So I’m driving along with my three girls and my niece as we come upon some cows. Chloe quickly points to a cow and then this conversation happens…
Chloe: “I named that cow Melissa.”
Lydia: “Which cow?”
Chloe: “The one with the white face.”
Sofia: “Did you name any of the other cows?”
Chloe: “Just Melissa with the white face.”
Vivian: “You should have named her Mooo-lissa so she could understand you.”
I am never bored with these girls!
I was rushing around to get to a Mother’s Day Breakfast with Vivian at school. I am not a morning person, so I was cutting it close. I was completely ready, I simply had to take our beloved Ollie Augustus down the hill to his kennel.As I reached to remove his collar, I quickly realized that he had rolled in cow poop…again!
Two things, 1. Eau de Cow Poop lingers even after washing your hands three times. 2. There are few things more humbling than texting your child’s teacher about cow poop. In light of the first point, I hand sanitized my hand about 20 times as I drove to the school. I finally got rid of the horrible smell, just in time to be the last mom to arrive to the breakfast.
I had a chocolate milk with Vivian as she finished her Fruit Loops in chocolate milk with orange juice. Upon clearing our tables, we walked back to the pre-K room to find a precious gift from our children.
Allow me to show you an enlarged version of the letter in which I am 70 feet tall and weigh 60 pounds. It sounds awesome until I read my age… 62 years old. Oh, and apparently Vivian likes doing the dishes with me. Who knew?!
According to Vivian I am super model skinny, despite my age, I make a mean batch of chocolate fudge, and she knows that I love her. I am just going to embrace the age and let people tell me, “Dang! You look good for 62!” The cow poop, however, I could do without.
Dear Ollie Augustus,
Last week was pretty rough. Between doctor visits for Sofia and the usual mischief, I was a bit exhausted. I mean seriously, I even got an empty fortune cookie on Friday. A fortune-less fortune cookie, not the best way to finish an already festive week. I was over it all and decided to go home and let the girls binge-watch Disney Junior while I divided my hostas. I finished my evening with a glass of wine, a beautiful sunset, and you. As you sat there, loyal and quiet, I finally realized why people own dogs.
At 1:30 in the morning I woke up to you, barking incessantly at a raccoon, while Lawrence yelled at you to be quiet and get in the house. I came downstairs and yelled every command we had ever worked on together. Nothing. You just barked and barked as I yelled like a crazy woman in my cheetah pajamas for you to come in the house while Lawrence went to get a flashlight. We quickly realized that the raccoon was big enough to win the fight you were provoking, so Lawrence went for his gun.
As he fired in the air like Yosemite Sam in boxer shorts, you finally decided to stop barking and come into the house. Finding the girls at the top of the stairs, I realized we may have startled our neighbors as well. Messaging my neighbors that we were firing guns at 1:30 am is not my idea of fun on a Friday night, but having the cops called is certainly not any better. I finally got the girls back to sleep, but I tossed and turned until my alarm went off at 6:00.
That’s right, 6:00 am on a Saturday to get dance shoes clean, all 9 dace costumes packed, style hair, and apply make up for dance picture day. I left my house at 8:30 am and returned at 8:30 pm, sleep deprived. You managed to stay out of trouble…until Sunday.
I mean seriously, coming home from church to find you covered in cow poop is yet again, not my idea of fun. If anyone drove by my house, they saw me in my navy dress with fluorescent sneakers and hot pink dish gloves, hosing you down and bathing you in the front yard. Thanks for that buddy.
P.S. You are the first dog I have ever owned, and you may very well be the last. Much like the girls, your cuteness redeems you.
We asked the girls to change out of their church clothes before going out to work on the farm and playing basketball. The girls had decided that they would like a tree house, so we told them we would all go and clear a place in the woods.
Sofia and Lydia came down in warm up pants and a T-shirt so they could go straight from helping in the woods to playing basketball at the school with friends. Vivian, on the other hand, came down in jeans and her cowgirl boots. She presented herself with a huge smile and a “ta-da” hand gesture, then said, “See. I just need a bucket.”
Naturally, my husband and I asked why our 4 year old needed a bucket. Vivian replied, “So I can milk the cows.” I laughed and informed her, “We don’t have any cows. Your aunt and uncle do, but we don’t. Plus, they don’t have dairy cows, their cows make meat.”
Disappointed, she went back to her toy room. She quickly returned with a purse and her Hello Kitty alarm clock. Not having a clue why she needed an alarm clock in the woods, I asked what she had planned. Vivian looked at me as though I should already know and replied, “I’m going to mow the yard.” She wasn’t happy when I pointed out that she is too young to mow the yard.
Mamarazzi & Her Divas 