Dogs are Idiots

MrDartt really wants to get rid of our dogs. And when I say, "get rid of," I mean eliminate. Send them to doggie heaven.
Here's the latest: that last windy, rainy storm, which blew our fence over, also caused some of the dirt on our hill to slide down, leaving space enough between the bottom of the fence and the dirt that the dogs can slide through and escape.
Not only do they run off, but they run faster when we call them. They're gone for hours. And when they come back, they're both limping and often bleeding. Louie, for instance, has a huge bloody bite mark on his front right leg. He has a bite mark on his left ear. And he has no use of his left back leg right now because he has a torn ACL. Just minimal use of the right back leg, because the torn ACL on that one healed just recently. And Lola is limping too, favoring her right front leg and her right back leg. But every time they go outside, the make for the hole in the fence.
MrDartt, bless his heart, keeps trying to fix the hole. He keeps putting rocks there, thinking the dogs won't move them. Notice how I said, "keeps"? Yeah, doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.
Anyway, the worst thing about all of this is that Lola likes to bring back deer legs. Intact. Real deer legs. She hordes them under a bush on the hill. Right now there are two deer legs on the lawn.
Check out the picture.

Where's Waldo? Part 2

There is a sippy cup in the toilet.

Where's Waldo?

I was missing a pair of black shoes the other day. Where do you think they were? That's right! You guessed it! They were in the garbage can in the office/weight room.
A huge storm with lots of strong winds came through, and knocked our fence over (hats off to the guys who installed it crappy the first time, and then fixed it, only to have it fall over again in the next big storm). So I was going to go outside and try to fix it. I wanted to wear my hiking boots. Where do you think they were? Yep! They were in the boys' laundry hamper.
I went to put on mascara in my bathroom one recent morning and couldn't find it (the mascara, of course, not the bathroom). Bathtub.
CD case, which was in the office/weight room, next to the CD player? Our bedroom, under the bed.
The belt for my robe? Living room floor, with Zorro hat.
My red snowflake sock? The planter behind the front door.
The Christmas card that sings "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer"? Under the entertainment center. With the bullwhip.
The culprit? Little Boy, who has really gotten the hang of walking around while carrying stuff.
The other day I found a half-eaten pear on his little musical chair. Gross.

Crying Wolf

Big Boy has recently potty-trained himself, so all cries of "I have to go potty" must be taken seriously -- until now.
Today we went to a playgroup kind of far away. On the way home, Big Boy started saying he had to go potty. Bad. He's had diarrhea for the past couple of days so I thought maybe he needed to go Number Two.
Big Boy: "I have to go potty. BAD. I don't feel good. My tummy hurts."
Me: "Can you wait until we get home?"
Big Boy: "No. I have to go poopie. BAD."
Me: "Okay, let's find a gas station."
So we stopped at two gas stations. They were both closed. We had to drive for another 8 to 10 minutes to the next gas station. I've been driving our pickup truck for a couple of days so when we got to the gas station, I had to open the passenger door and reach behind the seat to get Little Boy, then walk around the truck and open the driver door again and reach behind that seat to get Big Boy. Then we're walking in, and Big Boy's saying, "Carry me!"
We finally got in and I got a toilet liner, which he usually begs for, and he didn't want that.
Big Boy: "I don't WANT that!"
So I let him sit on the toilet seat.
So he sits on it.
And sits on it.
And sits on it.
Me: "Is any poop coming out?"
Big Boy: "Not yet."
Me: "Do you even have to go?"
Big Boy: "YEAH, I DO."
Me: "Do you really have to go, or are you just trying to trick me again?" (You see, this has happened before, when we were out running errands, and all of a sudden he said he had to pee so we went to a store to pee and he didn't even go!)
Big Boy: "I REALLY have to go, Mama." (He has taken to calling me "Mama.")
Me: "Well then push it out!"
Big Boy: "Mama, I just have to relaaaax, remember? Just relaaax."
Yes, like many of my other parenting ideas, my potty-training mantra -- "just relaaaax," has backfired.
And if you're wondering, he never pooped. He was trying to trick me.
I explained how if he keeps saying he has to go, but doesn't really have to go, then I'm not going to believe him when he really does have to go, and then he's going to poop his pants.
Big Boy: "I'm really sorry, Mama."

Vacuum Review

I think the maddest MrDartt has ever been at me was the time when I invited some Kirby vacuum salespeople into the house to give me a demonstration of the Kirby.
Here's how it went down. MrDartt was working late so I had my parents over for dinner. A nice-looking blonde lady knocked on the door and asked if I wanted her to clean my carpets for free. Of course I did, so I invited her in. She said in just a few minutes her associate would show up and clean the carpets. A few minutes later, sure enough, her associate, a very short, very muscular Hispanic man, knocked on the door. My parents were aghast that I'd let someone in the house. So they stayed there with me. The blonde lady left, probably to go knock on more doors.
MrDartt arrived home. He busted through the door between the garage and the dining room, where we were all still finishing dinner (not the Hispanic guy. He was sprinkling baking soda on the carpet). He was very angry (MrDartt, not the Hispanic guy.). A strange van was parked in front of the garage door, blocking him from parking there.
For those of you who haven't seen MrDartt, he looks very mean and grumpy, especially now that he doesn't wear glasses. It's his job to look mean and grumpy and he's good at it, if I do say so myself. So anyway, he was mad at the van driver (Hispanic guy, who was now vacuuming up the baking soda and dumping it and dust and debris on little white disks to show us how well the Kirby picks up baking soda and dust and debris and also how dirty our carpet is). He was mad at me for inviting people into our house. Really mad.
Anyway, MrDartt once went to a presentation (he thought it was a job interview but it was a presentation) about selling vacuums, so he knew the guy would be there for like THREE HOURS. I thought it would be a 30-minute deal, but MrDartt was right. These people were there for THREE HOURS. Before we knew it, the Hispanic guy is taking us into our bedroom and vacuuming our mattress. No kidding. Vacuuming our mattress.
As the Hispanic guy was cleaning up his stuff, he was asking us where we're going to store this vacuum. Which closet will we keep it in? Who will use it, me or MrDartt? So on and so forth. He rolls out the price: $2,450. You read that right. TWO THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS.
Right.
So anyway, our vacuum died some time later. MrDartt's brother and his wife were getting rid of a vacuum -- guess what kind? A Kirby!
So they gave it to us.
I HATE it! I would NEVER pay for this vacuum. Maybe $10 at a garage sale.
First of all, it weighs 800 pounds. Sure, you can put it in neutral and roll it quite easily despite its mammoth weight. But what if you have to carry it downstairs? Or UPstairs, for that matter?
Second, to switch from carpet vacuuming to hardwood floor vacuuming, you have to take the thing apart. Yes, you have to take off one head, which requires turning a plastic handle, and then turning a very difficult-to-turn metal handle thing. And then you have to put on another head, which means you have to turn that metal handle thing again.
Third, when you use the hardwood floor attachment, the pipes always come undone. So if you go too fast, the bottom falls off and you're no longer actually vacuuming the hardwood floor.
Fourth, it weighs 800 pounds.
Fifth, the parts are hard and metal. So if you hit a child, dog or your own foot with the darn thing, you're definitely going to do some damage. Ever tried to vacuum while avoiding a three-year-old, a one-year-old and a dog (two two-legged and one three-legged creature?)?
Sixth, I always break the belts. Over and over. Most recently MrDartt vacuumed up one of those soft baby shoes and broke the belt.
I think that's about it.
My advice: NEVER buy a Kirby vacuum, even though you can vacuum up a lot of baking soda, dust and debris.
You can't lift the vacuum. You have to break your fingers to switch heads. You have to switch heads. You have to change the bag (which doesn't make me hate the vacuum, it's just something you should know). You might break your toe or someone else's. You must spend an hour vacuuming the hardwood floor because you have to do it at snail speed.
And it weighs 800 pounds.