3 more nights with this dang thing

On Friday at 8:45 I'll go to the doctor to get this thing taken off my hand and then I'll be able to do things that require the use of a pinky:

--write, which requires typing with more than one hand if one is to keep up with the thoughts as they're coming
--cut my hair
--blog the toilet story--it'll be worth the wait
--mow the lawn
--clasp my own bra
--unclasp my own bra (S. last night: didn't I just do this for you yesterday?)
--wash dishes (my mother, when I told her about my hand: how're you gonna do the dishes? Me: That's what S. is for.)
--wash my hair w/2 hands
--open jars
--tie my shoes
--wear my engagement ring again
--pet the girls as they're walking past my left side

no trip to Massachusetts

too many expensive and time-consuming things happening at once

1. Belly needs to have part of that damn dew claw removed, which means sedation or anesthesia, which means recovery time and probably antibiotics
2. my car needs front brake pads, which will be a couple hundred $$$
3. number 1 will also cost a few $$$
4. my damn finger makes things harder all around

I'm carrying a lot of guilt about this decision--letting people down, etc--but when I boil it all down, it's really not about the $$$ but about making sure my baby girl is safe and happy. I just can't leave her.

That Becky, she rocks

Here is the high-larious account of the breaking of my finger. One thing she didn't note is that the REASON I didn't go to the dr. for two weeks was that everyone kept telling me it was JUST A JAMMED FIBGER and I'd be fine. Um, yeah, remind me of that as I'm trying unsuccessfully to clasp my own bra strap. Sigh.

hard to type; story to follow

Meanwhile, look at me and the Booda with our front left appendages all bandaged up. We're Stumpy Jo and Gimpy too. Typing with one hand...that damn book's gonna take a bit....

George W. Bush is toast

Or maybe kibble.

Here's a real conversation that S. and I had this morning.

Me: Honey, did you see George Bush in Wrigley's bowl this morning?

He: No.

Me: Where was George Bush when you got up?

He: In bed with us.

Good thing I captured Wrigley with George Bush in her food bowl. Otherwise Daddy never would've believed she'd been trying to eat him.

See, here's the thing. Wrigley's not allowed to have stuffed toys because she immediately decapitates them. But last night she brought me Annabelle's new stuffed lion and she looked so pathetic that I started looking around for something I could give her instead. Belly never plays with George Bush, so I gave Wrigley that. She was thrilled. She immediately started gnawing on him, running around the house flinging him around, bringing him outside and then back in again.

When I told Wonka about this this morning, she asked if Wiggles had decapitated him.

Me: Nope, but one of his legs is hanging on by a thread.

And those legs are wearing red cowboy boots. Deee-licious.

happy happy birthday to my girl

Happy happy birthday to Annabelle Blue Butler.

My baby girl is seven years old today. Last year at this time she was the youngest of three dogs, and this year she's the older of two. She's adjusting to this role. I didn't say she's adjusting nicely, just that she's adjusting.

This next photo was taken right before a walk. When I put my socks and sneakers on, Belly runs down to the door and sits like a good girl, waiting for me and/or S. to come on already and take her for a walk.

She makes me so happy every single day. For her birthday celebration, there will be pupcorn, ice cream, and swimming (not in that order).

I have to admit that this year's birthday number hurts a bit. She's no longer my spring chicken. She's seven. Isn't that officially a senior? My heart hurts just thinking about my life without this beautiful beast. So I won't. Instead, I'll love on her and take her swim-swim-swimmin'.

Nessie lives

This is from last week's swim and I just love how Belly looks like the Loch Ness monster rising from the depths. Last night we took them swim-swim-swimmin' again, and Belly actually wanted to chase the ball in the water. We'd brought the ball for Wrigley because on land, Belly couldn't care less about the damn ball. That's child's play, she says. But in the water, suddenly it's something to chase.

Their swimming last night made my heart hurt, they were so damn cute. Two little black heads, swimmin' side by side, workin', workin' so hard to get to the ball. When Wrigley'd bring the ball back to us on land, Nessie stayed in the water pretty much looking like she does in the picture here, and when we'd tell Wrigley to sit before we threw the ball, Belly sat in the water.

They kill me, these girls.

independent of linoleum

How we spent our July 4th weekend: freeing ourselves of the world's ugliest linoleum floor:


And trading it in for a vinyl tile floor, though if I hadn't told you this was vinyl, you might very well have believed it was ceramic. It looks that good.


We installed it ourselves. Some of the lines are a bit off, but that just makes it more human. We briefly considered giving up our day jobs and going into the floor installation business.

This last photo is mostly for Hillary, who was so proud of her handiwork on the vents last summer when we (mostly she) installed the laminate flooring in the living and dining rooms. Also be sure to note my brown toenail polish. Two separate people told me this weekend that I look so very Goth. heh.

my loldog

moar funny pictures

swim-swim-swimmin'

Here's a video of the girls swimmin' at White Oak Park yesterday evening. This was Wrigley's second big-girl swim. Her first was last week, and I didn't have my camera with me. Is this the best kind of new media, or what?

Note that the video ends quite abrubtly as Annabelle realizes she can make a dash for it and runs off after a bunny. She's almost 7, but she's still a stinker.