The Most Evil Dog On The Planet Strikes Again And I Have A Moral Dilemma…

Most Evil Dog On The Planet enjoying herself in the long grass

I love her.

I do.

I really, really love her.

BUT.

But sometimes she’s just evil.

She’s horrid. She more than lives up to her sobriquet EBJ (Evil Black Job) aka the wickedest whippet in the world. Sometimes she is SO bad she’s the most evil dog on the plant.

Today she was the most evil dog on the planet and I have a problem.

Both she and I had been out running and being that is was cold and I was very tired after my exercise I decided to have a very long, very hot bath.

Sheer bliss.

I trotted downstairs afterwards to have a glass of water and to ready myself for the rest of the day. Work and the like.

I drank my water.

And then I noticed a lovely smell.

Chicken stew.

But it seemed out of place. I hadn’t been cooking any so why could I smell it?

And it dawned on me as I turned to look at the stove that I normally put the lids of the pans on properly, the right way up, not upside-down as this pan lid was.

I approached the pan and noticed a tell-tale blob of chicken jelly on the top of the oven.

I am NOT a messy cook. I DON’T leave blobs of stew on oven hobs.

Somebody…

Somebody had left it there and it couldn’t have been the boys.

I glanced around the kitchen it was strangely devoid of canine inhabitants.

I eased the lid off the stew. The stew that my Darling Husband had spent hours on Sunday, cooking.

Hours and hours slaving away

The one that I was supposed to have carefully put in containers and frozen on Sunday night. The one, which I had every intention of giving my In-Laws on Friday night when they came to stay for the weekend.

I peered inside the pan. There was still stew.

But it had gone down somewhat. There wasn’t as much stock in there as there had been the night before.

Although I cannot say for certain it was her because as usual there is a lack of evidence and I cannot afford a full forensics, my gut tells me it was, that and the fact she is studiously refusing to look me in the eye.

But now I have a problem. Knowing what I know, do I go ahead and put the stew in the container and freeze it and serve it up to my In-Laws on Friday or do I throw the lot away?

And what do I say to my husband who is expecting to see said stew on Friday for supper if I do throw it away? Should I ‘fess up or should I just keep quiet? Or should I just blame the dog?

Feel Good Monday - What better way to start the Week #2

I have friends who send me very silly things that make me laugh and on a Monday all I can say is: "What better way to start the week...than with a laugh?!"

Have a good one!

Reported in the Massachusetts Bar Association Lawyers Journal, the following are questions actually asked of witnesses by attorneys during trials and, in certain cases, the responses given by insightful witnesses:

"Now doctor, isn't it true, that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?"

"The youngest son, the twenty-year old, how old is he?"

"Were you present when your picture was taken?"

"Were you alone or by yourself?"

"Was it you or your younger brother who was killed in the war?"

"How far apart were the vehicles at the time of the collision?"

"You were there until the time you left, is that true?"

"How many times have you committed suicide?"

Q: "So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?"

A: "Yes."

Q: "And what were you doing at that time?"

Q: "She had three children, right?"

A: "Yes."

Q: "How many were boys?"

A: "None."

Q: "Were there any girls?"

Q: "You say the stairs went down to the basement?"

A: "Yes."

Q: "And these stairs, did they go up also?"

Q: "Mr. Slatery, you went on a rather elaborate honeymoon, didn't you?

A: "I went to Europe, sir."

Q: "And you took your new wife?"

Q: "How was your first marriage terminated?"

A: "By death."

Q: "And by whose death was it terminated?"

Q: "Can you describe the individual?"

A: "He was about medium height and had a beard."

Q: "Was this a male or female?"

Q: "Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?"

A: "No, this is how I dress when I go to work."

Q: "Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people?"

A: "All my autopsies are performed on dead people."

Q: "All your responses must be oral, OK? What school did you go to?"

A: "Oral."

Q: "Do you recall the time that you examined the body?"

A: "The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m."

Q: "And Mr. Dennington was dead at the time?"

A: "No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy."

Q: "You were not shot in the fracas?"

A: "No, I was shot midway between the fracas and the navel."

Q: "Are you qualified to give a urine sample?"

A: "I have been since early childhood."

Q: "Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?"

A: "No."

Q: "Did you check for blood pressure?"

A: "No."

Q: "Did you check for breathing?"

A: "No."

Q: "So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?"

A: "No."

Q: "How can you be so sure, doctor?"

A: "Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar."

Q: "But could the patient have still been alive nevertheless?"

A: "It is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere."

Q: What is your date of birth?

A: July 15th.

Q: What year?

A: Every year.

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?

A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you.

A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.

Q: How long has he lived with you?

A: Forty-five years.

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke that morning?

A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"

Q: And why did that upset you?

A: My name is Susan.

Q: Where was the location of the accident?

A: Approximately milepost 499.

Q: And where is milepost 499?

A: Probably between milepost 498 and 500.

Q: Sir, what is your IQ?

A: Well, I can see pretty well, I think.

Q: Did you blow your horn or anything?

A: After the accident?

Q: Before the accident.

A: Sure, I played for ten years. I even went to school for it.

Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in the voodoo or occult?

A: We both do

Q: Voodoo?

A: We do.

Q: You do?

A: Yes, voodoo.

Losing touch...

Have you ever thought about all the people you have met in your life? And then realised there are loads whom you used to know but don’t anymore?

It could be for a host of reasons like leaving school, leaving college, leaving home well, leaving anywhere basically, both you and them.

Then there are the people in your life who you mean to contact but just don’t because you get distracted, too busy with work, too busy with children; just too busy.

Full.

Stop.

Or you just drift apart because they have/have not got children, their children are older/younger or not at the same school, and the things that once drew you together now seem all but invisible.

I remember Rob.

When we left college we all exchanged addresses and stuff and then went our separate ways. It was not as if Rob and I had been best buddies at college but we did share a lot, if for no other reason that he came after me alphabetically and we were lab mates for botany and animal husbandry lectures.

I don’t know how it came about but he came to stay the night in my flat in London a few months after we left college in 1986 and as he was leaving, going down the cold stone-like communal stairs he paused holding the black metal bannister and looked back up at me.

I can see him now, in my mind’s eye as I sit here in my sunlit office .

So long ago.

There he is in his big baggy grey ribbed jumper coming down almost to his thighs, scruffy well-worn old jeans and white trainers. His blonde hair tousled like it always was at college, too long a fringe always getting in the way.  His face brown from working in the sun, freckled. This country boy full of health and vitality is slightly lost in the big bad city. The city I am adapting to with far too much ease. Long gone are my old jeans and boatmen jumpers. I wear wine coloured nipped-in- tailored suits with cream silk shirts, sheer stockings and black court shoes. My hair is practically neat, my make-up demure and discreet. I am a long way from Devon and Seale Hayne Agricultural College.

He pauses on the half landing and looks up at me and says: “Have a nice life.”

And everything coalesces in that moment and I know it is the point between what has gone before and what has yet to come – the rest of my life.

But I dismiss it; possibly not wanting what he didn’t say to be true.

The subtext of his goodbye was that we would never see each other again.

He was right.

But I say it now; I have never forgotten that moment and I will never forget Rob.

I can’t see us meeting again. I don’t know where Rob lives or what he is doing. But for your information Rob, if you are out there, I am having a very nice life indeed.

And I hope with all my heart that you are too.

Bringing up boys: the write stuff

I don’t know about you but it is hard work bringing up boys.

Exhausting.

Knackering.

They are just so difficult to get moving in every way. I am told I should just let them get on with it but if I did that I would still be waiting for them to get dressed at lunchtime and as for tidying up, well I don’t think we should go there.

The other thing I find hard?

Getting them to do homework.

Admittedly The Boy has more than his fair share of problems what with his epilepsy and now his newly diagnosed Dyslexia but the agonies I go through to get him to at least try to settle down and do homework makes me weak.

It is no wonder I hit the bottle at 6pm sharp every night!

Last term after a seriously dismal set of grades whereby it was made plain that The Boy had barely bothered to lift a pencil during school hours I decided there was only one way to go about getting everything better – practice.

He needed to practice his writing.

It was quite clear to me from looking at his effort grades in each subject that as soon as he was asked to pick up a pen and write something he switched off.

I’m not kidding when I say he was developing a phobia about writing.

Now this is a problem for me, I write for a living.

I like writing.

I’m not brilliant at it, but it pays. OK not much. But something nevertheless.

And I blog.

Writing is there for me every day.

So having a son, who can’t write, won’t write; is a problem.

My solution?

FORCE him to write a diary.

That sounds kind of harsh doesn’t it?

But it paid off.

Massively.

I didn’t physically force him to write. I just said he had to write five sentences about his day during the holidays.

Everyday.

First thing after breakfast come hell or high water or else no treats. No TV. No Riding. No DS. No …. Well you get the picture.

He kicked up a stink I can tell you.

But I stuck to my guns and he wrote.

His handwriting improved and he got his pen licence meaning that at school he could write with a pen rather than a pencil and then the other day he got a Headmaster’s Commendation for Outstanding Work in English – for his diary!

All that hard work paid off. I was so proud of him!

He’ll be celebrating with a new DS game and me? I’ll be celebrating with a well-earned glass of fizz at 6pm on Friday evening!

Bad Mother Moments #2 - The difference between boys and girls explained....

I don’t know why it is but the smallest room in my house is my favourite. Actually it isn’t exactly the smallest room; the larder is the smallest room and is my second favourite place in the house.

We use “smallest room” as a euphemism for the lavatory.

Granny’s bathroom is in fact my favourite “smallest room” being almost suffocatingly warm thanks to a radiator and a hot towel rail, which is on permanently as a release loop for the boiler.

It is the place where I go for peace.

Solitude.

Quiet

To contemplate life without life getting in the way.

Problem is that this particular “smallest room” has a faulty door which refuses to shut properly so you can never lock it.

Invariably just as I want to use the “smallest room” my boys get this urgent desire to be with me, as close as physically possible.

It means that you can’t ever quite relax. You can’t switch off and pretend they aren’t there, ignoring the frantic knocking at the door. Not when they are pushing against it and loudly declaiming they want to come in while you frantically try to fob them off and at the same time hold the door closed with your feet. It doesn’t make doing the necessary very easy.

I have tried alternative “smallest rooms” in the house (we have four others) but they are not the same. To be honest they are all far too cold and so not places where you might want to contemplate anything other than the job at hand and vacating as soon as possible.

I have tried sneaking off, not telling them where I am going, but it must be one of those child/mother bonds that mean that they are drawn to where you are like a magnet.

It has led to some interesting questions and invariably some very inappropriate answers.

Him: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Going to the loo.”

Him: “Are you doing a wee or a poo?”

Me: “None of your business.”

Him: “Why?”

Me: “Because sometimes Mummy’s like doing things in private…”

Him: “Why?”

Me: “Just because…”

Him: “It’s very warm in here…”

Me: “Yes it is. Why don’t you go away now and let Mummy be.”

Him: “Where’s your willie?”

Me: “I haven’t got one.”

Him: “Why?”

Me (totally exasperated): “Because I was very naughty and kept asking my Mummy silly questions while she was on the loo and it got chopped off….!”

Feelgood Monday - What better way to start the week!

For a feel good Monday Morning these whether true or not made me laugh till I cried this morning. What better way to start the week?!   

Love those Church Ladies. They're Back! Those wonderful Church  Bulletins!

Thank  God for church ladies with  typewriters. These sentences (with all  the BLOOPERS) actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church   services:

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The   Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
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The sermon this  morning: 'Jesus  Walks on the Water.' 

The sermon tonight: 'Searching for   Jesus.'
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Ladies, don't forget the  rummage sale. It's a chance to  get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your  husbands.
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Remember in prayer  the many  who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to  love. Say 'Hell'  to someone who doesn't care much about you.
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Don't let worry kill you  off - let the Church  help.
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Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
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For those of  you who have children and don't know it, we have a  nursery  downstairs.
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Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all  the  help they can   get.
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Irving Benson and Jessie  Carter  were married on October 24 in the church.
So ends a  friendship that  began in their school  days.
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A bean supper will be  held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will   follow.
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At the evening  service tonight,  the sermon topic will be 'What Is  Hell?'
Come early and listen to our choir practice
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Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the  deterioration of  some older  ones.
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Scouts are  saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be  recycled.
Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
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Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
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The church will host an  evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious   hostility.
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Potluck supper Sunday at  5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.
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The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday  afternoon.
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This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to  sin.
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Ladies Bible Study will  be held  Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the  Fellowship Hall  after the B. S. is done.
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The  pastor would appreciate it if  the ladies of the Congregation  would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
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The eighth-graders will  be  presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM.  The  congregation is invited to attend this  tragedy.
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Weight   Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church.  Please use large double door at  the side  entrance.
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The Associate Minister unveiled the church's new campaign slogan last Sunday:  "I Upped  My Pledge - Up  Yours".


 

Bad Mother Moments #1

Everybody does it.

I mean everybody has done something like it.

No?

Really?

Are you sure?

Is it just me then?

OH! COME! ON!

Everyone has Bad Mother Moments.

Maybe not as bad as this one but pretty bad I am sure.

Mine happened because I got distracted. I was having a lovely chat and a catch-up aided by a rather superior bottle glass of Shiraz with my mate J.

We were putting the world to rights, talking aesthetics and whether or not puce and heliotrope would go in the drawing room.

The boys were settled quietly in front of Deadly 60 and hadn’t been in to bother us for ages. No demands for food or crisps or the fact that they were hungry.

So it is hardly surprising that it happened. In fact you could say it wasn’t my fault at all.

However, J suddenly realised the time, way past 7 o’clock and I realised that the boys had to go to bed. Tout de Suite!

“Right Boys! Off you go now up to bed…”

“But Mum…”

Typical always trying to watch more TV, always trying to push the boundaries, always wanting to stay up longer…

“No arguing, just do as you’re told”

“But M…

“I said NO ARGUING!”

Honestly they try the patience of a saint they really do.

I hassled them like a demented sheepdog, hushing their protestations before the words were out of their mouths.

I got them undressed and teeth washed and into bed.

They were unusually fractious and I must admit I got really rather cross.

I do believe I snarled.

Anyway I finally got them off to bed. Lights out and all quiet.

And then as I came downstairs to say goodbye to J I noticed that the table was laid up.

I was just about to thank him for laying for breakfast when the horrible truth dawned.

It was still laid up for supper.

My poor boys had been hassled to bed without anything to eat.

Needless to say I shot back up the stairs grabbed my boys and gave them supper much to their relief.

J of course found this highly amusing and has been regaling all and sundry with my Bad Mother Moment. I have quite a reputation to live down in the village…there again HE has quite a reputation to live down regarding my cats and the fact that HE has been in charge when BOTH of them died… now one maybe an accident but two looks like a conspiracy!