I’ve enrolled a T-Rex into my daycare….


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and it’s one part funny and three parts awful.

So this new Little is literally little. He’s all newborn baby and filled with poop and crying.

We have spent his first three days in daycare alternating between crying for a bottle, eating the bottle, pooping and then crying for another bottle.


 Doesn’t even need a caption, the picture says it all about this Little’s personality. Oh wait, guess this is a caption. Oh well, who’s the doofus who read it?!!

In between all that we try to sleep, but we haven’t been very successful.

And then we arrive at today, day four of daycare. And it was 4 parts awful.

I ate a bagel (a HUGE one!), an entire box of macaroni and cheese from Kraft (those delicious bastards!) followed by two Twinkies filled with chocolate.

All while missing the real Twinkie filled with vanilla.

This Little is currently in the most epic battle to the death…with his arms.

Every single time he starts to drift off his Little arm shoots up and wiggles him awake. He wants them in his mouth, but they can’t quite reach because he keeps his elbow close to his body.

These tiny T-Rex arms are ruining my life and the lives of all in their path.

I called two providers AND my boss just to remind myself that there are humans currently surviving this T-Rex apocalypse.

I tried rocking, shushing, patting, walking, binkies, pacifiers, snugglies, wompies (who gives a shit what it means, I am in the middle of war!!) and plain old whiskey*

none of it worked!

So I finally decided that since I couldn’t make it better by making the Little happy, I would make it better using the internet.

Enter bouncy chair gently rocking Little (thanks to my foot) while my non T-Rex arms used the computer to google funny T-Rex images.


The internet makes everything better.

So now every time my Little jerks his arm up without actually being able to reach his face to suck his hand, I can laugh instead of cry with him.

Because of you, Internet.

*NOOOO!!! I didn’t really use any whiskey on the baby or myself. I don’t even have any liquor in the house. Take your pills and go to bed, you’ve obviously forgotten how to read sarcasm.

You are never too old for the ice cream truck…


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A few days ago I was just sitting on the couch and enjoying the fact that all my Littles went home early. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty close to comatose and drool was starting to form. And then suddenly I was propelled off the couch and towards the front door without any thought to what I was doing.

I could hear the ice cream truck.

For those of you who don’t live on my street (considering there are only 4 houses total I’m betting that’s most of you), the ice cream truck never actually drives on my street. He just does a teaser and gets himself put on the shank list.

Little bastard.

So I am halfway out the door and yelling at him to wait….

Ice Cream truck

Yep, I was incredible. I wonder if they need someone to play The Flash in an upcoming movie…

I haven’t run in years, frankly, I’m surprised at how very fast I can run when highly motivated. One of the neighbor kids was left in the dust and panting by the time he caught up to me at the truck.

Sure, he’s only five, but he’s a very fast five-year-old.

And then came the best part of the entire incident. My little neighbor said to me “thanks for catching him for me.”

Yes, let’s go with that…



It’s funny, because it’s true…


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A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…(or in the house next door, you decide.)

It is a period of unrest. Rogue Littles,


striking from their play tent,

have won their first victory

against the evil Giant. 

During the skirmish,

Little warriors managed to steal

secret technology to the Giant’s ultimate weapon,

the Lullabies, a playlist with enough power

to put an entire planet of Littles to sleep,


Pursued by the Giant’s Minion Army of Providers,

the Big Little flees home on his flying dragon

named Bruce, custodian of the stolen Lullabies

that can save the Littles and

restore their freedom from the Long Sleep…

Coming to a theater near you.

I may have the smartest dog in the world….


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So yesterday Lola had to wear the cone of shame due to her fatty tumor on her back leg. And before you freak out, it’s NOT cancer and apparently they just disappear on their own.

I freaked out for you, you’re welcome.

So today Lola saw me pick up the cone and I had to put it on while I took a shower. I knew the very minute I left the bed she would be back to licking it until it bled.

I removed the cone shortly afterwards to feed her breakfast and as soon as she saw me grab it again she made a big production of lying down and being submissive. Which always sends up red flags because she is nothing, if not my daughter; we don’t have a submissive bone in our body. Poor Hubster, so put upon.

I warned her in my best authoritative voice to “not lick!” or she’d get the cone.

Aaaaaannnndddd two seconds later she started licking.

So I picked up the cone and slapped it into place. She turned her back and pretended I didn’t exist.

About 5 minutes later I took it off and again told her don’t lick.

Aaaaaannnnndddd this time she waited until I turned away and I heard her lick. I mean, she has a big bulldog face and you can clearly hear them doing anything that requires them to reach their back legs. She was grunting and groaning and struggling to get her giant rib cage to move enough to allow for back leg licking.

So I slapped that cone back on and told her no and walked away.

This time she wore it for 15 minutes.

I took it off her and Lola made a huge show of lying down with her legs tucked under her.

Two times, folks. My Lola learned to stop licking after two times with the cone.

Now, I know what you’re thinking; why not just leave the cone on?

Damn good question!

Because Lola in a cone is basically a hippopotamus doing the ballet. On ice. In the rain. On a dark night.

She banged into so much shit that I was in fear for all my valuables.

It was a win-win situation.


UPDATE: Guess she’s not as smart as I initially thought. He memory only lasts for 12 hours, she’s now back in the cone.

And she’s not too happy about it.

It’s all fun and games until someone ends up in a cone…


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A few weeks ago I noticed a red lump on Lola’s back leg. Of course I immediately yelled out cancer, hugged her so hard she burped and then proceeded to give her a full body lump exam while on the phone scheduling a vet appointment.

Like any level-headed pet owner would do.

We took her in to the vet and was immediately reassured when the doctor said she thought it was nothing. But before you think I’m crazy she added, “but we need to send it to pathology to be sure it’s benign.”

Benign…BENIGN!! That means it could be malignant!

And my head exploded with worry and my blood pressure instantly shot through the roof.

Five days later the vet calls and tells me to get off the ledge, Lola has a benign fatty tumor that is “rapid growing and will need to be removed if it doesn’t go away in a few weeks.”


I was back on the ledge because my wild child is not one to “leave it alone.”

I warned Lola to stop licking it. I warned her to not bite it. I even warned her to stop looking at it, just in case she got tempted. She didn’t listen…

Cone of Shame

Are you listening now, fathead bulldog?!???!

Giraffes need food too…


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As I write this post I am listening to an infant bellow in the background like a foghorn. He just keeps letting out these great, big, deep sounding bellows.

I guess this is his new nap time routine; drive Ms. Heather out of the home with the drone from his voice.

Let’s hope he masters this new task quickly, the newborn starting on Wednesday is not going to like trying to sleep through this nonsense.

I am not a huge cuddler, neither is the bellowing Little, so we are both screwed if he can’t fall asleep on his own. It’s 90 degrees outside, 72 inside and cuddling will suck big time.

So, on to more important things.

First off, I guess that my laziness didn’t kill me this weekend. Even though my trachea got squished by my neck during Friday night’s tv marathon, I managed to find enough muscle to lift my head often enough to keep breathing.

There’s a small chance I may have suffered some brain damage though, I’ve been struggling to use big words correctly for two days. Like today I was commenting on another blogger’s site and I had to google if I needed to use the word nauseous or nauseated. I mean, really?!?!

If my brain was damaged by my stupidity I’m sure you’ll all know it pretty soon, I may only be able to string five words together at a time.

I need a long nap. I love Spam so much. I eat Twinkies in bed.

Actually, now that I think about it, life won’t be so bad if I can only string five words together. My basics are covered above!

Second, I went to Ikea this weekend.

And I spent $200.

On stupid stuff I didn’t really need totally needed.

And I’m not going to lie to you, I may or may not have purchased 15 boxes of the alphabet cookies they sell there….


Don’t judge me.

Damn those Swedes, their cookies are so yummy!

In my defense, 12 of those boxes are on their way to Florida to make a 3-year-old nephew very happy. They have no Ikea in their area and the little guy ate every single one of the cookies in my house while he was visiting.

I also purchased a changing table that looks like a platform on legs. It is going to save my back a lot of aching, because right now I have to use the floor mat the Navy provides and you just kneel and bend.

The changing table is great because I can use it for other things when the daycare is not here, I mean, it has 4 legs with two platforms. I even caught sight of it in one of the kitchens that Ikea had set up, they were using it as an island. I’ve started a list of how it can be used, just in case The Hubster thinks it was a useless purchase:

-espresso bar (we don’t actually drink espresso, but I think it will class up this house!)

-platform for Lola to stand on and greet people to their face as they walk in the door (Not sure how she’ll get up there, but we’re working on it)

-Twinkie stacker (you know, for those sale days when you have to go all out and buy every box)

-bookshelf (granted, I have few books since my Kindle was purchased, but I do have signed copies of Vengeance Bound and Promise of Shadows by Justina Ireland)

-I can convert it into a Chuppah (I’m not Jewish, but maybe I could rent it out to people who are Jewish and getting married)

-I can “plant” that grass that grows on any surface and use tiny scissors to keep it immaculate (I could even make designs to wow the mind)

-lemonade stand (who doesn’t need a few extra bucks?!?!)

-giraffe feeder (hello, I don’t want the giraffe to get a crick in the neck from eating off the ground)

I’ll leave you here to ponder the fact that I have giraffes in need of feeders.





My trachea got squished…

So last night the skin on my neck tried to choke me.

And it was very traumatic.

I guess I should start at the beginning…

I was on the couch and watching a riveting show on television. Sheldon Cooper was having a panic attack over Penny possibly getting him sick.

And all of a sudden I had a hard time breathing. So I lift my head up and I could breathe again. Then a few minutes later I would have a hard time breathing again.

And it hit me, my neck was actively trying to kill me. With each second I sat on the couch, my body slid further down and my head got heavier and then I would eventually have to look at the ceiling to breathe.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, why not just adjust and sit up straighter???

Well, if I had a good answer for that I wouldn’t have spent the entire night trying not to die.

daycare lazy

And now I know how those infants feel when they slowly slip down in your grip; like they are on the verge of dying under the weight of their own heads with neck fat pushing on their trachea. 

I guess I got banned….


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So last week I was so stoked that one of my favorite Trash Talk TV bloggers gave me a shout out in the first paragraph of her post. I posted all over social media, I was ecstatic! I mean, hysterical people were commenting about how funny I am. It was an amazing time for me.

But this week doesn’t seem to be so rosy.

My comments won’t post, my emails are going unanswered and my Tweets are ignored. It’s a sad state of affairs considering I don’t even know what I did wrong. I thought at first that it was an error so I waited a few hours and watched as others posted their comments. Then I logged out of my blogging domain and tried to comment as a guest and it went through and said it was “awaiting moderation”. So I assumed I had officially been banned when even the awaiting moderation disappeared and that comment post went away also. I mean, other people are commenting and I’m in the dark.

My Tweets got more desperate by the minute.

Me: Is it possible to be banned from commenting on posts?! None of my comments are posting today. I am so sad. Hope I’m not banned

Me (4 very sad hours later): I must be banned from commenting on your site, others r commenting, my email & twitter are unanswered Help please!!!

So I spent the entire day and night in a state of despair. I went to blog etiquette website to see if I had committed a cardinal blogging sin and just didn’t know it. I asked other bloggers. Hell, I even Tweeted The Bloggess herself to see if I was a nut.

I didn’t get a response, so I assumed I was a nut.

To be honest, I’d prefer Trash Talk TV created their own version of a shank list (maybe, “No TV For You!”) just so that I was aware of what transgression I could have possibly committed. You know, considering the entire website is based on making fun of people on TV and general hijinkery.

It’s an enigma and I am sad.

Thanks TrashTalkTV, I guess it was nice while it lasted?!?!

And then, this morning, I awoke to the best Tweet in entire world. I’ve gone ahead and shown you my whole desperate conversation.

Them: You aren’t banned! I fixed some stuff, which of course means i broke the site!

Me: Oh thank you sweet baby jesus!!! I was in panic mode. Hubster came home and had to talk me off the ledge ;) I love you guys!!!

At this point I should mention I was so happy I had to get off the computer and do a happy dance that involved jumping and wiggling that I am glad no one witnessed.

Them: Back at you! Try googling the site and getting in through that link! For some reason it works. ??

And now I’m in Heaven. Blogging Heaven. The peeps I find hysterical and look forward to conversing with daily are in love with me also. Thank you, my day can get no better.

Visit trashtalktv.com today and enjoy a little humor at the expense of reality tv “stars”. And just FYI, their commenting is still experiencing technical difficulties. I know it’s hard being patient, but at least you know they don’t hate you.

And then after all that I went to type in the website address to Trash Talk TV to do some light reading and this is what appeared (YOU HAVE TO CLICK ON THE PHOTO TO READ THE MESSAGE):


And I’m so depressed I may annihilate an entire box of Twinkies.

I’ve sent a Tweet. I wonder if it’s just me and my computer. Because I see others commenting and I’m real sad.

I’ll keep you all updated on my very sad saga of internet rejection.

And a very special shanks to the manager of Trash Talk TV who is valiantly responding to my Tweets and trying to get their website to allow us all to go to our happy places again. And another shanks to The Hubster who comforted me with the knowledge that the website uses a computer program to filter out spam, just like my blog, and that it seems like their program is trying to dominate the humans instead of us dominating them.

And now this seems to be getting all Terminator at the very core and I’m a little more nervous now than I was two minutes ago.

I was going into spam. Yep, the girl who loves spam became spam.

My blog settings automatically select a random post of mine to link to any comments I make using my blog host account on other websites. Unfortunately, this resulted in their host calling me spam.

Spam Man

There are worse things I could be called.

And now to work on the challenge of figuring out how to change this setting so I can get out of the spam folder and back into the game.



We’re melting, we’re mmmeeeellllttttiiiinnnnggg……


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Lola and I had a kersnuffle today. That’s a term we like to use in polite company.

It has been hotter than hell here in Washington state. And before all you people start complaining that it is much hotter where you are we’d both like you to take a shut the hell up pill.

Lola and I adore the winter. We never once posted “come on summer, get here” on our social media. We never said “man, it’s so cold, where’s the sun” like a bunch of the morons did. We never, ever want to see the sun or feel the heat of a summer. We’re a bit like vampires I guess. Either way, if you ever wished for warmer weather on social media we’d like you to go shank yourself, because you brought this plague to us both.

So, one fat kid and one English bulldog are trying to stay alive with no air conditioner. Because Navy housing kind of sucks in that regard. I asked for permission to install, they denied it. And I live right near their building, they’d see it if I went rogue and installed something anyways. Not to mention the electric bill that we cannot afford since we get billed when we use more than the neighbors.

I did try to get all my neighbors on board to get their own AC units that way when the bills came out they would see us all using the same amount of electricity. But it didn’t work out. And I’m not happy about it.

So back to the kersnuffle.

I wanted Lola to move away from me. She wanted me to move away from her. Neither one of us fat kids wanted to do the actual moving because it was just too hot. So I pushed Lola and she decided it was time to lay down the law. She climbed onto my lap and sat her fat butt down. So I pushed her off and moved a few inches over.


She is officially pissed off at me for moving her.

She shimmies (and that was a sight to watch, a bulldog shimmy!) over to me and she lies her whole body against my leg. So I scoot over a few inches more.

Now she gets up and tries to sit on me again. But I’m smarter than she thinks so I go sit on my computer chair.

And she walks away.

I win.


She left a present. It was silent, deadly and lingered for a hell of a long time.

Too Close Lola

If she wasn’t so cute, she’d be dead. Look at that face!!

We have some new add ons to the shank list:


There’s certainly a prettier sister…


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So anyone who has ever been near me in a hair salon, or even just near me when a picture of a Kardashian pops up, knows that I hate one thing about hair.


They are awful. Unless you have a talented stylist who knows with 100% certainty what she is doing, you look like you just paid hundreds of dollars to look like you hadn’t had your hair colored in months.

It’s a terrible look in general and I wish it would stop.

So recently I went to my wonderful salon to get a pedicure and Becky, the pedicurist (I wonder what term she uses to describe her job? Nail guru? Nail Czar? The Nail Whisperer? Seriously, she should have a fun title to match her fun personality)… Anywhoo, she had these amazing nails and mentioned she could give me an ombre.

Now, before I could panic and yell for another lady, this pedicurist knew me and must have known she had only seconds to show me what she meant before I ran for the hills. She threw her hands forward and I fell in love.

Nail ombres.

Nail Ombre

They are like hair ombre’s much prettier sister.

And to all you people who think hair ombre’s can look good, I give you this:

celebrity ombre

If she can’t pull it off, there is no hope for this trend.

Seriously, she has bucket loads of cash and access to the top people in the salon profession. And she needs to go get her damn roots fixed. Oh wait, you did get them fixed, you say? Well, that’s a waste of money. You look ridiculous.




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