person. Also, five cats are a lot. Some of the time, I was pretty sure he was joking about sending her to my house. My wife- in- law and all the boys obviously loved her.
Recently, he approached me again. This time the dog’s human is enlisting and can’t keep her. My baby daddy and my wife in law already have a huge dog and are taking in another. Miya needed a new home. My mother-in-law took her for a couple of weeks. Miya is a city dog. She did not do well in the country. Apparently, chickens are fun to chase. Unfortunately, that will also get doggos shot at.
Miya was relocated to my fenced in yard. When I told my mother, she replied, “ I knew you would end up with that dog.” My response, “ Animals just happen to me.”
Miya is a Great Pyranese/ Dalmation. That looks about like you imagine. She looks like a giant spotted rug or a small Wookie. She really wants to be friends with the cats. The cats are not so sure yet. The cats are kind of bullies. They boss the 90lb dog around often.
Miya dances when she is excited. Her excitement usually involves table scraps or treats. I understand being that excited over food.
I did not want a dog. Dogs happen to me like cats happen to me. I still won’t admit I am a dog person, but I am a Miya person. She had me at the big brown eyes and the happy dance. I probably dance like that when someone offers me a donut.
Life happens and I write about it.
As I sit here in my cat leggings left over from Halloween that are now pjs and my VW bus shirt that is big enough to cover two people and has long since seen better days with homeless morning hair and a cup of coffee, I am reflecting on the past year. It is the last day of 2019. I am fairly sure I spent the last New Year’s Eve in my pjs at 10 am with homeless hair drinking coffee. I probably spent the one before that the same way. The cat leggings are new. That is about it. My Christmas breaks stay the same more of less.
2019 In Review
The Hobbit has grown. The tall one is more man like. The hubs and I celebrated our one year anniversary. The stepkids have grown. The house has not grown. We are packed in here like sardines.
I started blogging again.
My first book was published in the fall. It only took 20 years to write. Maybe book 2 will be faster.
I stopped teaching at GSCC in the fall. I started an Etsy shop. I have craft ADHD, so I paint glass, etch glass, etch and paint wine bottles and Bailey’s Irish Cream bottles. That is what I drink, so that is the glass I have. I sometimes paint beer bottles and Starbucks Cold Brew bottles from the hubs. I HATE removing the labels. The hubs does that. I can paint and etch all day, but labels are ick. I burn and paint wood that the hubs has sanded and shaped. I do not and should not ever use power tools. I paint on canvas. The hubs is trying to talk me into cutting glass. That might be in the category that Kristie is too clumsy to do. My biggest sellers are painted mugs with smart ass sayings on them. Who knew? I am making a profit off my nerdy likes and smart mouth. I have Lord of the RIngs, Harry Potter, and Dr. Who fandom mugs. They are my biggest sellers. Nerds UNITE!!!! If you would like to donate to the hobbit and tall one’s college funds, my shop is bookishnomadshop.com and my book is available on amazon.
Five kids ain’t cheap.
Hopefully, I have not offended anyone with my blog post this time. My writing is my view of the world. It is meant to be funny. If you are not included, no worries. I will get around to poking fun at you soon. If you do not like my view of certain events, I guess we view the world differently. If you take offense that I do not view the world as you do, maybe my writing is not for you. Life happens, and then I write about it.
“ If we all couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane.”
One of the modern day great philosophers.
This morning while waiting behind one of the big yellow cheese wagons, my mind began to wander.Let’s be honest, it doesn’t take much for my mind to wander. I am fairly sure it was an elementary bus. I sat there what seemed like forever. Do the poor underpaid bus drivers’ have to wait long enough for the child to get out of bed, get dressed , and eat breakfast before loading. That is what it feels like. Is the wait time for the kid that is nowhere in sight up to the bus driver? Is there a standard time? Is there an equation based on age? Things to ponder…
As an observer, I have noticed it takes the little people bus longer than the big kids. What is the age cut off that we decide is the point where they child is responsible for getting to the bus on time or can be left behind?
While I sat there waiting on a little to eat breakfast and get dressed before boarding the stopped bus, I thought about times passed where my oldest child ( who runs on his own time zone) was left behind by the bus. There must be an age limit. By the time they reach middle school and high school, they have 2.5 seconds to load the bus. Who decided teenagers are responsible? Have they met one? I guess the little ones are cuter and smell better. That is why we wait. It may simply be because parents of teenagers blame the teenager not the bus driver. Maybe it is to keep the teenage funk smell down on the bus?
I know people that claim that they love to cook. I guess everyone is allowed their own weird kinks. Those people claim to make things like pasta from scratch.
The conversation usually goes like this:
Weird Person: I Love to cook.
Me: It is a necessary evil.
Weird Person: Oh, I pride myself on cooking complicated dishes. I love it. I just hate to clean up.
Me: I cook because DHR frowns upon not feeding your children.
Weird Person looks confused. They look confused because I am female and Southern. I am supposed to love to cook and make a house for my family or at least to pretend to. As a Southern lady, I am supposed to pride myself on making a home and making good biscuits. My biscuits come out of the freezer or a can when I actually cook them at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I clean because I don’t like filth and am a bit OCD. I cook so they don’t starve. I also don’t give two shits what people think of my womanly home making skills. I have four college degrees, am successful in my field, and all my children and stepchildren are doing okay. They all know how to use the toaster and microwave. Biscuits do not define my worth.
To Christmas tree or not to Christmas tree. That is the question.
I called a friend from work to ask her to assist me with a sewing project. I own a machine, but I am sewing impaired. It is not in my wheelhouse. I admit it. There was a time that I attempted to correct this, but after some failed purses, diaper bags, and straight lines, I called it. I am no seamstress. I never will be.
S- Telling her kids to put stuff up.
Me- You getting the kids to help clean? You go girl.
S- I did a thing. You can make fun of me in your blog or your next book. I decorated for Christmas before Thanksgiving.
Me- Girl, I don’t care. Decorate when you want. I have no opinion on the matter.
Me- I am sure the hobbit and I will throw our tree up soon.
S- You are so laid back about things like that.
Note- People usually say that instead of you are a hot mess. It more polite.
It is true. I don’t care if people decorate in July. November is acceptable to me. I prefer that folks wait until after Halloween, but each to their own. It does not take away from Thanksgiving. Facebook land is where people make fun. I am not Facebook land. I am dumbfounded by the over decorate people, but I do not make fun of them. I want to know where they find the space to store 12 trees and a yard full of reindeer. I am jealous of their storage places. I am jealous of their energy, but if they want to eat their turkey in front of their Christmas tree, go for it.
At our house, we have a tree and a few random sit arounds for the holiday. We put them up when the hobbit wants them up. It is usually a week or two before Thanksgiving. Who cares?
We have one tree. Just one. Guess who decorates it? Yep, you guessed it, the hobbit. It used to be both kids. The oldest lost interest. If there are four ornaments on one branch, well so be it. Our tree is full of homemade kid ornaments, personalized ornaments, and fun ornaments the elf brings. There are coffee cup ornaments, Scooby Doo ornaments, snowmen, and laminated paper ornaments. The tree topper is a Yoda Santa Hat.
Life is too short to have a perfect tree with matchy matchy ornaments. It is an imperfect tree for an imperfect family. For those twelve tree people with themed rooms, our stockings don’t match. If there were tacky Christmas police, I would be in trouble.
We will respect your matchy matchy Christmas OCD if you judge us people that are just making it work. My ducks are never in a row. They never will be. We are busy making messy memories while you are putting up your twelve perfect trees. You do you and We will just be us. I really don’t care when you put up your Elvis tree. Live your life. For the Facebook haters, get a life.
Fall was a nice two days. It was the best two days of the whole year. Fall had a previous engagement apparently and was running late for it. She was just passing through. November brought dark, rain, and cold. It also brought the looming holiday season, school deadlines, and cabin fever. It also feels like the longest November in history. Is it Thanksgiving break yet?
Found this online. I couldn’t sum it up better myself.
It is less than 60 days from the most expensive holiday of the year. Brace yourself, Christmas is coming. Santa is coming. Lists are being made. Shopping is being done. I am ahead of the game for once in my whole life. Well, as ahead of the game as I get when it comes to extra spending on anything on a teacher’s pay. Then, it happens! Two days before Halloween, the hubs tells me about a nightmare. The dryer isn’t drying. The reason the hubs is the one that tells me of the nightmare on laundry room lane is that he is the master of the washer and the dryer around here.
I try to come up with reasons like the vent pipe is kinked or loose. After some mountain of clutter climbing, we checked the hose for clogs, tears, and kinks. It has a hole. I use my super power- Amazon to purchase a new one. Problem solved. Nope.
One load of clothes takes 6 rounds in the dryer. I am still hopeful that the Amazon will save us.
Nov. 1 AM
Hubs- Babe, the dryer is not heating.
Me- I ordered a new hose.
Hubs- That won’t help.
Me- So the new dryer is getting a new hose.
Nov. 1 PM
I come home from work and check the clothes in the dryer. They are not dry. I begin a conversation with with the dryer.
Me- What are you doing? It is not your turn. Dry Damn it!
Me- I said it is not your turn. Dry.
Me- Hits dryer.
Husband returns home. I say, so what are we going to do about the dryer.
Hubs- Pulls up Youtube video on how to replace a heating element.
Me- I start looking for dryers online.
Hubs- That guy lied. This is not simple.
Me- So order one?
Hubs- That sounds like a plan.
I walk down stairs and walk in the laundry room.
Me- You are out of here, slacker.
Dryer- Silently sits probably smirking.
Me- I hope you end up recycled as a metal parts for a port a potty.
Dryer is heating. It heard the new dryer is on its way. It still takes 6 cycles to dry, but it did make an effort. It must be scared I will really have it recycled as a port a potty.
Nov. 7- The slacker is out. The dryer and I broke up. I am in a relationship with a new dryer. No scrubs!