Monday, January 31, 2005

Help Wanted...

The Diva is in the process of looking for her first job. Plenty of places are hiring, so that's not the problem.

She and the Hubster both have very different ideas of what her first job should be.

The Hubster, who could have written a book called "I Was a Teenaged Job-Hopper" keeps recommending the jobs that he enjoyed:

-Stock Clerk in a grocery store. Because he worked with his best friend and they hit on girls all night.
-Usher in a movie theater, Because he got to watch lots of movies and hit on girls all night.
-Security Guard at a mall. Because he always knew what was on sale and he got to hit on girls all night.

The Diva, being a 16 y/o girl (the Hubster keeps forgetting that part), has her own ideas of what is important in a job:
-Her best friend works as a bagger at the commissary and has a blast, plus the tips are great.
-Jamba Juice has just the right image for a Teenaged Diva.
-Food service is a no-go, as is any job with the word "manual" in the job description.
-Babysitting or child care is for Pre-Divas.
-If there is a uniform requirement, she must look cute in it.

And what do I think (I know you are all wondering this)? I never held a job during high school, so I don't have those hormonal teenaged flashbacks.
-The base library is hiring. It would be a great learning experience and help her with research skills in college.
The base marina is hiring. I would love nothing more than to see her out there scrubbing barnacles off boats.
-The Travel and Tours office is hiring. The discounts would be awesome.

So, she has dropped applications at Blockbuster Video, a local grocery store, Jamba Juice, and the movie theater.

Tomorrow she will drop more applications at the commissary, a second Jamba Juice location, the video store on base, and a cute little beach clothing shop.

Stay tuned....

Saturday, January 29, 2005

The Mokes

Just off the coast of Lanikai, there is a pair of islands called Moku Lua Islands, or The Mokes for short.

The Diva is already planning how to decorate her bedroom when we move on base in a few months, and has decided on a beach theme. She has been nagging for the past week for me to go out to Lanikai and take a beach picture which includes The Mokes - a picture she could have blown up to poster-size for her new room. Last night I was going in that direction anyway, so I took my camera.

Lanikai is a beachfront community of multi-million dollar homes, and one of the few places on the island where there is limited public beach access. On my second round of the 'Lanikai Loop', I found a spot with public beach access AND a parking space.


The beach access was just a narrow strip of sand between the cement-walled boundaries of two Lanikai homes. At the end was the beach; unfortunately, it was high tide and the surf was actually coming up into the sand alley. There was no beach access beyond the alley.

Anyway, there was a couple standing at the edge of the surf with a camera in tow. They smiled, I smiled, we exchanged a few pleasantries. The man noticed my camera and offered to take a few pictures of me with The Mokes in the background. I thanked him, but said that I really wasn't there to get pictures of myself...only The Mokes.

And that was the end of our conversation.

However, my eavesdropping powers kicked in and it soon became apparent that they were trying to figure the best angle and location for a few photos of the woman. She was dressed in a black, long-sleeved button-down sweater and a long, straight black skirt with a slit up the side. Not exactly beach wear, but oh well.

While they were doing their thing behind me, I got down to business and took the few pics that I could manage without being pulled into the waves. I could hear them in the background....

Let's shoot it here, on the rock.

Maybe seated?

No, lean back.


Now shift to the left a bit.


I finished what I was doing and turned around....Holy Mokes!!!

The woman was draped across a rock, one knee in the air and the slit skirt opened up to there, her sweater unbuttoned and pushed to the side to reveal her huge Mokes.

What do you say at a moment like that?

And I wonder if I should have let him photograph me with The Mokes.

BTW, this is my version of The Mokes. Probably not as interesting as his version of The Mokes.

Friday, January 28, 2005

It's Friday!

I managed to update the Photo Friday blog already!

This week's topic is "Youth". Yesterday I had taken the Little Guy to the beach to do his 12-month pictures, so I had a ton of pictures to choose from.

This is the one I chose.

Thursday, January 27, 2005


I didn't sleep well last night, and the Little Guy woke at 4:55, which totally annoyed me.

On the way to the Wildcard's school this morning, someone pulled out of the post office parking lot right in front of me and proceeded to drive 10 m.p.h. in a 35 m.p.h. zone., which totally annoyed me.

When the Little Guy took his morning nap and I tried to lie down for a few minutes, I got three phone calls for the Bitch Family, which totally annoyed me.

The garbageman left our trash can in the middle of our driveway and I nearly backed over it in my rush to pick up the Wildcard from school, which totally annoyed me.

A lady with two items blatantly cut in front of me in line at Costco today, which totally annoyed me.

Today twenty-seven Marines from our base were killed in a chopper crash in Iraq. Twenty-seven families are getting that "knock on the door" that sends a shiver down the spine of every military family. Twenty-seven sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers will not be coming home. Twenty-seven men from our tiny, tight-knit community paid the ultimate price.

I'm such an ass for getting annoyed at the small stuff.

Please keep them (and all of our military) in your prayers.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Homework Wars, the Sequel

I feel like I'm caught in a time warp over here.

When the Blonde One was in fourth grade, his whole outlook on school changed. Every night was a battle to complete his homework. Sometimes he worked from the minute he came home from school until bedtime, with the only break being to eat dinner. He began hating school and became very disorganized. When I picked him up after school, I would have to go through his schedule and ask what he did in each class, if there was any homework involved, and if he had brought the right books/folders/worksheets home. He never really knew which assignment was due or when he would be having a test. It was a horrible year.

I assumed the problems were a result of his teacher being insane. It took three years to get him back on track after such a traumatic year.

Fast-forward to the present.

The Wildcard has always been an excellent student, bringing home straight A's (or +'s or S's or whatever symbol the school happens to be using). He has always been well-behaved and organized - his teachers always remarked that they would love to have a room full of students like him.

This year it all changed.

First, he discovered that he's funny....on a 9 y/o level. So, while he can do his schoolwork AND crack jokes at the same time, it seems to be a distraction to some of the other boys in his class.

Second, the school still hasn't started their Gifted/Talented program for the year. The testing has been done and the paperwork processed, but they are still working on the curriculum.

Third, he HATES doing his homework. He complains that it's "too easy and monotonous". We have the same battle every night. He says he doesn't want to do it, throws a mini-tantrum, sits at his desk and shreds papers into tiny, tiny pieces, and then maybe begins the homework. Or not.

Mondays are the worst. He usually has a math worksheet, a reading worksheet (or two), a health project of some sort, and.....spelling definitions! Twenty words need to be looked up in the dictionary and the pronunciation/definition copied. He hates that more than anything.

Last night, his stubborn gene outlasted my stubborn gene and he was sent to bed without finishing his homework. I told him he would have to finish it in the morning, which is usually not such a problem.

Not this morning.

He dawdled and stalled and finally ran out the clock.

(He thought he had won, but was sadly mistaken. I usually drop him off on the side of the parking lot, away from the area where the JPO's open car doors for you and help you get out of the car. He HATES having anyone help him with anything. So, this morning I pulled up to the cutest little girl JPO out there, a girl in his class by the way, and dropped him off. He was mortified when she opened the van door and 'helped' him out.)

So, now we've implemented the after-school questioning - this is how it went today:

Me: What do you have for homework tonight?

Him: Just a math worksheet, spelling words five times each, reading log, and a field trip form to sign. Don't worry, I have everything in my backpack.

Me: Show me your math book.

(He pulls the math book from his backpack!)

Me: Show me your spelling folder.

Him: (Digging through his backpack.) I know it's in here....somewhere....I's not here.

Me: Show me your reading log.

Him: (once again digging in the backpack.) I KNOW I put that in here. It's here, or's not here. But I have the field trip form right here. (Produces field trip form.)

Me: You need to get back to your classroom and find the reading log and spelling folder before the teacher locks the door.

He runs across the school yard, through the maze of buildings, upstairs to his classroom, grabs the missing items, goes back down the stairs, back through the maze of buildings, and back across the school yard. He returns, very winded, but with the folder and reading log in his hand.

I told him that as soon as we got home, he was to sit right down and do his homework. All of it. No snack, no TV, no toys, nothing.

All the way home he tried negotiating....half the homework now and half later.....a snack first, then the homework......everything except the spelling now.....

All he got from me was, "No, no, no."

Then he asked if he could have ONE cookie when his homework was half finished.

I agreed.

But only because I was going to give him TWO cookies anyway.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Winter Ball Wrapup

The Diva and the Blonde One attended the school's
Winter Ball this weekend. It was Saturday night at a hotel ballroom in Waikiki, right on the beach. I can't imagine that - my high school didn't have a winter ball....and our senior prom was held in the high school gym. I really don't think we could have handled an event on the beach, much less Waikiki.

Anyway, the preparations for the event began weeks ago for the Diva, and on Friday for the Blonde One. The shopping trip alone illustrates the difference between boys and girls.

The Diva had a vision months ago of the dress she would wear. We spent an entire day shopping for dresses, with no luck. She went shopping a week later with her friends and found a dress that was nothing like her vision, but her friends said it was "too cute" on her, so she got it. Once she had the dress, we began the Search For the Perfect Shoe. Again, it was an entire day spent shoe store hopping. We hit at least twenty stores and never found the Perfect Shoe. Once we were home, she searched through her closet and found the Perfect Shoe.

The Blonde One never gave it much thought. He had a pair of dress pants and dress shoes from last year, and asked me to pick up an Aloha shirt for him, any Aloha shirt. (That's one of the things I love about Hawaii - semi-formal means Aloha attire for suit jackets or ties.) Thursday night I finally convinced him to try on the pants and shoes from last year. They didn't fit, of course. So....Friday we hit the mall again. We found the Aloha shirt first, in the mens department at Macy's. After that (and this totally embarrassed the Blonde One) we headed upstairs to the boys department to find pants that would fit his supermodel-sized waist. We had no luck on the shoes. On the way home, we passed a Payless, popped in and found a pair of $7 shoes, and were back on the road within five minutes. Gotta love shopping with boys!

Anyway, they both had a great time on Saturday.

The Diva (true to her Italian roots) abused her buffet privileges.

The Blonde One (being the finicky eater) had white rice and bread, then headed for the dessert bar.

The Diva hit the dance floor and didn't take a break all night.

The Blonde One, after learning that his two guy friends were no-shows, had a table of nine girls all to himself. Thankfully, he was able to fend off the harem while burning his high-carb meal....and still maintain his supermodel weight.

The Diva blabbered all the way home about the music, the food, the behavior, and (of course) the outfits.

The Blonde One fell asleep in the back seat.

Sometimes I can't believe those two share the same DNA.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Blowing Smoke

Today I had my bi-monthly appointment with The Miracle Worker, a.k.a. my hair stylist.

My first job was as a receptionist in a hair salon, and it didn't take long to realize that there will be no Mensa meetings held in hair salons. I remember vividly my third day on the job, when the Salon Manager made a phone call to renew their "prescription to People magazine". I was embarrassed for her.

To be fair, I have come across several very smart hair stylists in my years of moving, especially Angelina, The Miracle Worker. I may be partial to her because she is both a CPA and a Stylist. She worked her way through college by cutting hair, and when she graduated realized that she could make more money (much, much more money) as a hair stylist. She just does the accounting thing on the side.

Anyway, for the most part, I've always found the conversation in the salon to be more entertaining than intellectually stimulating.

And that is one of my favorite reasons to have my hair done. That and the scalp massages.

So, I'm sitting in the chair chit-chatting with The Miracle Worker, when a Client walks in and is greeted by her Stylist. The Stylist said she had been working all day without a cigarette break, would the Client like to step outside and have a cigarette with her? The Client is relieved because she said she forgot to have one before she left home.

They exit the building for a few minutes, then return ready to go.

Their conversation turns to the subject of smoking. Both have made New Year's resolutions to quit smoking and say they are trying real hard to quit. They discuss different methods - hypnosis, the patch, and such.

And then came this:

Client: I even tried taking The Pill. (I can't remember the name, so we'll just call it The Pill.)

Stylist: Oh!! I've heard of that!! How do you take it?

Client: Well, you start on the first day by taking two Pills, then you take one Pill each day.

Stylist: Can you smoke while you are on it?

Client: Yes!! That's what I like about it!

Stylist: I'm going to have to look into it....

Client: Oh, I only made it through the first two days. For some reason, cigarettes started tasting really bad to me, so I quit taking The Pill.


Monday, January 17, 2005

Poetry Hell... And Other Whining

I hate days when I don't accomplish anything because I spend the entire day dealing with stupid shit.

That pretty much sums up my entire weekend.

The Little Guy got his immunizations on Friday. He was irritable, had mood swings, and bouts of insomnia all weekend.

Sunday was just plain horrible. The Hubster seemed to be on the phone all day with people from his office. Didn't they realize it was Sunday, and a three-day weekend? At one point, he excused himself to go to the auto parts store to get a backup light for the Diva's car.

Of course that's when the phone rang - it was a guy in the Hubster's office AGAIN. He asked me to pass along a message. They have been remodeling the offices and apparently they discovered asbestos in the Hubster's office on Friday - he was not supposed to go into the office until it had been cleared. Okay, this was Sunday afternoon....and you're just mentioning it now?

The Hubster had taken the boys boogie boarding on Saturday. His office is on the beach, so they stopped in there after boogie boarding to change clothes, and the Hubster did some work while the boys occupied themselves in his office.

On Sunday morning he had gone to the office again. This time the Diva went along because she needed to drop something off with a friend. When she was done, she slept on the sofa in his office while he worked.

I was still fuming about that when the Diva popped into the room with cell phone in hand and a "I need to ask you something, but am too nervous" look on her face. She said that Cowboy had invited her to go surfing, could she drive back up there (the Marine Corps base - 45 minutes away) to meet him? I reminded her that (1) she had already been up there once today, (2)she didn't surf, and (3) she had finals this week. Before I could finish my thought, the Hubster walked in and told her she could go.

Next stop, Poetry Hell.

If you haven't spent much time around 14 y/o boys, you probably don't know how much they HATE the poetry section in Language Arts class. The Blonde One's class had just finished their poetry section and, instead of a final exam, they were to put together a poetry portfolio which included revisions of six of their best poems from the quarter and four new poems. Oh, and a reflection on their writings - a paragraph for each poem explaining the thought process behind it, their emotions and feelings while writing the poem, and what they learned while writing the poem.

Now, the only thing worse than a 14 y/o boy having to do a poetry project, is to have him write a reflection of his poetry. The Blonde One's first reflection went something like this:

I don't know where I got this idea. It just came to me. I know we aren't supposed to say that, but it's true. By the way, did you know that I hate poetry and think it's of the devil?

I told him that wasn't acceptable and he needed to re-think it. After much stubbornness on both our parts, he finally gave in and decided to just do it.

His last poem was supposed to be a "Bitterness Poem" about something that makes him mad. This is what he wrote in class:

If you don't believe it,
call home and ask.

The teacher said she couldn't give him credit for that, and he needed to completely re-work it.

This is what he came up with:

Bitterness Poem

The Language of the DEVIL

It came out of his mouth
and into our schools.
It is taught today
as if I’m supposed to get it
and I must say

And his reflection:

In case for some odd reason you don’t already know, I absolutely cannot stand poetry. I need not say more. I believe the inspiration came from my tremendous dislike for poetry. From the very first time I started poetry in 1st grade it was the only thing I could not tolerate and even now nothing has changed. The hard part about this poem was how to write a poem about what you hate, if what you hate is writing poems. In the end I am very happy the way this poem turned out.

And that is the logic of a 14 y/o boy.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Photo Friday

I have moved the Photo Friday stuff to a separate Blog.

The link is listed with the others, and I will try to remember to post it here on Fridays.

This week's topic is "Signs".

Once again, I cheated and dipped into the archives for a photo. This one is from our Kauai trip in 2001.
As soon as I get everything organized, I plan to only post new pics. (Yeah right, I haven't been truly organized since 1988.)

Friday, January 14, 2005

Happy Birthday to the Little Guy!!

I cannot believe he's already 1 year old!

It's funny, when people find out we have four kids and their ages are 16,14, almost 10, and 1 you can see the wheels turn in their heads. They seem to go in two entirely different directions: Either the Little Guy was a "Surprise!!" baby or someone is on a second marriage.

It is neither.

A nine-year age difference is the result of eight years of indecision on our part, followed by "it's now or never".

So, we have the Little Guy (and I really need to come up with a new Blog Name for him - Little Guy doesn't fit any more).

Before he was born, we decided on the name Nick. Not Nicholas, just Nick. We didn't care for the name 'Nicholas" and we thought he would have fewer nicknames if we just called him Nick.


In the past year, he has been called Nick, Nick-Nick (the Blonde One's favorite), Nicky, Little Nicky (the Wildcard's favorite), Nickster, Nickerooni, Nicky Doodles, Nicky Poodle, Nicky Schnoodle, Nicky Noodles, Nickems (the Diva's favorite), Slickems, Slick Nick, Nickers, Nickerdoodles (my favorite), Snickerdoodles, Nicky Boo-boo, Nicky Doo-doo, Nicky Poo-poo, Nickelodeon (the Hubster's favorite) and ((gasp!!)) Nicholas.

Only two people have called him Nicholas: the receptionist at the pediatrician's office when he went for his 2-week checkup and the Hubster's Moronic Brother.

So anyway, I got off-track there.

It's amazing how quickly a little person can fit right into an already established family. His siblings have so much fun with him and are always excited when he learns new 'tricks'. Some of their favorites:

-He barks. Whenever he hears a dog bark, he responds with a very serious "arh-arh!!". He sometimes stands at the back door and barks.

-He waves bye-bye whenever anyone comes or goes, including when he goes somewhere.

-He yells, "Hey!! Hey!!" every time the phone rings.

-He can open the front door and escape into the yard.

-He carries the Wildcard's animal toys around in his mouth, like he has just hunted them down and is looking for a place to feast on them.

-He likes to climb head-first into his walker.

I could go on, but I won't bore you any more. But I will conclude with a picture - I call this one "Plan B (and C)".

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Kudos to the Animal Kingdom

Some are smart enough to eat their young, especially before they become teenagers.
The Waiting is the Hardest Part....

Today I took the Little Guy for his 12-month well-baby checkup because, well, today is the day they scheduled his appointment for.

I don't know why they did this. He can't get his immunizations until Thursday, his birthday. If I had known this, I would have requested a different date - it annoys me that they probably knew and scheduled his appointment for today anyway.

Oh well.

Bottom line is that the pediatrician said he has all the right pieces in all the right places in all the right sizes. With the exception of a diaper rash, he's right where he should be, and he is the cutest, most adorable baby ever seen.

Okay, she didn't really say that last part, but I know she was thinking it.

But that's not my point.

Waiting rooms always amuse me, in a demented sort of way.

There were two sets of twins in the waiting room. The first was a pair of 12 m/o little girls, they were adorable and sat in their stroller just watching everything happen around them. The second was a boy/girl who were 18 m/o and they were hellions. The boy was named Eric and the girl was Keilana Iolana Akela Lani, or something like that. (I thought it was odd that the girl was given an elaborate Hawaiian name, and the boy was simply 'Eric'.) Anyway, they were crying, screaming, and climbing all over the place while the mom sat in her chair and yelled, "Eric, get down!!" or "Keilana Iolana Akela Lani, let go of your brother's hair!!"

On the other side of the waiting room was Chatty Mom (there's always one), who needed to start a conversation with ANYONE who walked in the door. I learned (via eavesdropping) that she had three children, two were planned. She had great-aunts who were twins and cousins who were twins. She was still nursing her 6 m/o, and planned to continue until he got teeth. Her 3 y/o daughter loved princess outfits and slept in her 'princess shoes'....

My favorite, of course, was Skanky Pajama Mom. I seriously think she rolled right out of bed and brought her 6 m/o in for his appointment. She was wearing an old, threadbare Old Navy t-shirt with food stains down the front and a pair of thin silky boxers with lace trim. Her hair was matted, her face was greasy, and I swear she still had pillow marks on her face.

Okay, I've been late for appointments before (I am the Queen of Late), but I can't imagine showing up in my pajamas. Take an extra minute and throw on some clothes, for God's sake!!! I don't even want to know if she brushed her teeth.

Now, I've never been good at putting on a poker face. Believe it or not (!!!), I've often been mistaken for a bitch or a snob because I can't seem to control my facial expressions. This goes back to my high school years - someone actually wrote in my yearbook, "I always thought you were a bitch until I got to know you." (Umm, thank you??)

So, Skanky Pajama Mom ruined my fun.

I could no longer observe the crazies because I knew my face would have that "What the Hell were you thinking?" look written all over it. Little Guy and I spent the remainder of our time huddled in a corner looking out the window, all in the name of Waiting Room Harmony.

Plus, I was afraid Skanky Pajama Mom might beat me up.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Joy to the Fishes in the Deep Blue Sea. Joy to You and Me

(Can't get the song out of my head.)

On President's Day I am running an 8.15 mile race from Aloha Tower to the 50-yard line of Aloha Stadium. I've had a hard time getting motivated to start serious training for it, but I think I'm there now. My schedule for tonight included a four-mile run.

The run itself isn't a problem. My main issue is boredom - I need something entertaining me the entire time. I take my headphones, which helps, but mostly my mind just wanders from one random thought to another. (Sort of like this blog, yeah?)

The headphones are hit-or-miss. We live in a (small) valley, so sometimes I can get a few good radio stations, sometimes not. Tonight was very overcast and rainy, so I had no real luck finding any good tunes. My only option was the Lite station - soft music and love songs 24/7. Yippee. Tonight was All-Request/All Dedication Sunday. Double Yippee.

So, with Dido blasting in my ears, I set off.

As I rounded the corner onto the main road, a 2nd grade student was dedicating Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" to her teacher and her mom.

This was followed by a college freshman dedicating a Commodores song to his R.A., a girl he obviously had a serious crush on. She was graduating in the spring and would be moving away. He sounded so sad.

Next up was a woman who was requesting a song for her husband. She didn't know which song she wanted, but she wanted to send him a song because he always made her laugh. She sounded so sad.

Of course, between songs, the ever mellow female DJ gave her spiel, her voice trailing off as she spoke...."You're with Daphne tonight on All Request/All Dedication Sunday. Call us now and we'll send that special love song out to that special someone...."

As I hit the halfway point of my run, Junior went on the air with Daphne. Seems he wanted to send a special love song out to his special someone. He had also written a special poem to read on-air to that special someone. Triple Yippee.

So, now I was forced to listen to Junior and his Pidgin' English doing a poetry reading.

(This is where "Jeremiah" crossed my path, thank goodness.)

I was so focused on Junior and his bad poetry, I didn't see the frog cross my path until my foot was coming down right on top of it. It was one of those huge ones, the size of a softball at minimum. In my attempt to avoid squishing a softball-sized frog, I ended up flat on the sidewalk.

As I peeled myself off the sidewalk, my wandering mind jumped to a T-shirt that the Hubster has. It is from a triathlon he did while we lived in Japan, and for the most part is written in Japanglish. The front has purple rectangles on it with the phrase, "Many times I run with song stuck in my head." The back says, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was a good friend of mine."


It's six hours later and I can't get Jeremiah out of my head.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Photo Friday

Okay, I'm a little late, but my friend Veg inspired me. I'm making an attempt to participate in Photo Fridays. This week's topic is "Silhouette" and I dug this one out of the archives. It's a view from the 2 y/o Diva's bedroom when we lived in Newport, R.I.

Hopefully I'll have time this week to re-do a few things in the Blog department and come up with something better next week! (And maybe it will be on time too.)

Saturday, January 08, 2005


At Borders bookstore this morning - two high-school aged girls noticing a soldier in cammies walk past the window:

#1 It would really suck to have a husband who joined the Army.

#2 Yeah, I know.

#1 I mean, look at those haircuts.

#2 Yeah, I haven't seen very many guys who look hot with that haircut.

#1 Shhhh....someone is going to hear you.

#2 Who is going to hear us? Besides no one knows us anyway.

Waiting in line for lunch at Wendy's, two not-so-bright high-school (maybe college) aged girls:

#1 I wonder why they call it "Wendy's"?

#2 Maybe that was his wife.

#1 Or maybe his daughter.

#2 Yeah, I think I heard that it was his daughter. So then if he died, he didn't need a will because they would know it belonged to her because her name was Wendy.

#1 That makes sense.

Writing my check at the commissary:

Bagger (to the Wildcard in a really bad Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation): I am the Bagginator!! I'll be baaack!!

Wildcard: (blank stare)

At the gym tonight - two women on elliptical machines next to me:

#1 (the talker who talks in 'upspeak' - where the last word of each phrase is emphasized) So I mailed the package today. And at the post office, you know how they usually just put the postage sticker on?

#2 (the listener and head-nodder) Uh-huh.

#1 They gave me stamps! They gave me a two-dollar one, and an eighty cent one, and a five cent one.

#2 Uh-huh.

#1 The two dollar one was sticky. But I had to lick the eighty cent one. And I had to lick the five cent one.

#2 Oh my gosh!

Friday, January 07, 2005

And He's Out....

Out of the doghouse, that is.

The dog is gone, thanks to an ad placed on the community bulletin board at the Seven Day Store.

The first call came within an hour. A girl named Wendy who had to put their Yorkshire Terrier to sleep last year because it had a brain tumor. Her family breeds Yorkies on the Mainland and she wanted another one, but couldn't go through the ordeal of having one sent over. Her husband is a Marine and they have two small children.

Perfect. The dog is on its way out.

So, I call to tell the Hubster.

Me: We found a home for the dog.

Him: Dang!!

Me: (Describing the family...) It sounds like the perfect family for him.

Him: I was hoping no one would take him.

Me: What?

Him: I was hoping no one would take him and we could keep him.

Me: So, when you said, "It's only until we find a good home..." you really didn't mean that?

Him: Correct. I assumed WE would be the 'good home'.

Me: (silence)

Him: Animal Control has another dog that needs to be rescued....

Me: Just until we find a good home for it, right?

Him: Um, yeah.

Apparently he enjoys the dog house.

(And, no he didn't bring another one home.)

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Someone's in the Doghouse

So, we have another dog in the house.

Read on if you want the long, drawn-out, drama queen version...otherwise, just know that I am a little pissed right now and leave it at that.

I am not an animal person. I grew up on a farm where people lived inside and animals lived outside. It's not that complicated.

When we got StupidDog, I was overruled. I was the only one who said, "No indoor pets."

And since the Hubster was heading overseas for a year, I got to be in charge of house-training the dog I didn't want. I also got to make all the trips to the vet (with a newborn in tow) to get the paperwork ready for our move. And since the Hubster was gone and the kids were in school, I got to hang with the dog all day. Not that I hold a grudge or anything.

Anyway, back to Monday.

The Hubster had the day off work. The majority of his 'people' are civilians who had to work Monday, so he spent a good part of the day on the phone with the office. Usually he can resolve things over the phone, but Monday afternoon he got an emergency phone call and said he had to make a quick trip to work.


The Diva and the Blonde One were at school, the Wildcard (who has one more week of Christmas break) was at a friend's house, and the Little Guy was ready for a nap. I had gotten about 45 minutes of sleep the night before (another long, drama-queen story), so I was thrilled to have a couple of hours in the afternoon for a nap.

Two hours later I woke to the sound of dogs (plural) barking. And it was coming from inside my house.

Apparently Animal Control had picked up a Yorkshire Terrier puppy on base a few weeks ago, but no one claimed it. They had no choice but to turn it over to the Humane Society....unless someone rescued it. And one of the Hubster's 'people' did, but she couldn't keep it. Neither could any of the other twenty-seven people in the office.

Thus the 'emergency' phone call to the Hubster and his 'emergency' trip to the office.

The kids have already named him Tako (octopus). It seemed fitting since StupidDog's real name was Pokey, but it has evolved to Poke (rhymes with 'okay') since we moved back to Hawaii. (Poke is basically a Hawaiian-style sushi.) The Hubster is the only sushi lover in the house and one of his favorites is Tako Poke, which is where the dog's name came from.

But that's not the point - the point is that by naming the dog, the bonding has begun. The clock is ticking and if I don't find a home for this dog ASAP, the Hubster will get very lonely in the doghouse....