Parenting Fail

WARNING: This post is a bit on the gross side so if you're eating or easily grossed out, don't read any further! You've been warned!

 

Today I am meant to be confessing to any parenting fails. The only problem is that obviously I am the most likely candidate for Mother Of The Decade! I don't have any! OK, I made that up.

The truth is, it's a bit of a sensitive topic for me. I think I'm a terrible mother because I'm scatty and disorganised. However, my boys seem to genuinely love me. Additionally, they are all healthy and going well at school. So I guess I'm doing something right.

There is one funny anecdote which happened many years ago when Mr 13 was Mr 3 and Mr 11 was a newborn, so let's call him Baby. Yep, I'm very original with names and aliases.

One day we decided to go out for a picnic at Mt.Tomah Botanical Gardens.  I don't know what we were thinking. We must have been feeling extremely optimistic on that day. Otherwise, we were just delirious with sleep deprivation. If this wasn't foolish enough, we also decided that it would be a brilliant idea to invite our friends, Kim and Ziggy, to come with us.

It all started out looking promising. We arrived at this picturesque location and strolled around happily. Eventually we found a spot to have our picnic. At this point, Baby began shrieking incessantly. Meanwhile, a rather over-powering stench began emanating from the direction of Mr 3. It was all quite mortifying for us, while our friends kept smiling politely as if nothing was amiss.

Except it was impossible to ignore the smell. No problem, we'll just change him and clean him up, we thought. The trouble was, we soon realised that although we had packed a baby bag with everything except the kitchen sink for Baby, we had left Mr 3's backpack at home. We did have some wipes but not his nappies or a change of clothes.

Somehow, Mickey Blue Eyes took Mr 3 to a discreet location and cleaned him up as best he could. Except this was one of those horrific poo explosions. Something that only a bath and then another bath and then another bath could clean. He had no choice but to put the same trousers back on him. Not surprisingly, he still reeked.

This didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He chattered on merrily, excited about the picnic. At the same time, Baby had kept up his cacophonous screeching. I fed him, but he still wailed and voiced his disapproval of being dragged out for the day.

Mr 3, oblivious to his rancid, toxic odour spotted another family having a picnic and figured he'd join them. I think he just wanted to make friends with the other kids. Within minutes, the family disappeared, probably unable to consume their food.

I guess it was one way to ensure that we had the entire gardens all to ourselves for the day.  Needless to say, it wasn't exactly a relaxing picnic and we ended it as soon as possible.

From that day forward whenever our boys had one of those utterly disgusting poo explosions they were referred to as a 'Mt.Tomah'.




And that, my friends, is what I would call an epic parenting fail. Bows to applause. But it's all good, because I've been a perfect parent ever since. And slightly delusional, but we won't mention that.

SHHHHHHHHH!!!

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What is your most epic fail?

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Someone Else For A Day

If you could be someone else for a day, who would that be? This is the question I am pondering for today. There are so many choices.

I could be an animal. But which one would I be? A dog? A cat? Or a bird, so I could merrily poop on people? I'd only poop on people I like - it's supposed to be good luck after all!

I could be Mickey Blue Eyes just to see what it's like being married to me. Shudders. On second thought, no. Just- NO.

I could be one of my gorgeous boys, just to see what it's really like having me as a mother. But I'm not sure I really want to know.

I could be someone famous, just to see what it's like being one of the 'beautiful people'. But I don't like being the centre of attention so I'm not sure I would really like it.

I wouldn't mind trying out being somebody who was a total horrific bitch on wheels for a day. I'm curious to see what it's like. I'm so nauseatingly sweet and nice. I just want to experience being the total opposite of that. To try to understand such a person's thought process. But I can't really say who that person is. That would be like calling someone a bitch. I'm too sweet to do that. You see what I mean? Sigh.

I definitely wouldn't want to be the Prime Minister or the Queen or anyone in authority. I can't make decisions and intensely dislike conflict.

It wouldn't be bad being a wiry, gangly teenager or child or man who never puts on weight just so that I could eat and eat and eat non-stop for the whole day until I explode. Hell, yeah! Yes, it's interesting that eating and not having sex is the first thing that comes to mind for me if I could be a member of the opposite sex. I think that probably says a lot about me. Shut up.

 It might be OK to be our dog Cookie for a day. Every time I spotted her today she was snoozing. Lucky bitch. Even now she is curled up at my feet. Also, she's adored by Mr 10 and 6. 

 Yes, I do think I'd just like to be a carefree child or an animal for a day so I could just sleep, play, eat and not worry about anything. Yeah, I'm really deep, aren't I?

Oh well, if you were looking for deep and meaningful I guess you would never have clicked over here in the first place. So don't blame me. It’s your own fault. You knew that I’m shallow and you chose to read this anyway. So who’s even more shallow? I think we know the answer to that. Just saying.

 Another thought I just had was that I could be somebody who was a genius-like speed reader. Then I could get through ALL THE BOOKS I want to read and THE ENTIRE INTERWEBS in one day!

Or, if there is such a person, (in the Guinness Book Of Records or something) the World's greatest cake-eating champion! That way I could eat ALL THE CAKE and get it out of my system forevermore. Maybe. Probably. It's possible!

 So basically what I'm saying is I want to be somebody who can eat and sleep and read and surf the web all day. You know, just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Shut up.

 

Linking up for The Lounge.

 

Who would you like to be for a day?

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Decisons

 

I’ve never been good at making decisions. Sometimes I find myself agonising over the simplest of things.  Deciding what to have on a sandwich becomes this epic debate in my mind, fraught with fear and self-doubt. Should I have tuna or cheese and tomato? Perhaps a good old-fashioned curried egg and lettuce would suffice? Then again, there is left-over chicken in the fridge!  There are just too many choices!

Plus, what if it my sandwich filling choice just doesn’t delight my taste buds on that particular day? I’ve already consumed the calories! What a disaster! See? I knew I would choose the wrong thing! 

This probably explains why cheese and tomato sandwiches were my staple diet for many years. It eliminated the decision making progress to opt for the same thing time after time. If I really wanted to be totally wild and crazy I might mix it up by having toasted cheese and tomato. I’ve always been cutting edge.

This cutting edge tendency is probably apparent in my choice of attire. Boring, bland and predominantly black sums it up. Therefore, the amount of time I spend ruminating and pondering over what to wear is patently ridiculous. Who cares what I wear?  As long as I’m covered and clean that’s all that matters.

This doesn’t stop me from wasting an inordinate amount of time fussing over my outfit. It seems that I must be under some sort of grand illusion that I’m a celebrity about to be hounded by the paparazzi each time I leave the house. It’s as if I’m making the important choice of whether to wear the Prada or Gucci instead of the Best & Less or Big W. Often, I mix it  up and team Big W garments with Best & Less ones because, you know, that cutting edge thing again. And do you know what? Except for all the times I’ve been mistaken for Nicole Kidman*, this hounding by the paparazzi hasn’t happened yet! 

Don’t even get me started on grocery shopping. It’s the stuff of nightmares for a scatterbrain like me. So many aisles, so many decisions! I do take lists but still get confused once I’m in the supermarket and all those rows upon rows of choices are around me. Suddenly, things appear in my trolley that weren’t on the list. Of course they are always organic kale and herbal tea, not chocolate or cakies.  No way.

I mean, do you know how long I’d spend agonising over whether to get the Maltesers or Mars Bars? It just seems easier to get both. Ahem. Except that these days I’m on Weight Witches, so I just walk very fast past the confectionary aisle. Then I get to the check out and there they are, right in front me. Sigh. Life can be cruel sometimes.

Anyway, I spend so much time agonising over these mundane decisions it may have prevented me from making any reckless, life-changing decisions that I’ve come to regret. I’ve never taken illegal drugs, gambled away my life savings or robbed a bank.

Yes, there is an infamous mullet-perm in my past but a) it was the 80s, and b) it’s provided ample entertainment as fodder for this blog. So let’s give it another whirl.

I should regret this hairs style- but I won't. I know
you're laughing. You're welcome.

There is one mild regret lurking in my past. Rewind back to around 1992 or 1993. By this time I had ditched the mullet-perm for an attractive poodle perm. Like I said, I’ve always been cutting edge and classy. I was in my early 20s  and working at the State Library. Somehow, on my meagre pay I had managed to save a sizeable chunk of money. I was able to do this because I lived with my parents and didn’t have a car or a social life. This totally confirms my cutting edge status. Shut up.

In the back of my mind I had some hazy idea that I was saving the money to eventually buy a car or go overseas. There were two problems with this grand plan; a) I didn’t have a drivers’ license, and b) I didn’t have any friends to drag overseas with me. The idea of taking off on my own never occurred to me. I was still a tragic Mummy’s girl and ridiculously shy.

Luckily however, around this time I ended up joining Rootaract. Uh, I mean, Rotaract and thusly acquired something resembling a social life. Consequently, I met Mickey Blue Eyes.  My parents were in the process of planning a trip overseas to the UK. It crossed my mind that I had the cash to go with them. I quickly dismissed this thought as absurd. After all, mature, worldly, hip 22 year-old Mummy’s girls who lived at home and proudly owned an entire collection of Carpenters albums didn’t go overseas with their parents!  This would totally tarnish my now legendary cutting edge persona!

Case in point: The Carpenters were totally retro-cool in 1993! There was even an alternative tribute album recorded in their honour! This confirmed that I was ahead of the game and cooler than anyone gave me credit for. To my 22 year old mind I couldn’t risk the damage to my ultra-cool character. It would just be sad and pathetic to go away with my parents. Besides I would have to be parted from Mickey Blue Eyes for a whole month! We were still at that stage where we actually missed each other if we weren’t together every day.

Of course, 20 or so years later I’m wondering why this was even an issue. I see the  man all day, every day. Every. Single. Day. What was I thinking? A  month was a blip in the ocean in the scheme of things.

And the sad truth of the matter is, I would have enjoyed going overseas with my parents much more than going on some Contiki tour with a bunch of raucous, drunken twenty-somethings. Sad, but true.

So I guess what I’m saying is, if I could rewind back to 1993 I would have gone overseas with my parents. But it’s all good, because we’re currently in the process of obtaining our passports so I’m sure we’ll get there eventually. Except now we’ll have three lovely children to tag along just to make it extra special. This should be tremendous fun. I mean what could be worse: going overseas with your middle-aged parents when you’re young or waiting until you’re middle-aged and going with children? This is a totally rhetorical question, just in case you were trying to figure out the correct answer.

Oh well, I suppose I had better leave it there and go and decide what to have for lunch. After all, it could take a while.

 

Linking up for I Must Confess.

 *OK, so I've never been mistaken for Nicole Kidman. But it could still happen! HMPH!

What decision would you change if you could?

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Secrets Of The Heart

You might notice that the title of today's post sounds suitably melodramatic, just like the title of a Danielle Steele novel.  Once again it is time to reveal some more of my deep, dark secrets.  By now, my regular readers will be aware that I am an extremely brooding and mysterious individual.



Complex, multi-layered, intriguing and something of an enigma. Like many quiet people, hidden depths lurk beneath my tranquil exterior.
 

Therefore, my revelation is bound to come as a severe shock. Make sure you are sitting down.



I’m meant to reveal something I’ve never revealed to anyone before. There is a slight issue with this. You see, the thing is… And here comes my dramatic bombshell…



Imagine some ominous and dramatic music....

I’m actually rather boring.

I know! Shocking, right?!!
 

What you see is pretty much what you get with me. A quiet, boring, cake-eating Carpenters fanatic, who happens to have a husband and a few sprogs. That's it. But there must something I could reveal.

I suppose I could reveal that I sometimes read on the toilet. Well, let me clarify this. I sometimes take a book with me into the toilet just in case. I never actually sit there inhaling my own stench while I merrily read away. That would just be WRONG. Just in case of what, I’m not entirely sure. But let’s face it, you’re probably reading this on your phone while you’re on the can, so don’t judge me!



Admit it. You take your phone into the toilet! At least I’ve never done THAT. So ner.



I could reveal what a hideous slob and failure of a domestic goddess I am, replete with photos of my slovenly abode. But I’ll spare you.
  
I could reveal that I sometimes fantasise about telling people to fuck off despite my outward placid exterior. But I won’t reveal who those people are. I’ve never actually done it. Yet.


I could reveal that I scratch and pick my ears. But that's just gross and you don't need to know that. Oops.

I could reveal that every time I am making progress with Weight Witches and have a good loss, this seems to be my cue to self sabotage and stray off track. But it's probably what I deserve for posting smug updates on Facebook. No more smug updates from me. You're welcome!



I could reveal that I am STILL on green P-plates. I didn't get my license until I was well into my 30's, and I've just been too lazy  and haven't bothered going through the final testing to get off my P-plates.



I could reveal that previous to getting my license I walked everywhere or caught public transport. Now that I drive I've become one of those wankers who can't bear the thought of stepping onto a train or bus. *Shudders*. Additionally, I seem to have forgotten an important point that my Weight Witches leader pointed out: we all have one of the least expensive pieces of exercise equipment; a front door. Open it and walk out!
 

Interestingly, this ability to drive coincided with becoming somewhat pudgy. OK, that's not very interesting information, or very surprising. But I shared it anyway. What's the point of having a blog if you can't over share!



I could reveal my little shopping expedition the other week, when I lost my parking ticket. Frantic searching and re-tracing my steps through the shopping centre ensued as a replacement ticket would cost $35. When I returned sheepishly to the ticket station empty handed, the person on duty gave me a replacement ticket for free. Kindness isn't totally extinct, after all.



OH! This is a good one: I could reveal that I failed HSC English. Spectacularly.  I'm sure this is totally shocking. I mean, this blog would certainly never give any indication of that. Shut up.
 

I could reveal that I have this weird stimming habit of rocking, but I may  have already revealed this before. Can't remember. Fortunately, I never do this in public or my children might pretend not to know me.  Come to think of it, they already do. They want me to bugger off as soon as we arrive at the school gates. Weird. I'm not embarrassing. Am I?


On that note, I better stop embarrassing myself and end it here.


Linking up for I Must Confess.


What hidden secrets can you reveal?

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Soggy Sandwiches And Other Sagas

As usual I've been busy, busy, busy! Especially this week with the Oscars happening. I'm sure you spotted me on the red carpet. No? You just weren't looking hard enough. OF COURSE I was there! I dashed over on my private jet. Yes, I took my Dinner Fairy with me! Duh! OK you got me, I made that up.
 
As a matter of fact, I believe I would rather gauge my eyeballs out than attend this grandiose affair. It's much easier to sit at home in my leggings and t-shirt and wistfully survey all those glossy genetically blessed and surgically enhanced stars. I haven't seen one single movie that was nominated so I have no opinion about who should have won, I just watch it for the frocks. Anyway, the Oscars are like SO four days ago, so who even cares anymore?

Let's move on to more interesting topics. ME! Shut up. I'm fascinating. For instance, this week has involved packing school lunches, grocery shopping, exercising, doing crossword puzzles and listlessly flicking through TV stations.

Oh yeah, I did start a TAFE course. I've already learnt one VERY IMPORTANT thing:

Packed lunches SUCK.

No wonder I constantly fish out soggy sandwiches from the boys school bags. Bleurrrrrrgggghhhhhh.

Yes folks, it's always about the food with me. I'm still attending Weight Witches but haven't quite got my broom stick yet. Shut up.

So why I am doing a computer course when I'm already a technological GENIUS?  Well, it gets me out of the house. That's something. And maybe, just maybe I might end up getting one of those things that people do. Um....ah....oh dear... I can't even say the word. A..j..j..jo.....

Nope. Can't say it. But it has three letters. Starts with a J. Rhymes with 'cob'. Shudders. I haven't had one of those since....

Never mind.

One of my TAFE teachers was most encouraging, saying that she had another lady in one of her class who'd been out of the workforce for 14 years and ended up getting a job as a result of doing the course. So you never know.

But now that I've splashed all the details of my Weight Witches and TAFE all over this utterly fascinating blog you can be sure to be entertained by my EPIC FAILS.  As soon I make a public statement that I'm going to do something I'll fail. Yay me. So just pretend you didn't read this when you spot me a year from now corpulent and  unemployable. Thanks for that.

Anyway, it's all good. It's not like I'm going to end up destitute and homeless if it doesn't work out. So I figure I may as well give it a go. If it's not meant to be I've still got my Sugar Daddy, aka Mickey Blue Eyes. A much older*, wealthy**man to keep me in the this glamorous and lavish lifestyle to which  I've become accustomed.

Case in point: yesterday we finally got a plumber to fix our leaky taps, toilet and shower! Mr 10 nearly burst with excitement and pure joy at being able to do something as simple as turn a tap on and off with minimal effort. Last week involved a visit from the electrician to fix our dodgy power points which were full of ants. Guess what?

Now we can do something really avant garde:  PLUG THINGS IN! AND THEY WORK! See? I told you it was grand around here! Why on Earth would I want one of those things that start with a J anyway?

Our WiFi was also resurrected yesterday. It's been down and out as there was work being done in our street for this NBN thingamajig.  The boys reacted as if we'd won the lottery yesterday when they arrived home from school.

This Saturday is the return of the phenomenon known as Schlepping To Soccer At Stupid O' Clock. As you can see, my life is always action packed and exciting!

Anyway, must dash. Have to go and do something else that's super riveting and totally out there: Make a sandwich for lunch. At least  it won't be soggy this time. 


* He's over 50. He can get pensioners insurance. Snorts.
** Bahahahaha! He thinks he's wealthy!

Linking up for The Lounge.

Tell me, how do you stop sandwiches from going soggy?

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The Middle Muddled Riddle

Welcome to another glorious Monday! Don't you just love that feeling when you wake up on this most revered of days and the sun is flooding the room with it's mellow rays? Birds are chirruping an enchanting tune outside your window. Your eyes sparkle with uncontained enthusiasm as you fling back the bed covers bursting with joy and energy, ready to start another week?

Yeah, me neither. Farking Mondays. Who invented them, anyway? And I don't even go to work. Ahem. Shut up.

This morning we actually woke up stupendously late and then had to dash about like mad things with motors up our bums. It was most amusing. Unless you were us. In which case it was just plain annoying.

Additionally, the weather is dismal and gloomy. Grey clouds are looming with the promise of more rain. But this rain won't cool things down. It will still be hot and humid. Ridiculous. But I shouldn't complain. Except I just did. Oops. At least I'm not in Queensland, where Cyclone Marcia has wreaked her havoc. I hope everyone up there is keeping safe.

Anyway, without further ado, I now announce that the rest of today is officially cancelled. Of course, as usual I have no authority whatsoever to do this, but that has never stopped me before. DETAILS.

Please note that by the time I get around to actually posting this it will no longer be Monday, rendering all of the above obsolete. Except I have discovered that Tuesday mornings are no better. And all weekday mornings. Even Saturday is about to become fraught with early morning soccer for the boys. So frankly, all mornings suck. The end.

And now, moving on to other pressing matters.  Today I am making the monumental confession of my middle name. I know you've spent many hours pondering this, tossing and turning unable to sleep at night without this vital information. I must put you out of your misery. Therefore, I can now announce that my middle name is....

Drum roll, please.....

RAPUNZEL.

Worth waiting for, wasn't it? Quite ridiculous really. Vanessa Rapunzel. Hmmm, it does have a ring to it. I did have really long hair as a child, too. But there's only one problem.

I made that up. It's not really Rapunzel. Had you fooled, didn't I?What? Not for a second? HMPH. You smarty pants.

Fancy a multiple choice quiz? You don't? Too bad, you're getting one anyway!

May I present to you my middle muddled riddle!  OK, technically it's not really a riddle, it's a multiple choice question. But why do you have to be so pedantic? I've been reading WAY too many Dr Suess books with Mr 6, so just humour me, OK?  My middle name is:

a) Esmerelda
b) Jane
c) Anne
d) All of the above
e) None of the above

If you answered with c, then I WISH you were right. I would love to have Anne with an 'e' as my middle name. But alas, my parents didn't choose any of those names. The correct answer is, of course, e. Tricked you!

The suspense is killing you, right? Or you couldn't less, one or the other. If it's the latter, then we're done here. Click away NOW. See how easy that was? Now that we're rid of the riff raff, I can finally make my stunning revelation.

My middle name REALLY is.....

Bring back that drum roll....

FAYE!

With a totally redundant e on the end! Yay for redundant e's!!

This is exactly the same as my Mum's middle name.

But do you want to know something really funny? Like Mickey Blue Eyes' middle name? It's... wait for it...  Raeburn. Snorts. Seriously. It really is. I shouldn't laugh, because it was his grandfather's name or something.

Oh well, who really uses middle names anyway? Only when you fill out forms. In which case you just want something short and simple, so Faye fits that criteria.

And now you will have a blissful nights sleep tonight replete with that fascinating information. You're most welcome.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling update when I reveal something even more earth shattering. As soon as I figure out what it is...

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What's your middle name?

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He Called Her Cookie

For such a long time he had wanted a dog. Not a cat. Not a rabbit. Certainly not a guinea pig. It had to be a dog. And not just any dog.

"I want a golden retriever!" Mr 10 begged with imploring eyes.

A majestic golden retriever, with a glossy coat, melting, mischievous brown eyes and boundless energy. They could play and lollop and frolic and have so much fun! Mr 10's eyes shone with such grand visions.

But there would be poop, I reminded him. LOTS of poop.

"I'll clean it up!" he insisted. 

Mickey Blue Eyes and I looked at each other, nonplussed. We were slowly warming to the idea of a dog. Mr 10 had his heart set on it. But we weren't convinced about a golden retriever.

I'm not really a fan of gigantic horse-like dogs. Or tiny little over grown rat-like yappers. But I do like some dogs.

Wise, warm-hearted dogs who are fiercely loyal and full of character. Like Samantha, the sausage dog we had when I was a child. She was like a human trapped in the body of a bandy-legged, rotund dachshund. She was amazing. I wanted Mr 10 to have a dog like that. A furry best friend.

We scanned the Internet looking for just the perfect pooch. There were many tears of frustration from Mr 10 who wanted it all to happen NOW. The idea of being able to save a dog from death row at the pound appealed to Mick and I.

Accordingly, we set off one afternoon to check out the possibilities. Upon entering the pound we were greeting by a cacophony of raucous barking. Menacing mutts the size of Mexico roared their indignation at being behind bars.

Mr 10 and 6 promptly burst into tears. Meanwhile, Mr 13 had wisely waited in the car. He wasn't as keen on the dog idea. Eventually, we were able to coax the boys to have a further look at all the cages. It was very dispiriting. The dogs were all obviously unsuitable. Although I felt awful seeing them all locked up like that, at the same time I would have been fearful of them being let out. 

We returned home with a dejected Mr 10. A few weeks passed. More Internet searching ensued. This led to discovering Sydney Dogs And Cats Home.  One Sunday, Mick took Mr 10 and 6 for a drive there.

A few hours later Mr 10 came bounding into the house.

"Mum, we have a dog!" he was beaming. He led me outside and there she was. A beautiful and gentle fox terrier cross. We're not exactly sure what the 'cross' part is, but we're guessing corgi. She wasn't a puppy, but she was wise, loyal and full of character. He named her Cookie.

It seems like it was meant to be. Now she's part of our family. She's a bit of tart in that she loves everyone and anyone. An extrovert dog in an introvert family. She'd be completely useless as a guard dog. She'd welcome any thieves with a wagging tail and be excited to meet new friends!

She sits at the back door, gazing in with her mournful eyes. Other times, when I walk past, there she is, head tilted, expression quizzical. Yes, dogs DO have expressions.

The funniest thing is her antics in regard to Henrietta, our pet parakeet. Cookie bolts down to Henrietta's aviary in the backyard in her headlong fashion.  Reaching the cage she tenses, ready to pounce. The hairs on her back stand up as she lunges her little fox terrier frame frantically at the cage, eyes never leaving Henrietta.

Henrietta is totally unruffled. She saunters down from her perch to the edge of the cage and proceeds to taunt Madam Cookie.

"Hello!" she chirps, chest proud.  Cookie hurtles higher up to the cage, incensed.

"Hello!" Henrietta keeps mocking her.

It's like watching the cat and mouse shenanigans of Tweety and Sylvester. Hilarious!

Cookie would indeed relish the opportunity to have Henrietta in her clutches.  Funnily enough, she never barks at her. She just keeps lunging at the cage repeatedly. Despite the fact that this pursuit  never pays off, she is quite persistent in her efforts, our little Sylvester,.. I mean, Cookie!

Afterwards she will bound back across the grass to Mr 10 and rest her paws on his legs, tail pulsating. She is happiest in these moments.

She snoozes on the back porch throughout the day, waiting for her beloved boy to return home from school for cuddles and play. They already have an unbreakable bond. I'm glad they have each other. Having a dog was such a comfort to me as a child. I love to think of Mr 10 having that same comfort. 

It's also good finally having another girl in the family, even it is only a dog!

And yes, Mr 10 cleans up her poop. Someone has to and it might as well be him. He has to learn, doesn't he? Ahem. Besides, I've cleaned up enough poop in my time.

Cookie will be a part of our family for many years to come. When she finally goes to doggie heaven we'll most likely adopt again. It's good to have a furry friend.

Linking up for The Lounge.

Do you have any pets?

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