Introducing Emma, Guard Beagle

Emma is our darling two year old Beagle. Anyone who knows us, knows we are a little nutso about her. She is our baby. I don't dress her up in dog sweaters, mostly because the one time the vet recommended she wear a toddler shirt to keep her from licking stitches, she ran into the kitchen and literally wriggled out of it. I got the hint. No clothes!

She's not just a dog to us. She is a Beagle, with a capital B. She is a member of our family who has her own chair in the living room, her own spot on my bed, her own seat in the car. She is a tad spoiled. We can't help it! She's so darn cute! She is also the queen of silly sitting. She prefers to be sprawled out in what we affectionately call "porn dog"!

And anyone who knows us, or actually, anyone who lives near us or walks by our house, knows Emma loves to bark. She is a Beagle, and she's doing what she loves. We live in on a corner, so she has two sides of yard that follow the sidewalk, and she will run along side it barking at anyone who dares enter her sphere of the world.

It's actually quite shocking to walk unsuspecting by our house and have Emma jump out from behind bushes to bark at you for as long as she can see you. She sounds big and scary, but she's a love. Babies can poke her eye, pull her whiskers, wrap her soft silky ears around their hands, and she just sits there nicely. But let her outside, and you are guaranteed to have some serious barking.

I'm not complaining. Not at all. Since we got our wonder Beagle, we have not had one single thing stolen from our garage. Everyone knows Emma patrols her yard loudly and often!

But, she hardly ever barks in the house. I can only think of a handful of times that she's let loose with her baying inside.

That is changing.

Emma is applying for the position of Guard Beagle and she's doing very nicely. Since her Dad has been deployed, she has stepped up on her attentiveness to strange noises. She's growled at a strange scratching at our front door, came out of her crate to bark at my sister coming in when I was unaware, and last night she had me ready to use a folded up music stand on the head of whoever was freaking her out at the back door.

What a relief to recognize that shadowy shape standing outside! I put down my whacker and pretended I hadn't been about to open a can of whoop ass on my brother in law.

Emma is hired! She can guard our house inside and out. I have no worries that she will turn into a serious meany.

She will always be a couch potato at heart!!

I'm Addicted To Romance Novels

There. I've said it. It's all out in the open now.

I love romance novels! I've tried to be high class about it and hide the ones with the embracing couples, half undressed, with insanely cheesy names like "For the Love of a Duke" or "Romancing Miss Pruitt." If those are real novel names, I'm sorry, I didn't know. But they sound very intriguing!

I remember the very first Catherine Coulter I read way back in high school. I picked it up off the library shelf and thought, what is this about? Holy smokes, it was about romance and heaving bosoms and thrusting manhoods. Yes, truly that embarrassing.

I loved every single word!

I've decided to embrace my addiction. I will not hide my bodice rippers. I will keep them out in the library book box and proudly say, "You bet that's my book. And it's all good!" I will no longer check out literary books and keep them on hand to pretend that's my current read. Give me a good old fashioned romance novel!

I do draw the line at a cover with Fabio on it. He sort of gives me the willies. Did anyone else want the puke bowl when Fabio was on America's Next Top Model for that photo shoot? I was totally creeped out seeing all those young girls posing with him.

And if the book actually has the word "phallus" in it.....well, I'm out.

No thank you!

Eye Drops Don't Come Easy

Okay, for all of my life, eye drops and I have not had a good relationship. I hate them. I can still remember my parents holding me down to put them in my eyes. As an adult, I am slightly ashamed to say that my husband has been the one to put them in for me. Only slightly ashamed, because it is kind of kinky, and kinky is cool!

Eye drops are the number one reason I do not have contacts. I'll stick to good old fashioned glasses, thank you very much.

When I go to the eye doctor, I dread the part where they dilate my eyes. You have to approach me just right, otherwise I have a seriously overwhelming urge to kick you in your shins. I barely managed to resist the urge two years ago. There was something about that gal who put the drops in that rubbed me entirely wrong. I think I hate her.

So I woke up this morning to my eye completely glued shut and feeling gross and gooey. Oh Joy! Could it be pink eye? A quick visit to the doctor confirmed it.

My first thought was, "Oh No. Eye Drops."

My husband isn't here to help, so as a 33 year old woman, I should be able to do eye drops myself. I calmly go into the bathroom and with the help of the mirror manage to get one drop in on my second try. I have my eye pried open, the drop is just dangling from the tip of the bottle, and as soon as I see it drop, I blink. Getting it right the next try was impressive.

I have to do this three times a day for five days? Eye drops don't come easy for me. This is going to be a hard week.

Valentine's Day, You Aren't So Bad

I don't like Valentine's Day.

Let me rephrase that. I love the candy. I love getting flowers and a romantic card. I hate going out.

Frankly, my husband and I are Valentine's Day Date cursed. We've never had a romantic date go right. We got lost in Vancouver, BC, and saw a real skanky hooker standing on a scary back street. We can laugh about it now, but that night ended with us crossing back into the good old US of A and eating a good burger at McDonald's. We were only 17 at the time, so it was a pretty intense night, and nothing soothes away the creepy like hot french fries.

So, with my husband deployed, I have not really given this day much thought. I'd like flowers, but I can live without if he can't send them. I woke up this morning, not remembering what day it was. I was just excited that it is my day off and the kids both went to school. When the phone rang at 8:30, I thought, please don't be work.

It was my husband! Calling to say he loves me. He told me I should go get a mocha, play around on the computer, and read a book. He knows me so well, that is my exact idea of a great day off. Hearing his voice, talking to him, was honest to God, the best gift I've ever had on Valentines Day.

Later the doorbell rang. Roses! Roses from the best guy in the world, with a card that made me laugh and cry.

Okay, Valentine's Day, you're sure as heck no Fourth of July, but you'll do.

Tater Tots: Not Even Ketchup Can Save Them

I love potatoes. I absolutely love them, anyway I can get them. I'm to potatoes as Bubba was to shrimp!

French fried, baked, hash-browned, soups and stews....you name a way, I'm sure to love it.

Except tater tots.

Even drenching each individual tot in ketchup does not make them delicious, and I love ketchup. I could write a whole post on why ketchup is the most perfect condiment.

When Napoleon Dynamite put tater tots in his pants pocket, I was pretty sure I would never even taste one again. That scene alone was stomach turning, but when he ate one from his pocket....Dude, that's just not right.

But I still buy them. My kids and husband love them, so I will cook them as a super special treat, usually with a vegetarian corn-dog because I feel a little bad that I only buy vegetarian corn-dogs. Those corn-dogs taste great and there's no questionable meat parts in them!

Honestly, there is not enough ketchup in a Costco size bottle to make a tater tot yummy. I am so happy to know my nephews feel the same.

Rock on J.O.L. and M.A.L. and live the tater tot free life!

You Yelling At Me?

I'm walking my lovely beagle Emma this morning and it's a very nice Pacific Northwest morning. Very gray and cloudy but no rain, so I'd call that almost perfect. We stop at crosswalks and look both ways because I have found people to not be considerate of pedestrians.

I stop and 3rd and French, notice a car coming up 3rd towards me and the four way stop, but since I am not crossing in front of them, I start to cross the road.

I'm not even sure they did a courtesy slow down. The next thing I know I am staring at the grill of a car coming right at me. I am ashamed to admit that I just froze. I thought I'd be the kind of person who would be all action in times of crisis. Turns out, might be the exact opposite. I don't' even look at the driver when the car slams to a stop. I just stand there staring at the grill and the headlights.

I recover and yell, "Hey!"....then as I start to walk away, I turn back towards the car to see just how close it was to me and I yell, "Oh my God!"....the equivalent of saying "Wowzer, that was close!" I keep walking, muttering to myself and Emma about that being scary, when the driver of the car rolls down her window and yells at me.

"I'm sorry! People make mistakes!"

I can't help but reply, "It's a marked crosswalk, there are KIDS walking to school here." I kindly point out the kids walking in case she hadn't noticed. My own son was two blocks down walking to school. I don't want to think there are people who drive like that near him.

"I SAID I'M SORRY! PEOPLE MAKE MISTAKES! BUT I'M SURE YOU'RE NOT ONE OF THEM!" Then the angry lady who almost ran me over, races off, going way faster than the 20 mph posted on the entire street.

All I could think was, Really? You're yelling at me?

I'm the first to admit I'm not perfect. But I won't yell at a person I almost hit with my car. That seems a bit over the top in rudeness.

How I Get Ready For The Superbowl

The first thing I have to do is not even be aware when the Superbowl is and be surprised when my Mom and sister start discussing who will host the party this year. Second, I have to have no idea who is playing and when I venture a guess, really have no idea if I'm even guessing a football team or a baseball team.

Next on my to do list, is of course food. My son must wait until the morning of Superbowl to tell me that he would like to bring his famous Superbowl Subs. Made them last year, so of course, that is the start of a tradition. Duh, Mom. We will have to hit the grocery store after church to get all his supplies, and that means we will all be hungry and what would have cost $20, now will cost $35. Suddenly everything looks so darn yummy, and we are starving. Church is hard work!

Now the making of the sandwich. I only supervise to make sure that hands are washed and knifes are being used correctly. It is a lovely sandwich, made better when I throw those nasty tomatoes off my slice.

It's almost time to leave. Do I have everything? Let me see. My book, my cell phone, my paper and pen in case I need to write some letters, and a secret stash of candy to get me through the game. Check and check.

I'm really in it for the commercials. I want to laugh so hard I can't breath.

And that is how I get ready for the Superbowl.

Go Mariners!

Kidding! I know they play basket--er, baseball!