Monthly Archives: December 2015

~ Takes The Cake ~

We’re in the middle of our Advent Chains this December, as we go chugging full speed towards Christmas Day, and My Captain just opened one that takes the cake.

Remember, every Thanksgiving we write 25 links of love or affirmation or encouragement for each one of us, and every morning in December, we each get to start the day with a little pat on the back by opening one of our advent links.

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It’s so much fun, and everyone looks forward to it.

Doesn’t it get hard to think of new things after a while?  Well, heck yes!  We each have to actually dig DEEP to get new and creative every year.  It actually takes…..wait for it….EFFORT.

Do they complain sometimes when I make them sit down to write them up?

HELLO!?  Are we a normal family?  Is this a trick question?  I think it would be weirder if they didn’t whine about having to write them.   But do they love to open them?  You bet your sweet bonnet they do.

And why on earth are you wearing a bonnet in this day and age?  Weirdo.

Here is today’s link that had My Captain snickering:

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A little background to it:  Stephen Amell is an actor who plays “The Arrow” on the CW channel, and frankly, he’s delicious. This is Stephen.

Stephen Amell

He’s perfection, obviously.  If you like raw strength combined with chiseled features, that is.

My Captain, who is perfection to ME in just about every way (except for that thing he does with cracking his ankle.  That drives me up the wall.  What a freak!) read that link and just chortled.  He guffawed.  He cackled.

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Okay, he did none of these things.  He’s not a chortler or a cackler.  He did, chuckle, though.   He’s a quiet chuckler.  Kind of like any cowboy in any western you’ve ever seen.  It’s all deep and manly and quiet and confident.  His amusement is what I live for.

Where was I?

Right, advent chains.  Anyways, this one was hilarious. The kids love to mess with him.  We can’t wait to see what tomorrow’s says!

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~ My Husband is SUCH a Butthead. ~

So this happened:

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Before you panic, yes, the driver was fine.

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It was raining really hard, you see, and she was late for her train, you see, and she doesn’t usually go down this road, you see.

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I failed to see why that translated into destroying my tulip garden.

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Or why the weeping cherry tree that my children and I planted nearly ten years ago had to die for it. Oh, I realize it just looks like mud and tire tracks to you, but not a week ago I had JUST finished every so painstakingly planting hundreds and hundreds of tulip bulbs.

Right there.

So guess what I had to do today?  That’s right, plant hundreds and hundreds of tulip bulbs.  Again.  Oh it’s worth it though, because in the spring, we get this:

2015-04-28 11.25.52And I love it so much, that every fall I spend a LOT of my free time planting for spring.

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It’s worth it.

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I do NOT, however, like to do it TWICE in one year.   But, grateful that that was all that had happened from this accident….SO glad our moose didn’t get run over, or that anyone was hurt, I decided to move on emotionally.

Mostly.

So there I was, working new tulip bulbs into the soil in my unapologetically purple Schmidt work overalls, on the cold but sunny December day that was today, while my handsome lug of a husband worked on his own project.

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He’s been building a walk-out patio for the last…er…4 years or so.

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He can only work on it when he’s not at work, or working overtime, or doing stuff with the Urban Search and Rescue Team.

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Hence the 4 years.   It doesn’t help that he is somewhat of a perfectionist. Just a wee bit.

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And by wee bit, I mean certifiable.

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Anyways, so he was out there, working, and he had one of our Sonos speakers out on the patio with him, playing typical male construction-type music.  He was sawing and measuring and drilling to The Eagles, and Fleetwood Mac, and Jimmy Buffet.

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He did his thing, and I did my thing.  But then I realized that I wasn’t hearing Stevie Nicks any longer.  I was hearing Bing Crosby belt out The Twelve Days of Christmas.  And I had been unconsciously singing along with it!  I turned and bellowed down to My Captain,

Hey!  What happened to the music?!”

With a screw hanging out of one side of his mouth, he yelled back, “I knew you’d rather hear this instead.”

Me: “That’s ridiculous.  Put your own music back on.  You don’t want to listen to this.”

My Captain: “Yes I do. I do because I know you want to.”

Me: “Maybe I don’t.  Maybe I want to listen to what you usually listen to.”

At this point Bing had faded out, and Frank Sinatra was singing Silver Bells.  NOTE:  It’s hard to have an argument with Silver Bells drifting sweetly in the background.

My Captain: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

I began lumbering down the muddy hill to where he was working, pissed that I had to make the extra effort.  I reached for his phone (it holds the channel changing App for the Sonos) and he swatted me away.

My Captain: No, you don’t.”

Me: Yes, I do.”

He turned his back to me and picked up his drill.  I fumed. I didn’t WANT him to have to change his music to my dorky Christmas Retro tunes.  I know full well that men who are building things HAVE to listen to rock.  It’s in the Man Code somewhere.

I waited a beat and then sweetly asked, “Hey, can I borrow your phone a second? I’d like to take some pictures for the blog.”

He turned his head and smirked at me.

Me:  “No, really.  Please?”

Reluctantly he handed me his phone, and I took the pictures that you see above.

And then I promptly turned the channel to the grinding, wailing, pulsating music of Triumph’s  Magic Power, and turned it UP baby!

Snickering, I put his phone down and tiredly hoofed it back over to the part of the yard I was working, picked up my shovel, and began moving dirt again….

….just in time to hear Nat King Cole croon, “Chestnuuuuttttts roasting on  an open fiiiiiiiire.”

My husband is such a butthead.

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I guess it’s our somewhat lame version of The Gift of The Magi.

Don’t judge.

 

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~ 100,000 Baby!!!! ~

In typical airhead fashion, I failed to notice that Mamaboe.com crossed the threshold of 100,000 viewers!  I had intended to celebrate, go out to dinner, maybe buy some flowers when it rolled over, but I was distracted as usual.  I blame My Captain.  He’s distracting as hell.

And lo and behold, I’m already over the threshold.

Dang.  I never thought I would see that number!

You guys are seriously hard up for entertainment, ain’t ya?

(And I’m so grateful that you are! Thank you so much for visiting my ridiculous little blog!)

You guys rock!

Love,

Mama

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~ Cayenne Kitty Butt ~

Sir Monty of Stinky Butt has many issues, his name notwithstanding.   As a wee little kitty, his anal glands were like none other our vet had ever experienced.

“How could something so cute smell so foul?” She wondered aloud several times.

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Note:  If you have never experienced an anal gland expression, you’re blessed.  It’s not a fun treat, I promise you.  Unless you like gag-inducing odors that permeate your clothes and hang around in your nose for 24 hours or more.  I’ll never forget the first time I tried to explain the problem to our vet.

Me:  “His butt stinks.  Like a LOT.”

Doc: “Is it a Poo smell, or an Anus smell?”

Me: “….uh…wha??”

Doc: “Does it smell like Poo, or Ass?

Me: “…uh…how’s about I just bring him in for you to tell ME?”

Turns out, the smell was an Anus smell.  Go figure.  I am ashamed to say I now know the difference in kitty butt smells.

This particular problem of Sir Monty’s did not endear a very reluctant Captain of mine very much.  In fact, My Captain was adamant that Sir Monty was not welcome in our home…which of course ensured that Sir Monty adopted My Captain with a favoritism far greater than any of the rest of us…even Critter..who he really DOES have a true affinity for.

Every time My Captain comes home and flops into his favorite recliner,

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Sir Monty follows up and takes his spot on My Captain’s belly or chest,

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assumes the position on his back,

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and immediately is gratified with the perfect belly rub.

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My Captain doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time.  Sir Monty trained him THAT well.

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Tonight I’m alone.  The kids are with their dad for the evening, and My Captain is at the firehouse working overtime.   Sir Monty had to make do with cuddling just little ol’ me.

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It took some effort, but he managed to get comfortable….

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I was surprised he would even speak to me after this afternoon’s, er, incident.

You see, I’ve recently planted 1,000 new tulip bulbs for next spring.

When I do this, I sprinkle Cayenne pepper in each bulb’s hole, as well as on top of the dirt after it’s planted.  This deters critters from eating the bulbs over the winter.

Sir Monty got out this afternoon, and decided to “do his business” in one of my freshly planted and cayenned tulip beds.

Have you ever seen a cat get Cayenne on his butthole?

It’s funny as heck, I tell you.  And then the second show is when the cat tries to lick his butthole clean, which then makes his mouth irritated, so he licks that and….well….

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Look, I don’t get out much and this kind of thing makes me laugh so hard I snort.  I DO love animals, I swear!  And how was I supposed to know he would try to poop there?

I bet he’ll think twice before he poops in my tulips again!  Ah, good times!  Good times!

“So, Mama, what do you do when you’re home alone?”  “Oh, not much, just watch my cat try to lick pepper off his stinky anal gland.”

Don’t judge.

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~ Taunting The Beast ~

It started out like any other Christmas season.  No sooner had the Thanksgiving turkey been digested, that we initiated the launch sequence for Christmas.

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The Moose adorned his Santa hat, paying homage to our favorite elf in the whole wide world.

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The annual Christmas tree was hunted and caught.  The web of Christmas lights,

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ever so meticulously organized, was thrown on the tree, and any non-broken ornaments we could dig up were lovingly placed as well.

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Then it came time for the manly men of the family to assemble The Polar Express down around the base of the tree.

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This is always a wonderful bonding experience, with only a modicum of yelling and whining in between the chin scratching and grunting.

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But in addition to the normal train assembly strife, was added one…

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small…

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furry…

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little…

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problem.

Of course, Walter Sir Caesar McSneezer is enthralled by the tree, the lights, and the ornaments.  Add the RAWTHER expensive miniature train – in motion – and, well, you’re just taunting the beast.

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But if you think Critter is at all oblivious to this, you’re sadly mistaken.  If anything, he sees it as a challenge.  So, essentially, you’ve got one kitten having his first Christmas, and all that that implies, and one 12-year-old who likes nothing more than to experiment with cause-and-effect.

This ought to be interesting.

I can’t watch.

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