moving day

Mama's packing up the moving truck and hauling her cookies to a new blog site. It's musingsfromthemamabear.wordpress.com.

I have a few formatting issues with blogger, mainly the spacing between paragraphs. Sometimes it works, but most of the time it doesn't.

Not such a big deal unless you're a tightly wired nutcase like me. I'm one step away from the straightjacket after every post.

So please reset that bookmark, then pop in and drop me a line.

a simple math lesson

This:Plus this:

Equals way too much of this:

Or sometimes even this:

Please, spring, don't take too long to get here.

some new duds

Here's Logan in a new outfit I just finished. The shirt is store-bought with an appliqued starfish on it.

I can say with certainty that applique is not my bag.

The pants have a little more detail than the picture shows. There's a yellow waistband and lining in the pockets.

The biggest challenge was matching the plaid pattern along the seams.

By the way, he's perfecting his self-proclaimed mean look in this picture.

And Tilly? She's finishing his breakfast.

tick, tick, tick

So we got an unexpected reprieve Monday afternoon at the vet's office.

And by unexpected, I mean I had scoured the upstairs of our house of all traces of cat before we left.

I washed and put away the food bowl and made sure his favorite toy was out of sight. It would be too sad to see when I walked back in later without him.

His doctor didn't think he was suffering, and that was a relief.

But this morning, when I fed him, his hind legs went out from behind him, leaving him splayed on the floor. I helped him back up and he finished his breakfast.

We're on borrowed time, but I'll take it.

sadness

Kasey has continued to deteriorate.

His back legs are getting so weak that when he stands, he struggles to keep his balance.

And for several days, he's spent most of his time hiding underneath the couch.

We have a vet appointment today at 3:45.

I knew this day was coming but that doesn't make it suck any less or help me not to feel like a total piece of shit.

Those of you who are pet lovers can surely understand.

ETA: I didn't have to put him down after all. My wallet's a little lighter, but so is my heart.

we have the friendliest accommodations in town

The most spacious, too.

So friends and family, if you ever want to visit us here in this fair suburban city, don't for a second entertain the notion of staying in a hotel.

There's no reason you can't bunk with us, and it doesn't necessarily mean you'll spend a miserable night on a rump-sprung sofa covered in cat fur.

Here at the Rogers Manor, we have two full-sized guest rooms. One is decorated in the style of a 4-year-old boy. But I guess we goofed somewhere, because no 4-year-old boy has ever expressed a desire to sleep there.

The second caters to the needs and comforts of distinguished canines. A futon sofa can comfortably sleep two large hounds.

But again, we must not have gotten something right because the only time any dogs seem to be in there is when they're in time out.

Meanwhile, our own sleeping quarters look something like the photo below.

Logan's not in there to tell us goodnight before retreating to his own room. Instead, he's about to climb in.

Once everyone's in position, I'll stake out a few inches for myself.

Thanks to the Ambien I guzzle about a half-hour before hitting what little amount of sack remains, I still manage to sleep like a baby.

But when I do wake up, it's sometimes with a start when I discover a paw, tail, child's toy or human limb draped across my face.

Nighty night.

dear mr. trash collector...

...I need to apologize. Early one recent morning, you were treated to an unsavory view as I beat a hasty retreat from the curb where I had just deposited our trashcan.

Unfortunately, instead of seeing my jeans through the gaping hole in my pajama pants, you were unwillingly subjected to a view of my jiggly posterior.

By the way, those dingy white drawers of which you caught more than a subtle glimpse were vintage. I've had them since at least 1995. Mama does love her antiques.

But there's no need to turn in your notice for fear of a future encounter with the ripped pants. That is, unless you take a peak in our can during this week's pickup.

Warmest regards,
The Mama Bear

because my family's sick of looking at all the crap i sew...

Here are some goodies I made for a friend's baby shower.

It was fun to sew for a little girl. So much fun that seriously, folks, I need one of you to pop another one out pretty soon so I can whip up more of this stuff.
I'm itching to make another pair of these cloth shoes (but not so much that I'm willing to produce another kid of my own to put them on).

a few additions to the banned words list

I always look forward to the release of Lake Superior State University's annual banished words list.

That's because since I was a kid, I've had a love-hate relationship with words. Back then, I remember such innocent-sounding terms as "nostril" sending me into a teeth-gnashing rage. ("Gnash" would've had the same effect).

No particular reason; I just thought certain words sounded stupid. It was probably just a foreshadowing of my eventual persnickety temperament.

Growing up in Texas, a word often fell into disfavor after I heard it pronounced with an exaggerated southern drawl.

Did I feed the dawg today? Go the beach and pick up shayells? Want something to draynk?

Sometimes, the words spoken by a fellow Texan would sound so garbled that I'd have to ask the speaker to repeat them. For a tightly wired type-A personality like me, it was irritating.

So even though it doesn't address pronunciation, the LSSU's word-banishing list is completely up my alley. It always gets me thinking about words and phrases - as well as grammatical and punctuation liberties - that raise my hackles.

Here are a few additional picks from the Mama Bear.

Discombobulated. This word falls into my "sounds stupid" category. It drudges up visions that include dismemberment or taking a dump.

Making. A. Point. By. Separating. Words. With. Periods. Clever the first few times I saw it but tiresome and irritating now.

OMG makes the list, too. It's the middle school teacher in me, I suppose.

Fricking, as well as its inbred cousin, Freaking. If you're going to use the "f" word, might as well go for the gold.

What about you? Are you as anal as me? Any words or phrases you'd like to see take their leave?

Hmm...anal. Add that to my list.

the christmas play

Logan's acting debut was a huge success last Sunday during our church's Christmas play.

He was incredibly convincing in his role as a shepherd. It's obvious from the photo that he got into character, delivering a convincing portrayal of a reaction to the angel's proclaimation of Christ's birth.

Naw, just kidding. He's actually reaching out and tearfully saying "Mama."

building a bear

I have a knack for acquiring items based purely on my exaggerated sentimental nature. Quite often, they're objects for which I have absolutely no use or need.

Such was the case with Grandpa's jacket. It's one of three jackets I ended up with after he died.

It's been hanging in the closet for a couple of years now. And around here, closet space is minimal.

So last night, I got out the scissors. Now, the jacket looks like this.

The brown material was the outside of the jacket and the plaid was the lining. The buttons were on the pocket.

The tag on the inside indicated that Grandpa liked to shop at Sears. I put it on the bear's behind.


I have another one of Grandpa's items, too. Any idea what I can turn this into? My husband would say scrap metal.

How long is too long?

This is Kasey. He's 16 years old and nearing the end of his nine lives.

For the most part, he gets around alright. Still purrs and craves our attention.

But he's got some medical problems that can't be fixed. The writing's on the wall that his days are extremely numbered. He declines visibly each week.

I've drawn a mental line in the sand about how far I'll allow him to deteriorate before taking him in for that final vet visit.

If he shows signs of obvious pain and distress, it's a given. If he starts using the upstairs as his personal toilet, something will have to be done.

At first, it was easy to be ojective about the notion that we'd have to intervene. But as the inevitable inches closer, that's becoming more difficult. My fear is that I'll let things get too far gone before I can muster up the courage to do it.

That's because Kasey and I go way back. I knew him long before my husband, son, and many of my friends.

I got him from some drug dealers while I was still in college. It wasn't part of a transaction; I wasn't affiliated with them.

A friend in one of my classes knew they were trying to get rid of a cat and since I've always been partial to Siameses, she gave them my number.

When I drove over to check him out, I first took in the large supply of their merchandise on full display in their kitchen. They took me to a back bedroom and opened a dark closet door to let Kasey out.

That's where they'd been keeping him; they didn't want their landlord to know they had a cat (I thought later that it was ironic they were more concerned about hiding the cat than their drug supply).

Inside the closet, Kasey had a bowl full of large-breed dog food and no water or litter box.

I picked him up and his feet never again touched the floor of that nasty apartment. He's been with me ever since, a loyal friend.

so terribly sad

I found a heartbreaking link to a story today on another blog I frequent.

It's about a family who lost their baby to cancer. Now, they've discovered their newborn has a brain tumor as well as one on her spine.

Reminds me that I have a lot for which to be thankful.

You can read their story and offer well wishes and prayers here.

an only child's quest for entertainment

Logan's gotten the short end of the stick with this icy weather.

We've been housebound for a couple of days and I've used that time to try and finish my Christmas sewing. So he's had to come up with creative ways to occupy his time.

Yesterday, he constructed an obstacle course for our dog. The highlight was a high-jump made from bungee cords he drug up from the basement.

Augie's tired of being inside, too. So he had no trouble playing along.

That's the bird cage on the left. Bud was thrilled to be part of the event staff. His neck's probably sore this morning from repeatedly trying to get his head through the bars to bite the dog.

They both crashed like a ton of bricks at nap time. I guess that for Logan, a four-legged sibling is better than none.

sure, it might get a mite lonely around here...

...with hubby away this week on a business trip.

But there's one thing I won't miss.

Here's a chronological account of the first four days last week...

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

The sight of his dirty skivvies in the hallway burns my retinas every morning. I need to think up a clever solution. Maybe I'll hang them on the coach lights or from the mailbox. Or I'll wrap them up and give them to him for Christmas.

man, they hack me off

My family is on my last nerve today. I feel like just grabbing a belt and swinging at butts.

This morning while I was out, Logan brought up every toy he owns from the basement. He has a sizeable collection upstairs as well. All are now on display in a heap on the living room floor and in the hallway.

Then, hubby gave him my cell phone and taught him to call our home phone. He's done this no fewer than 25 times today. Once the answering machine picked up, he screamed every profane word he knew.

"Butt, wee-wee, poop, pee, toot," he shrieked.

Then, he dragged the newly reupholstered kitchen chair to the counter so he could stand on it in his filthy shoes, reach the answering machine and replay the barrel-in-the-mouth-invoking chorus over and over.

Hubby hasn't been bothered. That's because he's spent most of the day tucked comfortably into bed. That's a whole 'nother post. Grrr.

a little peace and quiet

Dad has taken Logan for the day so I'm enjoying some time to myself.

It's refreshing to have a break from the usual Sponge Bob marathon. Instead, the TV is tuned to some quality programming.

On another note, my hopes were dashed that the Minnie Mouse theme of the doo-rag I made at my dad's request would deter him from sporting it. No such luck. He swiftly placed it on his dome, then put the pleather version on Logan.

Have a great day and steer clear of trash TV.

last-minute gift ideas

Holiday shopping can be a drag. The pressure's on to find that perfect gift that will convey love and appreciation to the recipient.

If you've found yourself in a gift-giving quandary, here are some suggestions to quell the angst. All have been tested in my home.

Gift idea #1: The fart machine.

Our model produces a cadence of 15 toots. Comes with a convenient remote control for long-range gags.

It's brought about hours of family fun for us (and dread amongst my relatives who are on edge at the prospect that I might gift one of their children with it).

Gift idea #2: A kind, loving pet. This is always a good option.

Not sure about size or breed? My advice is that bigger is always better.

And try to retain an element of surprise for the recipient. Don't drop hints; just show up with that incontinent great dane.

Gift idea #3: A useful household item.

Would you rather err on the side of practicality? Try something like the item in the above photo.

No need to wrap; it's already attractively packaged. Add a bow for maximum effect.

Gift idea #4: A distinguished piece of glassware.

To me, refined slogans such as the above add an element of class that elevates the item to heirloom quality.

Gift idea #5: A figure-flattering garment that bears a personal slogan.

This is a thoughtful choice when you tailor it to the interest of the recipient. "Alcoholics Anonymous worked for me" or "Chillin' Like a Villain at Alcatraz" will evoke such fond feelings each time the recipient pulls them out of a clothes hamper for one more wearing.

Thrift stores offer a plethora of options. Or, you can just plow through your own dresser drawers and scrounge up a suitable shirt.

I ordered my little brother a couple of t-shirts for his Christmas gift. They arrived today, one bearing the word "Mexico" beneath a large donkey sillhouette.

I failed to notice when ordering that the donkey's nether-regions are greatly emphasized. Oh well, it'll give little brother another option when he's choosing something to wear for church or a job interview.

Gift idea #6: Let yourself be the gift.

If you don't feel like coughing up the coin this year, simply attend the family festivities with a pleasant disposition such as the one radiating from Todd in the above photo.

You might need some assistance to muster this up before facing your family. If so, try hitting the sauce the night before, then getting up early the next day to shovel snow while your head pounds through your ears.

Upon arrival, immediately guzzle down the hair of the dog that bit you. Then, sit back and watch your family delight in your cheerful presence.

That's what Todd did. Aren't the results heartwarming?

a Christmas visitor

Meet Tom.

He's taking a long vacation at our house and will be here through Christmas Eve (yeah, I know the cat lamp looks a little creepy in the photo).

Tom is part of the Elf on the Shelf gift set. He came with a book that explains his job, which is to report each night to Santa the behavior of the child who resides under our roof.

His book explains there are certain rules necessary for him to work properly. Most importantly, no one can touch him or he'll lose his magic.

Each morning, we go on a search for Tom to find where he landed after delivering the previous night's report.

Yesterday, he was in our bedroom clinging to the cat lamp. Today, he's on the living room shelf.

Logan's behavior since Tom came to visit has been incredible.

Best $30 I ever spent.

be careful what you wish for

Dad has hounded me for several years to make him a distinguished piece of headwear known as a doo-rag.

And for years, I've put him off, not wanting to contribute to his delinquency.

You see, he already has one, and it's repulsive. The red, pleather-trimmed bandana makes him look like he's ready to attend a meeting of a street gang.

But Dad showed up the other night clutching his vile doo-rag like a child with a beloved stuffed toy.

"I want you to make me one of these," he said, shoving it into my hand.

Knowing he wouldn't be put off this time, I went online and found a pattern. Then, I searched for the perfect fabric.

Remember that Minnie Mouse costume?


By the way, I had to bribe Logan with a pack of M&Ms before he'd let me take his picture modeling this silly thing.