Last night we took the kids to their first minor league baseball game. We tried to watch the Lowell Spinners play the Vermont Lake Monsters. Notice I said "tried" the kids didn't actually watch any of the ball playing. Perhaps a minor league game wasn't the best way to introduce them to the sport of baseball. Have you ever been to a minor league game?
If a major league baseball game is a scoop of vanilla ice-cream a minor league baseball game is a scoop of vanilla ice cream with fudge, caramel, and butter scotch sauce, with nuts, rainbow sprinkles, four cherries, and flaming sparklers on top. Like the vanilla ice-cream the actual baseball playing at minor league games gets covered with so much other fun stuff that my kid's never seemed to even notice the baseball game.
There was sumo wrestling, Frisbee catching dogs, baseball sling shots shooting plush baseball toys, the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo, t-shirt cannons, a cheer leading cow, a huge dancing toothbrush on the Field, and even a kid's zone with a jumpy, house, and carnival games. In my opinion the baseball playing was over kill.
During the game I tried my best to explain the rules to my son Dylan. However their was so much action on the field and on the sidelines that Dill was confused. He asked a lot of questions.
"Mom, did our team win the sumo wrestling? Did we score points when the dog caught the Frisbees? Which team is the cow on?" Needless to say the boy left the game more than confused about the game of baseball. We had fun, but I am sure that when he gets to his first major league he will be disappointed. "Nice game....but where is the dancing tooth brush?"
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Part two of my introduction into the odd world of doggy day care spas. Part one left Anabel preparing for her entrance interview with an exclusive doggy program. After training Anabel in the interview basics. Meet the interviewer with a firm paw shake-try your best not to sniff the interviewers butt,-refrain from making your territory in his/her office rug, you know just the basics.
Then we received a call that our interview appointment was schedualed...too bad that the date was in 3 weeks. We will be free as the date is the week after our trip to Cape Cod. The trip that we need pet care for. I politely asked if they had anything earlier, perhaps before we go away, hence having a slight chance of receiving pet care? But they were booked solid. This is a kennel in Franklin! Not a swanky restaurant in Boston. Since when is pet care gone so crazy? I don't recall it being this much effort to get my kids in daycare.
I checked out another doggy daycare's website and was astounded to find that they require a one and a half an hour interview as well as a 4 page questionnaire. Dear God I hope that their isn't an essay question. I of course couldn't resist downloading the questionnaire. Their are the usual questions about health, feeding, contact information. Then I read down to the section titled "Behavior".
What activities does your dog love to do? Seriously? Let's see...other than eat off the table when the kid's leave their chairs out, barking loudly every time anything moves outside of our house, relieving herself in the dining room, and picking through the trash I guess Anabel has no actual hobbies. Well she seems to really enjoy pulling my underwear out of the laundry basket and chewing on it. I could never write that!
Do people really fill these things out truthfully? The next question is What scares your dog? How do you deal with it? Honestly. She is most scared when I whip things at her to stop her from eating my undies. You know couch cushions, empty sippy cups, magazines. How do I deal with it? I tell Anabel over and over that I am only interested in a platonic relationship with her and that my undies are off limits. It never works. Maybe while she is at your doggy day care you can help her work on that?
Seriously. This is a dog! Feed her, play with her, give her water....how much do you need to know? The good news is that our regular kennel had a cancellation and Anabel has a place to stay. I am making my reservations for next years vacation ASAP so I never have to deal with these crazy canine clubhouses every again.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I have a bit of a problem. I am an Internet stalker. I am not crazy, I am just curious about my old boy friends. Okay and the boys who I wished were my old boy friends. Perhaps a few boys who I just kissed. Okay all of the boys who I kissed and a few who I wished that I kissed but never had the chance. Perhaps I am a bit crazy. I am just nosy and I have a deep need to know what these boys turned men that I wasted so many hours thinking about in my youth are doing now. That's normal right? I just want to catch up with them, preferably with out them knowing anything about it.
You see I don't want to know these people or be their friend. I just want to be able to peek into their lives and see what they are up to. Are they married? Do they have kids? Please God let their be pictures! I love pictures. The worst ones are when you find an old love interest that is still hot. I much prefer when my past lovers have morphed into old fat bald guys. Nothing is worse then finding that your past love has grown hotter over the years. On the other hand if your ex lover is a an Adonis you can forward his picture to your girl friends. They don't need to know that when you dated him that he was a buck-toothed-fat Star Trek nerd. Us girls can have secrets too.
Internet stalking reminds me of the thrill of stalking in high school. I used to go on the prowl. I'd walk way out of my way during classes to coincidentally bump into a boy that I liked. He'd be coming out of his class and I would try my best to orchastrate a collision. I just wanted to catch his attention and say hi. Or when I used to call my crushes just to hear them say hello and then hang up. Oh Caller ID you bastard. How about driving by their houses to see if they were home? Tell me I am not the only one who did these things? Am I?
Well now that I am a mature married mother of two I do my old boyfriend prowling online. Maybe I am nuts, but I love the hunt. Sometimes the pay off is great. The guy might have a Facebook page that is unlocked and I can see all his pictures and he never knows I was there. Or like yesterday the motivation for this blog. I found the guy we'll call Cupid. He was a gorgeous guy that I met on Cape Cod. We dated a few times. He was so beautiful. He looked like George Clooney. Thick dark hair and muscles. He was the best kisser. Then we had this great date on Valentine's Day. Then after our great date he never called me again. I never ever saw him again...until last night after 10 years I found him on Facebook. My George Clooney lookalike now looks like a fatter version of Tony Soprano. Call me a jerk, but this did make me smile. I spent weeks and many journal entries trying to figure out why Cupid never called. Oh drama of youth gone by. Now that I am older and more mature I can say too him....Ha ha my husband is hotter than you!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I love Cape Cod. I am in love with Cape Cod. Cape Cod completes me. With that said Cape Cod can also be the death of me. Like all serious love relationships Cape Cod can easily bring me to my knees with tears pouring out of my eyes. Is Cape Cod cheating on me with her 100,000 guests who visit her each summer? After all some of them even tattoo her name on their license plates. No way. I know she loves me the best. I just have allergies. Allergies to some unknown Cape Cod entity. Plant, animal, particle, I know not. All I know is that sometimes when Cape Cod and I are enjoying our time together my face puffs up like a blow fish, my eyes start watering, and my head fills up with thick heavy sea water.
This happened yesterday. I woke up with a 400 pound head and little squinty marshmallow eyes. I took allergy medicine. No dice. A few hours later I took it again. My kids, my mom, and I were out shopping and I felt like I needed a separate grocery cart for my head. I muddled through. The kids got their little treats. Dylan bought candy and Alice bought a princess baton. Then on the way back to my mom's house she needed to stop at the drug store to pick up her prescription.
I am just trying to stay conscious my 400 pound head is drowning my brain. I am too slow to stop Dylan from jumping out of the car after my mom. I am feeling a waterfall of snot getting ready to shoot out of my nose. I jump out of the car hoping to find a tissue in the trunk. Alice sees me and jumps out of her seat belt and opens her door yelling. "Noooooooooooo Momma I go tooo!" She misunderstands my motion and thinks that I am going in to the store. She bolts past me with her baton heading towards the store. I follow hoping that the waterfall will wait perhaps I can buy tissues in there.
Alice and I walk in and I grab a box of Puffs and blow what feels like the entire contents of my cranium into the tissue. Then Alice finds the toy aisle. "Momma I want this!" She points to everything. Then I see Dylan and my mom exiting the store. I try to drag Alice away from the toys but in my weakened state I haven't the strength nor the balance. Dylan comes in a few minutes later and spots me. He then yells out the door. "GRANDMA THEY ARE IN HERE!"
Dylan runs in my direction and spots a candy display and slams on the breaks.
"Mom can I have a dollar?" before I can answer Alice looks down and notices that one of the ends of her new baton is missing. Now we have a duet.
"My baton! Look it gone!" "Mom I want a dollar!" I am ready to lie down on the floor in the hope that the police come and take me to a nice quiet cell. Now this part isn't pretty. Also the exact details are a blur. I recall screaming until my throat goes raw, flailing my limbs in an assortment of wild violent ways, and making a spectacle out of myself. Thank the lord I don't live here and will never see any of the horrified gawking patrons again. Somehow in my tornado of inappropriateness I manage to get the kids out of the store.
We open the door and find Alice's little pink baton end in the parking lot. I drive back to my mother's house, take enough Benadryl to kick my allergies butts, and fall asleep on a chair.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I just received an email that my little girl has to have an interview before we can sign her up for camp. My baby's first interview. She's such a big girl. Jeez, I didn't know that this camp was so exclusive. Maybe we can't afford it after all? But, I am positive that the brochure said fifteen dollars a day. I am not worried about the interview I know that she can hold her own. She is social, pretty, her shots are up to date, and she never ever sniffs people in inappropriate places. Of course I am not talking about Alice I am talking about Anabel, my dog. We want her to go to Camp Bow wow while we are away on vacation. They sent me an email today informing me that Anabel needs to come in for an interview. They do realize that she probably won't be answering too many of their questions since she can't actually talk. Perhaps she can woof once for yes and twice for no? Or maybe she can just pee on their rug? She is good at that.
You know me I love a new and bizarre experience. I'll email them back and set up my dog's interview then blog all about it. I know she will do great. Anabel is great not to mention wonderful at answering hard questions under pressure. Or is that smashing hard boiled eggs under the pressure of her front paws? Anyway, I am sure she'll pass with flying colors.
Now my only problem is finding her a suitable interview outfit.