I Apologize.

The littlest Wild One went running through the kitchen last night and wiped out...flat out, whole body splayed on the floor wipe out. Not too out of the ordinary...until it happened for the third time. Turns out the Big Guy had sprayed furniture polish on a magazine (long story...had to do with fixing the treadmill taking up space in the basement) and the overspray landed on the floor making it extremely slippery. Soon all the Wild Ones were running through the kitchen trying to wipe out. I was laughing hysterically, so much so that I could barely talk. You see, while I did find the wipe outs funny, that is not really what I was laughing about. I was remembering something that I had been meaning to get around to (for about 6 years)...apologize to the Big Guy. When we lived in our old house we had a two story entry with a stair case that wrapped around the hallway upstairs. On occasion I would actually clean all the woodwork around the stairway. The first time I attempted this I sprayed the wood (as opposed to spraying the cloth) and then wiped it down. It looked great, I went about my day and the Big Guy came home from work...nothing unusual. Until he went to put something in the office (passing under the aforementioned woodwork) and completely went down...cartoon style...feet up in the air and everything (I bet you are laughing now too). Well I never really admitted to knowing exactly why the floor was so slippery (I didn't do it on purpose...the first time). So now, formally I would like to apologize to the Big Guy for all the bruises I may have inadvertently caused way back when...and for all the uncontrollable giggles coming from around the corner.

Fake is for the birds...oh wait.

I received an email last night (you know the kind that asks you all sorts of personal questions, you fill it out, pass it on and wait to hear everyone else's responses? I do have to admit I love those things...must be the "Nosy Nellie" in me...Thanks Nicki) that asked the question, "Real tree or artificial?" It reminded me of when I was "married with no kids" and my mother and sister were into the fake trees. I had no kids to impress and being ahead of my time in the green movement, I thought I would give it a try. So the Big Guy and I put up the Christmas tree and he promptly left for a business trip. I was left to decorate the "tree" and it just wasn't working for me...no smells, no pile of needles digging into my bare feet as I walked by and no bloody knuckles when I hung the lights. If that wasn't bad enough the dang tree would not stay upright in the stand. So being the industrious gal that I was (I was a terror on the bobcat and could whiz any power tool with the best of them) I decided to have a look around the garage, but all I could find was a dry bag of cement and a few rakes. So I did what anyone would do, I went inside and opened a bottle of wine. Rigged up with a little liquid gold I ventured back into the garage and mixed myself up a bucket of cement and plastered that dang tree right into the stand. So the answer to that email question, "Real of Fake?" Mine is so real I will be picking pine needles out of my feet (and the back of my hair) for weeks.

Not so cute at 2 am.

The kitties are doing well (as in they have not run away, they are using their litter box and they have not scratched the Rotten's eyes out). When we brought them home we were going to acclimate them to the house and the dog slowly, but getting an excited 9 year old to follow that train of thought is easier said than done. As we drove up the drive way I laid out explicit instructions as to how we would separate the kittens from the dog and  get them settled before the introduction. I think I was talking to myself (it happens). Rotten was in the driveway when we arrived and was jumping near the car when we stopped. The middlest Wild One immediately opened his car door (boy kitten in hands) ran over to Rotten and said, "Look Ruger, a new kit....ahh....oooowwwieeeeeeee!!!!!" Evidently the kitty didn't know the large, strange black creature was his new brother...which should have implied friendliness...and tried to hide in the back of the Wild One's neck. The kitten was thrown toward the car (in an attempt to trap it in the car...ha) and mayhem ensued. The other Wild Ones were trying to get the girl kitty inside, I was chasing the middle Wild One with one hand and trying to gather a soapy wash cloth, hydrogen peroxide and neosporin with the other. If the neighbor across the street had not had his music playing loud enough to shake the other neighbors windows someone may have come out thinking we were performing some satanic ritual. We can all laugh about it now (now that the wounds have cleared up and the cat was found hiding under the car), but I was not laughing at 2 am when Jasper was sharpening his claws on my ankle every time I moved (I think he was trying to save me from the evil creatures residing under my covers) and his sister Darby was breathing in my ear...but they are so furry I forgave them...for now.

Meet the New Abbotts

Santa came early.

Every year we do the same thing. We bundle up the Wild Ones (hope to remember gloves for ourselves) and head north to Jan's Christmas Tree Farm. It's great...they have a pile of hay bales, bonfires, people who reenact old stuff (think blacksmiths and rope makers), horse drawn carriage rides and Santa even flies in by helicopter. So this year we decide to go early and take advantage of the nice weather (I had to brainwash myself into believing it was OK to get our tree in November and that it will still be fresh by Christmas, but hey there is something to be said for avoiding frostbitten body parts). 

Santa flies in, we wait in line, we visit the "people" (the Big Guy ended up with a hand made rope and the tiny Wild One ended up with a musketball-both made right before their eyes) and just as I am suggesting a carriage ride or a roll in the hay the Wild Ones spot the kittens. Santa's "nice" helper announces that she is sure it would be ok to take one home with us. Have I ever mentioned the whining and begging that immediately starts spewing from the pores of the Wild Ones at the thought of having their very own kitten? I almost told the Wild Ones that it was too bad they had already seen Santa cuz they could have asked him to bring them a kitten (sometimes those things just slip out), but then something magical happened...The Big Guy actually said yes. None of us believed him (and I kind of felt bad for the Wild Ones standing there with a look of "almost delight" on their faces not quite sure how to react), but before he could say, "Ha, just kidding" the Wild Ones were off in search of the best kitten...fighting even before they got there about which one they would bring home. The Big Guy seemed serious so I followed the enthusiastic banter to the room full of cats and watched as our new family member was passed from kid to kid. With a purring kitten in arms, we went in search of the Big Guy to weedle into his soft spot. It took a while to find him and when he turned around he had "the perfect kitten" in his arms. I took one look at him, shook my head and laughed the words, "We're getting two kittens aren't we?" His answer? "This one came right to me." As if he had to talk us into it! So much for the hay bales and carriage rides...the Wild Ones wouldn't even get out of the car (and leave the kittens) to help pick-or cut- the perfect tree...oh well, they know by now that I always have the last say any way.