All Rileyed Up

The Boy’s speech has made marked improvements since the start of Kindergarten. I’m sure some of you experienced your two and three year olds telling your life story to strangers, but I’m only just now experiencing this. The Boy wants to show the parking lot attendant what he has in his pockets or introduce his entire family to anyone we encounter. He’s very chatty these days, and he has this hilarious explanatory tone to his voice that sounds like a cross between his teacher and Husband.

Today was my usual day of dog walking, parenting, and errands, with a dash of psychotic breakdown and a few shakes of randomness to ensure my kids have something to talk about in future therapy sessions, and then, of course, The Boy, dispelling his little proverbs.

Let’s start with the dog walking. Hey, all you dog walkers out there, it’s a simple rule: if your dog poos, pick it up. Why is this rule so difficult to comprehend? I understand there is the occasional lapse in memory where one might have forgotten the doggy bag, in which case you pick it up later that day or at the very latest on your next walk. I understand that sometimes your dog might go in a bush and you might feel it’s not harming anyone since nobody will actually set foot there, but you should still pick it up. What I do not understand (nor do the grooves in the soles of my Converse understand) is why in the name of God’s green-and-pooed-on earth you would leave a pile in the middle of a sidewalk. PICK. THAT. UP. There is no excuse for dog poo on a sidewalk. If you’re so lame that you don’t pick it up, at least kick it to the side. Why would you leave it in the middle of the sidewalk? That’s just lame.

I got home and The Boy saw my shoe and said, “Oh no!” and put his face to his cheeks a la Macaulay Culkin and then said, “You have a yucky shoe. You better wash it.” He also pointed out a rather big gob of white paint that Little No Limit poured onto the backyard cement and then stomped around on in her latest attempt to be an artiste, and then explained to me, “She did that. I told her not to.”

So I’m irritated about my shoes and this paint I need to clean up and tell the kids we will be going to library to return the movies. Last week, we rented three DVDs from the library. Angelina Ballerina, a recurring checkout, The Muppets Wizard of Oz (look for a hilarious cameo from Quentin Tarantino), and Max’s Words, in which the key words were “I’m too scratched up a DVD to watch.” For the past week, the kids kept asking to watch it despite that I explained every time we couldn’t. And every time they asked, they picked up the DVD and carried it to me wherever I was, the bedroom, laundry room, garage et al. And I kept telling them, “Please leave the DVD on the shelf because I don’t want to lose it.”

Lo and behold, today arrived and it was time to return the videos and Max’s Words was nowhere to be found. And after dealing with dog crap on my foot, I was just mad. Mad about the dog crap. Mad that I had asked them to change into their clothes and The Boy yet again wanted to go out in pajamas and cowboy boots, explaining to me, “But sometimes I wear cowboy boots with my jams [TheBoyspeak for pajamas].”

I demanded they help me find the DVD and the Boy nodded and put his hands on his hips and said, “I’m serious about this. This is NOT funny.” Which was kind of funny, but then I felt a little guilty, like I had totally scared him into talking like this.

We eventually found the DVD under the couch and then we went to the library. We checked out some new DVDs, had a nice lunch at Selma’s, and then went to Lowe’s. The Boy wanted to show everyone the new DVD he’d rented at the library, Word World, and asked everyone if they could spell C-A-T or T-R-U-C-K or H-O-U-S-E.

On the drive home, I was almost hit by no less than four cars, all of whom were simply NOT looking as they were pulling out driveways, crossing over parking lots, etc. I mean, seriously, I was really freaked and felt like that Simpsons episode where Homer’s horoscope told him he was going to die.

Mmmm, horoscope…

I got back home, and the kids sat down to watch Word World with their leftovers from Selma’s and the Notorious F.O.X., after an hour of biding her time and lulling us into a fool’s trance, scored big time on sneaking away with Little No Limit’s last slice of pizza. Little No Limit screamed from the living room and when I got there and witnessed the atrocity, I actually pulled that pizza slice from Notorious F.O.X.’s mouth, which may not sound like the wisest thing to do, to part a Chow Chow and her food mid-chew, but in addition to not wanting her to get away with such conniving behavior, it’s also not good for her health to eat people food, and her health is ailing as it is.

I should have bitten you.

Afterwards, The Boy put his arm around Little No Limit to comfort her and said, “You know, sometimes, there are some dogs who take other people’s foods. Would you like some of my potato chips?”

And finally, after all this, I laughed the good long laugh I needed all day.

You know, sometimes there are people who don’t pick up dog poo. Would you like some of my potato chips?

You know, sometimes there are people who don’t look while driving. Would you like some of my potato chips?

You know, sometimes there are kids who say the darndest things. Would you like some of my potato chips?

You know, sometimes there are bloggers who are shameless enough to write ‘kids say the darndest things.’ Would you like some of my potato chips?

Mmmm, potato chips…

Continuing on with MomDot blog party with the hopes that the police haven’t been called in to ruin all the fun…

Today, MomDot wants to know what my favorite holiday recipe, what my holiday table looks like, and what my biggest holiday disaster was. Let’s start with the easy ones: fave recipes are my crumb topping apple pie and sweet potato soufflé. I also like my mother’s lumpia, even though I haven’t been able to eat it lately and mine just doesn’t taste quite as good. Of late, one of my favorite recipes has been gluten free, rice free pizza dough, but that doesn’t scream holiday fun the way a nice bowl of red-coated Christmas caramels does. Just look at how much fun Little No Limit was having at her second Christmas with those babies:

I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

On to my holiday table. Given the above picture, I considered posting a picture of an exam table from Gross Anatomy 101. But, no. Here is what my holiday table looks like:

Kneel before Zod!

As for my biggest holiday disaster was, I recently posted on my first Thanksgiving Day dinner. I’d say that was probably the silliest dinner every, but disastrous? Not sure I’ve got anything disastrous, for Christmas or any holiday. At Little No Limit’s first birthday party, my mother dropped the cake icing side down on our pool table. This was bad both for the cake and the felt on my pool table. There was also the Valentine’s Day dance where my date stood me up. Does that count as a holiday disaster? When you’re in high school, it does. (fyi, it turned out to be a misunderstanding, like in Three’s Company, but still…).

There was also a particularly memorable Christmas when I went into labor and got rushed to the hospital, oh wait… that never happened. Nope. I was due on December 21st and then the doctor suggested we might have the baby early, say, closer to the 15th, but when I passed that date with nary a change to my special lady places, we started thinking I might have a Christmas baby, and come Christmas day, we were all on edge that maybe, just maybe, I was going to have a baby. But lo and behold, The Boy held out until December 30th at which point I had a planned C-section because I hadn’t even effaced and he was a behemoth child. No mistakes with the date, btw, just a little boy who found his Mommy’s internal world the right place to chillax. Of course, I might still call that Christmas a disaster because I had just been informed that the Little No Limit I was expecting was actually The Boy. Yes, I am one of those moms who was told the wrong sex of her child. Disastrous, I say. Disastrous. (not anymore, of course - just at the time).

So anyways, thank you MomDot for these pressing questions that forced my stumble down memory lane, and thank you to Bottlewise and Glow Mama for sponsoring the MomDot Blog Party Day.

Oddly, this is not the dog with all the issues.

See more WW shots here and here.

There is something wrong with the Notorious F.O.X. I don’t know what it is, and unfortunately, right now, neither does the veterinarian.

We adopted Notorious F.O.X. from the animal shelter when she was between three and four years old. She’d been brought to the shelter, adopted, returned, then adopted again, then found roaming the streets pregnant and they couldn’t track down her owner (she could be her own Lifetime movie). She had her puppies at the shelter and watched all of them get adopted away from her within two months, after which she was spayed. By the time we came along, she’d been in the shelter for three months (it’s a wonderful shelter that keeps all their animal friends as long as it takes for them to find a home). She was depressed, they told us. She never ate. But she was so calm and sweet. When Husband Then Fiancé and I walked around the shelter, she just looked at us, with those eyes that look like they’ve lived a million lifetimes, and when we put our fingers to the metal wires, she walked up and licked us.

We left the shelter with Notorious F.O.X and brought her to her new home, where she promptly got into the potato salad while we weren’t looking. We didn’t even get mad. Oh, early love. Over the following months, we learned things about Notorious F.O.X. – how she could take down a Christmas tree, for example, and bust through a window and its wooden blinds. Later, we discovered she could chew through and/or break any kind of metal crate. We have addressed the anxiety in different ways over the years, sometimes with better results than others, but inevitably, she reverts to her original namesake self. She’s notorious. There’s nothing else to say. What other dog do you know of who has tried to escape from a house through an AC vent?

Her anxiety is at its worst now. She’ll crawl on top of me in bed, jump up and walk along the outside wall, attack corrugated cardboard boxes like there’s raw meat hidden inside of it. She’s also between ten and eleven years old now and her eyesight and hearing are waning. A few days ago, I came home to her shaking violently. As in, looked like she was having a seizure. I immediately called the vet and asked to bring her in.

The vet is on the same block I live on, on the opposite corner, and across the street. It only takes a few minutes to walk there, or a half hour depending on how distracted the children are (Look, leaves! Look, a car! Look, a speck on the sidewalk!). It was my first visit to the vet with both children, since this visit.

To start, as soon as the veterinarian walked into the room, the first words out of his mouth were “So what seems to be the problem today with—oh, hello.” See, The Boy decided that he should walk up and grasp the veterinarian’s legs in a big bear hug. I smiled and nodded like this was totally normal. Rather than explain to the vet “My son has autism and we’ve been working really hard on encouraging him to socialize and be affectionate but he doesn’t always understand the differences between friends and strangers, not that you’re a total stranger of course, but blah blah blah” I simply smiled and said, “My son’s very friendly. Son, you can let go now.”

The good doctor let it drop and we began our dog discussion. We went through the usual list of Notorious F.O.X.’s anxiety issues, then I added that they seemed worse lately, and coupled with the shaking/possible seizing, I feared the worst. He asked me if there was anything different at home, did we have a new baby, did we get another pet, did we buy her a new bed—

“Ahhhhh! A cat!”

Apparently, Little No Limit thought that an appropriate moment to prance the toy cat the receptionist gave her through the air.

“Please keep your voice down while Mommy is talking with the doctor, thank you,” I said, and smiled at the doctor. “Um, the only thing new is her leash. I can’t imagine that’s an issue.”

Just then, The Boy tried to climb up on top of the table where Notorious F.O.X. was resting while the vetertinairan petted her head. “I’m going to ride her!” he exclaimed.

I immediately informed the veterinarian that the children are not allowed to ride the dogs (even if they can dance with them). He asked if Notorious F.O.X. ever lashed out at the kids, or anyone, and I said, “No, she’s really quite calm and well behaved around them [even when they do succeed in riding her]” at which point Little No Limit thought it necessary to TURN THE LIGHTS OUT and scream “Daaaaark!!!!!”

In my best mother voice, I said, “TURN THAT BACK ON – THIS. INSTANT.”

It is either a show of my acting capabilities and/or complete idiocy that when the lights came back on, I kept a straight face and said to Dr. Probably Now Scared Of Having Kids, “So what do you think?”

He, for his part, maintained a calm demeanor and acknowledged that it could have been a seizure, or worse (eg: central nervous system tumor), but nothing was giving him that indication now, as her vitals were all normal.

Pause, with look at the kids.

“I think I’d like to prescribe an anti-anxiety medication for her for the next two months and see how that goes.”

Another pause, as Little No Limit and The Boy start arguing over their imaginary personas – “No, I’m a robot!” “No, you’re a dog!”

So, uh, doc, you want to prescribe any of that for me too?

Today, a post of mine was featured on 5 Minutes for Parenting as part of their Daily Dose of Humor series, courtesy of Rachel at Grasping for Objectivity in my Subjective Life. Some of you old timers might even remember when I originally posted it, a trip to the veterinarian, as told by a sports commentator.

Of course, now I feel compelled to write something funny because what if someone reads that over there and then clicks over here to read more of my posts, expecting to laugh? What if I don’t live up? What if they think, oh, she’s not funny after all? What if I’m crazy? What if can’t concentrate on writing this post and the thought going through my head is youhavetobefunnyyouhavetobefunnyyouhavetobefunnybefunnybefunnybefunny
aaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!

Why don’t you tell a joke, Ms. Funny Girl?

Ooh! A joke! I love jokes!

Nobody asked you.

Okay, I got one. Why did Riley cross the road?

Why?

To chase down the Notorious F.O.X.

That’s the dumbest joke I ever—oh, I see what this is about: you still mad about this morning. Riley, let me be blunt: if I didn’t ever escape, you’d never get any exercise. I’m doin’ you a favor.

Yes, well, the next time you think I need to exercise, pop in some Billy Blanks. I’m totally worn out now.

Me too. That early morning run wore me out. You faster than I expected.

Don’t let the smooth taste fool you.

Whatever you say, fool. I’m goin’ to sleep. Peace out–

This dog of mine…

Anyone care to venture a guess as to what thought is going through Notorious F.O.X.’s mind?

This is a sink:

This is a sink on CLR:

Any questions?

Yeah, I got one. You a filthy, disgusting slob.

That’s not a question.

Why are you smiling like that?

I think I inhaled too much CLR. Whee!

(This post contributed to 5 Minutes for Mom’s Tackle-It Tuesday)

Aaargh!!!! It’s time for another round of International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Shiver me timbers, not again

I can’t believe you making me do this, fool.

Yes, it is time, again, ya foolhardy excuses for man’s best friend! I knew I should have gone for a parrot, arrrrrghhhh!!!!

A parrot would be just as confused as me, because YOU DO NOT TALK LIKE A PIRATE. All you do is say “Argh.”

Avast! That’s where ye be wrong, lassie. I say ‘buccaneer’ and ‘walk the plank’ and I sing! I sing of the sea and pirates of yore! Aaaaarghhh!”

Sing one pirate song for me.

And it can’t be from any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

(silence)

Smartly, now!

Uh…

Baby beluga in the deep blue sea—

That ain’t no pirate song, damn!

I am a pirate, aye, and I know what music we sing. A song of whales and the sea, of beauty, arrrgh!!!!

Baby Beluga is a kid’s song.

You shut up now, lassie! You’re ruining the pirate sexy!

Whatever. I’m out of here. Aye aye, weirdo.

Aye aye, indeed, you thoughtless wench. Why don’t you go crawl into a bung hole and choke on a hornpipe—

Yo, if you do any more piratespeak, we gonna have a problem. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’.

AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!!!

********************

We interrupt this blog to bring you some happy music from a fellow pirate.

How great thou arghhhhhh, how great thou arghhhhhhh

Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Noodleboro is a line of games from Hasbro that help children learn about manners and how to listen and share. Little No Limit and The Boy have been enjoying the Learning to Listen Pizza Palace Game:

The premise of the game is to follow instructions on making a pizza, and then pack it into a delivery box. It also comes with a CD and storybook. Sometimes we don’t even play the game, but just listen to music or read the story. Other times, the kids make their own pizzas and deliver them to one another, so chalk up a few points for imaginary play. The pieces are sturdy and there are enough of them that if you lose a couple, you can still play the game. Unlike my useless jigsaw puzzles.

When I showed the game to Meredith Carrillo, a licensed MFT who focuses on working with new moms, she described the game as “A wonderful way to bond with your child through play. This game offers children the opportunity to practice important skills such as taking turns and following directions in a fun imaginative way.”

All in all, it’s a big hit with everyone in the house, except the dogs, who have expressed serious distraught over these “not-real” pizzas.

It doesn’t just taste like cardboard. It IS cardboard. Quit taunting me.

Feeling lucky? Here’s a link to enter a sweepstakes to win a free game. Good luck!

If I enter, can I request a real pizza instead?

We shaved the Notorious F.O.X. a few weeks ago. Last time she got shaved, I said Lion Cut and they actually made her look like a lion, complete with shaving her tail except for a pompom at the end. I guess I’m an idiot in the world of dog haircut vernacular – I really just thought lion cut and buzz cut were the same thing – because why would you WANT your dog to look like a lion? Really! Why?

You can get past a dog. Nobody f*cks with a lion.

We got her a buzz cut at PetSmart. It’s always amazing to everyone what a difference it makes to shave a Chow Chow. All that hair. ALL THAT HAIR. Gone. My sweeping and vacuuming time has dropped from twice a day to once every other day.

A couple nights ago, some friends came over. Their daughter, Lizard Queen (I call her this because she LOVES insects and lizards), is five. She’s only two weeks older than The Boy. If we lived in a different time or culture, they’d be betrothed to one another. I already have the perfect wedding slideshow pictures, of them as newborns, leaning against one another for support.

So Lizard Queen came to our house, and could not stop staring – STARING – at the Notorious F.O.X. with deep, serious concern in her big blue eyes. After they’d been at the house for an hour or so, she walked over to me and slipped her hand into mine, all dirty and rough from playing with roly polies, and motioned for me to lean down so she could whisper in my ear: “What did you do to her to make her shrink?”