The Very Dirty Dog

by: Davis

Age 7


"Once there was a dog.
He was dirty.
No one wanted to buy him.
One day a girl came in.
She wanted no other dog but him.
When she got home she wanted to name him Stinky.
That's a dumb name said her mom.
Her dad said, it's her dog.
So she named him Stinky.

They became best buddys."



I think we can all learn a little lesson from this. Namely, that even if you *are* a little stinky, you still deserve love, too.

Oh... and if Mom says, 'No', just ask Dad. ;)

The summer is upon us...

Here it is, officially ‘summer’ in the Linson household. Day 2. And I just haven’t grown weary of this yet… “What is there to dooooo?”

The end of the school year was fast and furious. And frickin’ exhausting. All those parties. A preschool graduation. All that crying. (Shut up. I’m sentimental. *You* try sitting through that slide show without tearing up. I dare you.)

Here’s the cutest little graduate to come along since her brother walked across that teensy little stage, just a few years back...







Was *she* sad? Heck no! She got flowers and a Zhu Zhu pet out of the deal. AND the yellow gown and the ‘silly hat’ means that she now gets to go to Kindergarten. There is no downside for her.

Me, on the other hand?




Well, I’m adjusting. Or I’m not. But at least I have the whole summer to get used to the idea of my baby heading off to ‘big kid school’.

An entire summer to get ready for the inevitable tears on the first day of school.












And I’m not talking about hers, of course. ;)

Talk about 'luck'...

It was bound to happen at some point. Especially considering that a certain 5 year old has discovered a new love for the rhyming word.

We rhyme everything these days. Everything, sneverything, beverything, heverything. Okay, I admit, many times the words are nonsensical and made-up. But they rhyme, dammit! Slammit… hammit… clammit…

And sometimes those rhyming words? Well, they’re all *too* real, friends. And they’re all too real, in my van, driving to dance class today.

Libby: My eyes must be tired.

Me: Why?

Libby: They’re doing that ‘jumpy’ thing.

Me: Oh yeah? Are they twitchy-witchy?

You know what’s coming, doncha’?











Libby: Yep… they’re itchy-bitchy.







So… four things to keep in mind here…


1. I’m glad we’d already left the library by that point because this statement was said in an ‘oh so proud that I can rhyme words’ voice. And that particular voice just happens to be pretty LOUD.

2. It’s a good thing that I was driving the van, and the kids were in the back and couldn’t see my face and how hard I was laughing.

3. If the two older children had had bubble gum in their mouth at the time, I would have had to stop the van to perform the Heimlich, they sucked in their breath so quickly.





4. Remember not to ask Libby about a ‘truck’ or a ‘duck’ until she outgrows this phase. ;)

Is that what you use to 'drunk dial'?

Josie: Momma, when you were a kid, what kind of a phone did you have?

Me: What do you mean?

Josie: Did you have one of those rummery phones?

Me: A rummery phone?

Josie: Yeah, you know… one of the ones that you have to spin the dial?


Ummmm....









Oh.



Me: A ROTARY phone?

Josie (rolling eyes): Noooo… I’m *pretty* sure that it’s called a rummery phone.

Me: Oh yeah? Rummery?

Josie: Yeah.



She was so convincing, that for one split second, I questioned myself.

Maybe I *did* use to call boys, radio stations, and poor hapless people that my friends and I had plucked from the phone book to be the victims of our ridiculous prank calls... all while using a 'rummery' phone?

Is it possible that the reason I can still remember the phone number of the boy I crushed on in junior high is because I dialed it so many times, only to hang up the minute that someone (usually his poor mother) answered?

And when I got my own phone in my room? I no longer had to sit in the hallway, twisting the phone cord around my fingers, while I peered around the corner to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Well, that phone was white, sat on my desk, and was the instrument of countless hours of conversation with my best friend, Michelle. And most of those conversations went a little something like this, "Did you see him in the hall? Did he see you? Did you talk to him? What did he say? He SMILED at you?!" Scintillating conversations, I know.

A junior high girl and her love/ hate relationship with the phone.

The phone rings... (excitement!) (No such thing as 'Caller I.D.', so it's a crapshoot as to who it's for.)

Dad answers the phone... (consternation!)

Dad dares to have a conversation with whomever is on the other end... (complete and utter embarassment!)

Dad tells your older brother that the phone is for him... (disastrous disappointment!)

You realize when your brother gets on the phone that it's one of his hot friends...(exhiliration!)


My 'rummery' phone. Ah, the memories. ;)

I don't think these kids trust me one bit...

Case in point:

Sometimes I park my van in the driveway, and not in the garage, when I know I’ll be turning around and going back out shortly. Or if I’m just feeling lazy.

Because here it is, friends… my van is big. And my side of the garage is small. And I have been known to whack a side mirror or two in my day. What can I say? I lack depth perception. (And I am not deeply perceptive, either.)

I can still remember when we lived in Colorado, and my neighbor, Andy, wandered over to investigate the source of ‘that loud crack’ he’d heard, only to find me frantically trying to reattach the right hand side mirror of my Mazda. It least it came off cleanly.

And don’t even get me started on the number of times I’ve smacked the garage refrigerator with my front bumper. Oh, and someday, remind me to tell you about the time I was house-sitting, and I put a huge hole in their garage with my car.

I have a litany of parking mishaps. But, as usual, I digress. The van… parked outside…

As the day progresses, and I realize that I am not, in fact, going to make it to H.E.B. to pick up something for dinner (you know, because I haven’t had a chance to do my ‘big’ grocery trip, and “Yum… don’t grilled cheese sandwiches sound good for dinner... again?”)

So, I’ll move the van inside the garage. But before I do, I’ll yell to the kids upstairs, “Guys, I’m moving the car in!” Every single time… I’m talking, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME... a little head will peer out from the door to watch me move it.

Almost like they’re making sure I’m not about to make a break for it. Running for the Canadian border (hey, I’ve been to Mexico…) with nothing more than the clothes on my back, my car keys, and the 43 cents I keep in the ashtray. Of course I could probably feed myself for a week on the French fries they’ve spilled under the seat.

“I’m just moving the van inside,” I’ll tell them through the window. They just nod and watch. Occasionally they’ll wave.

They don’t trust me.

Either that, or they’re just waiting for the side mirror-snapping, refrigerator-tapping, cursing extravaganza. ;)

Freakin' me out...

Last night, I went to put the kids’ packed lunches in the garage refrigerator. Usually, I have to scoot things out of the way to fit all 3 lunchboxes in amongst the soda, beer, yogurt, and an assortment of other things that probably need to be thrown out, but when it comes right down to it… who has the time to clean out one fridge, much less two?

Last night, I noticed that there was considerably less beer. As in… none.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, (because I like to do that), “did Phil go on a bender last night after we went to bed?”

Turns out… we’re not sure where the beer disappeared to. So, I’m freaked. For two reasons:

Reason #1: Someone… teenagers? Mass murderers? Errant gardeners? Thirsty trash men? (I’m leaning toward gardeners. That is some hot, sweaty work.) … came into the garage during the day, when the garage door was open, and helped themselves to the beer. Scary.

Reason #2: I am now forced to watch “Mongolian Death Worms” on the SyFy network without the benefit of at least one alcoholic beverage on board. Even scarier.

Needless to say, I will be much more diligent in making sure the garage door is closed at all times. That’s the end of the ‘beer runs’, you little thieves.

But one thing that *did* brighten the day, just a bit… I noticed that the yogurt was moved around, too, and it looked like a few cartons may have been missing. I can only hope they ate most of the cartons that they took before realizing that the expiration date was approximately October of ’09.




Enjoy the start of the spoiled yogurt 'runs’, you little thieves. ;)

I am warning you...I will turn this thing around!

With summer approaching, the pools are sparkling blue and chock full of chlorine. The kids are almost out of school, the birds are singing, the grass is dying (hello Texas heat!) and the mind goes to thoughts of...





Swimsuit shopping?? *sob!

Shopping for suits? Torture.

Ordering one on-line? Tricky.


Trying them on in a teeny fitting room with those flickering flourescent lights? Dante's third circle of hell... which (not coincidentally, methinks) happens to be 'Gluttony'.


Maybe you are someone who just LOOOOVES shopping for swimsuits... in which case, let me be the first to say, "What would you like for your 7th birthday?"


But for all you fashionistas out there that are wondering about the newest styles in swimwear? The most cutting edge, avant-garde fashions?







Well, here's a hint...











This is NOT it. ;)