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The sun is shining, the windows are open, and the last bits of snow are nearly gone from the back yard. A Red Sox spring training game plays on the computer as I fold laundry and boys play quietly yet enthusiastically nearby. In a few minutes, we'll be heading out to the library, and then we'll return home to ride bikes and enjoy the afternoon outdoors. It's not spring yet, but damn if it doesn't feel like it's already here.
Thanks, cat. Thanks a lot.
Sep. 10th, 2009 11:30 amA few weeks ago, we noticed a mouse just outside our house, running around our deck as we ate dinner on it. Over the next few days, the mouse would return, more than likely scrounging whatever food the boys dropped. Yesterday, we found the mouse inside our house (I'm assuming it's the same one). It's run up and down the basement stairs and into the guest room. This morning, I heard a scuffling sound in the kitchen and when I looked to see what it was, it was the mouse, squeezing underneath our stove. Where was the cat? About a foot or two away -- calmly, yet somewhat disinterestedly, watching the mouse.
Envy me -- all of you.
Aug. 28th, 2009 01:09 pmYesterday the glass shade in the boys room smashed into about ten thousand tiny pieces. Today I went to Home Depot and bought two more --- one for the boys room and one for the hallway (which mysteriously fell and shattered about a year ago). As I carried them into the house (along with an armful of new venetian blinds), the bags holding the shades swung and then collided with one another, shattering one of the shades. So now I can make another trip to Home Depot.
That's just one aspect of the glorious red-letter day I'm having. Add to that a pair of bickering children and a bunch of housework that I still haven't been able to get to and you've got a big pile of win. Yay.
That's just one aspect of the glorious red-letter day I'm having. Add to that a pair of bickering children and a bunch of housework that I still haven't been able to get to and you've got a big pile of win. Yay.
Let's smash shit up
Aug. 27th, 2009 10:16 pmToday our house has experienced:
One venetian blind that in half when I attempted to raise it;
Half a six-pack of beer that broke on our front steps when![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
haddayr accidently dropped it;
And the glass dome of an overhead light that fell to the floor where it shattered into nearly ten-thousand tiny shards after the boys accidently hit it with a beach ball they'd thrown into the air.
This follows two other venetian blinds that met similar fates to today's just a few days ago. And the roof on the porch leaks. Again. At this rate I predict our house will be nothing but a tottering two-by-four frame filed with discarded furnishings and glass by the end of next month.
One venetian blind that in half when I attempted to raise it;
Half a six-pack of beer that broke on our front steps when
haddayr accidently dropped it;And the glass dome of an overhead light that fell to the floor where it shattered into nearly ten-thousand tiny shards after the boys accidently hit it with a beach ball they'd thrown into the air.
This follows two other venetian blinds that met similar fates to today's just a few days ago. And the roof on the porch leaks. Again. At this rate I predict our house will be nothing but a tottering two-by-four frame filed with discarded furnishings and glass by the end of next month.
My dog hates baseball
Oct. 24th, 2007 09:45 am My poor dog.
The World Series starts tonight and for at least the next five days I'll sit on in one corner of the couch, transfixed, mesmerized and anxiously awaiting each pitch after which I shall either sigh, swear, seethe, celebrate, or simply exhale in exasperation all of which will be done as quietly and as under my breath as possibly. This is because the living room, which has the television, sits directly underneath my two young boys' room where they will be sleeping. What has this to do with my dog? He is, unfortunately, one of the most neurotic animals I've known and, for him, Red Sox games of any magnitude are an unspeakable torture. You see, if I exhibit any sort of displeasure, however quietly, my dog will hear, even if I whisper "goddammit" and he is all the way on the other side of the house. When he hears this he will leap to his feet and come running to where ever I am, his tail between his legs, his head lowered and obsessively licking. I am quite understanding with him whenever he does this. "Frodo! Stop licking!" I'll snarl. Which of course helps immensely. Well, you might say, hopefully for the dog, the Sox will win and Frodo will be calm and happy. No, because even when good things happen in the game and I cheer, the dog's reaction is the same as if I were standing up, cursing at the tv and throwing a pillow (which I can't say has ever happened. really.)
I'm not sure when this behavior started except that it goes back at least as far as 2003. When I used to listen to games online the dog would become apoplectic with fear whenever former Sox broadcaster Jerry Trupiano let out one of his "Waay Back!" calls. I really don't know why. Fortunately for Frodo Trupiano no longer does play by play and I know watch the games online. Frodo is much happier with Don Orsillo's more muted play-by-play.
This isn't to say that the dog is perfectly content when Red Sox games aren't on. He has quite a few phobias. Thunder and fireworks, for instance will cause him to hide behind the bathroom door. Wind upsets him more than anything you can imagine (the wind once slammed a door shut in our house and Frodo has never forgotten that day). Trees gently swaying. The top of the basement steps. Child gates. Red Sox games, though, are probably at the top of the list and it has something to do with me. My wife, Haddayr, can yell, scream, swear, just about anything and the dog will act as if nothing is happening. Me? I let out a barely audible shit or goddammit and you would think that the gates of hell had opened in our house and the devil himself had come to take the dog. We've actually experimented with this and demonstrated it to friends.
So, for at least the next five days and probably longer, my dog's life will be hell as the baseball season comes to a close. After which, Frodo can again breathe easy with the knowledge that life is once again good. That is until the next gentle breeze causes the trees to sway.
The World Series starts tonight and for at least the next five days I'll sit on in one corner of the couch, transfixed, mesmerized and anxiously awaiting each pitch after which I shall either sigh, swear, seethe, celebrate, or simply exhale in exasperation all of which will be done as quietly and as under my breath as possibly. This is because the living room, which has the television, sits directly underneath my two young boys' room where they will be sleeping. What has this to do with my dog? He is, unfortunately, one of the most neurotic animals I've known and, for him, Red Sox games of any magnitude are an unspeakable torture. You see, if I exhibit any sort of displeasure, however quietly, my dog will hear, even if I whisper "goddammit" and he is all the way on the other side of the house. When he hears this he will leap to his feet and come running to where ever I am, his tail between his legs, his head lowered and obsessively licking. I am quite understanding with him whenever he does this. "Frodo! Stop licking!" I'll snarl. Which of course helps immensely. Well, you might say, hopefully for the dog, the Sox will win and Frodo will be calm and happy. No, because even when good things happen in the game and I cheer, the dog's reaction is the same as if I were standing up, cursing at the tv and throwing a pillow (which I can't say has ever happened. really.)
I'm not sure when this behavior started except that it goes back at least as far as 2003. When I used to listen to games online the dog would become apoplectic with fear whenever former Sox broadcaster Jerry Trupiano let out one of his "Waay Back!" calls. I really don't know why. Fortunately for Frodo Trupiano no longer does play by play and I know watch the games online. Frodo is much happier with Don Orsillo's more muted play-by-play.
This isn't to say that the dog is perfectly content when Red Sox games aren't on. He has quite a few phobias. Thunder and fireworks, for instance will cause him to hide behind the bathroom door. Wind upsets him more than anything you can imagine (the wind once slammed a door shut in our house and Frodo has never forgotten that day). Trees gently swaying. The top of the basement steps. Child gates. Red Sox games, though, are probably at the top of the list and it has something to do with me. My wife, Haddayr, can yell, scream, swear, just about anything and the dog will act as if nothing is happening. Me? I let out a barely audible shit or goddammit and you would think that the gates of hell had opened in our house and the devil himself had come to take the dog. We've actually experimented with this and demonstrated it to friends.
So, for at least the next five days and probably longer, my dog's life will be hell as the baseball season comes to a close. After which, Frodo can again breathe easy with the knowledge that life is once again good. That is until the next gentle breeze causes the trees to sway.
