The dog ate his dinner.

Yep, and I fed it to her. I'm proud to say that last night the Captain called my bluff and lost.

It started just like any other night. He complained woefully that he didn't want dinner, he just wanted a snack. This seems to be a recurring theme in my household. Organized mealtime=bad, haphazard snacking=good. So I finally convinced him that mac and cheese would be a good idea, which he happily helped me mix and cook. But when the time came for him to eat it, he screamed, "I want fish sticks" and proceeded to push away the bowl of mac and cheese, whining and crying as he made his proclamation. I tried patience. I tried encouragement. And finally, I tried fear. I used our usual threat, that Dog would be glad to finish his meal, a technique that usually makes him snap to. But once again he shoved the bowl away. Over and over again. And then he hit the bowl and something snapped in this mediocre mama's head.

I grabbed the bowl away from him and placed it on the floor before Dog, who gulped down half in 6 seconds flat and the Captain shrieked. I'd decided the Captain had enough and picked up the bowl to give him what was left. And wouldn't you know it? The little bugger hit the bowl again. The dog was then treated to the 2nd half of the Captain's dinner. He screamed and cried. And after about 6 tissues, some deep breathing and a couple of hugs, I finally got an "I'm sorry, Mommy," and with that we made a fresh bowl of mac & cheese, which he ate entirely, no complaints.

Captain Kid - 0, Mediocre Mama - 1, Dog - 1

Dog day afternoon.

Sometime in the last few months, Captain Kid declared a new enemy threatened his domain. Whether real or imaginary, our boy is out for vengeance and every day it gets darker and more sinister. Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do to shield him from this contentious relationship. It's none other than Dog.

Whether it's an age thing or a jealousy thing dictating these new circumstances, I am not certain of the genesis. Until a couple of months ago, the Captain was up to his usual tricks, walking over her like road kill and finding her to be a handy place to store his toys.

But something must have happened between then and now. Because for reasons only known to him, Captain Kid has declared war on the Dog. In many ways, the dramas he creates in his head are hilarious. Some of his more popular admonishments include:

Go Away, Doggy.

It's MY train table doggy.

It's MY dinner.

It's MY Mommy/Daddy.

It's MY floor.

In other words, it's a seamless rambling of paranoia that comes out of his mouth every time she walks by, sniffs for food or simply sniffs her butt. What makes it even more irritating is that as he stands there shrieking his head off every time she approaches, she gets worried that something is wrong and goes to check on him. It's a vicious cycle.

I'm not certain how we got ourselves into this predicament, especially after such a love affair in the beginning, but it's created an excessive amount of stress and has brought all of the Captain's worst attributes to the center stage. And this poor animal, who would sooner be trampled on than hurt him, has seemingly been labeled the annoying sister by the Kid and the Dad and I are banging our heads against the wall with all the high pitched screaming and hitting.

I don't know what the solution is because we're a family and he'd better get used to it. But in the meantime this neurotic behavior when he's with her is just too much. Perhaps she's just too big a dog for a toddler to be around. Maybe she's just a bit too eager for his style. But If I had to guess, I think this was the start to all the problems...

Dog food.

One of the tougher aspects of back surgery is that when you drop shit it just has to sit on the floor until someone comes home to pick it up. As I type this I await the return of my husband so that he can get the lid from the jam, which is now sitting butter side down on the kitchen floor.

This has caused the greatest consternation for me since on bed rest, namely that I would manage to drop something rather important (such as a percocet) and the Dog or Captain might happen upon it before I was able to have the Deviant Dad collect the offending item. In most instances I've kicked the matter to the side of the room or under the kitchen cabinet so as to avoid any mishaps.

Then there was the other thought, which was what if something important fell on the floor that I couldn't just kick under the counter. And that is just what happened yesterday when the dog walked to the middle of the room and started wretching. My first instinct was to chase her off the rug and my second instinct was to chase her into the garage, where she stayed until the Dad got home. But I was left with the more pressing problem, namely, a pile of dog puke in my living room. Talk about helpless.

I did all that I could do, which in this case involved dropping paper towels over the nastiness. In truth, it was sort of a fun little game. But it was a few more hours until the Dad returned from work, which meant that I had to live with a pile of this stuff in my living room until his return.

Since being on bed rest I've become acquainted with all manner of handicapped accouterments, but as it happens they do not have a device for cleaning up puke. Where in the hell is Ron Popeil when you need him?

Poops and pail and puppy dog tails.

That's what little Captain's are made of. I don't even know where to start about my shitty afternoon and all the shit that ensued, but I guess I'd best start with the backpack.

Every day when the Captain arrives home from school, I am tasked with the daunting job of emptying the backpack. It's with great trepidation that I pull the baggie from his bad for fear of the contents inside. Will it just be a wet T? Or will it, like today, be 2 pair of totally pooped up underpants?

Now, to me it's a game of what's grosser than gross. You remember the old game. What's gross? A pooped up diaper. What's grosser than gross? Pooped up, hardened, cold underpants. I hate it and I hate cleaning it out. It usually amounts to a stifled gag reflex and a lot of breath holding. Which is how the events of this afternoon transpired.

So while I'm cleaning out the shitty pants, Captain kid decides it's Naked Time. I see the pants and diaper come off and the diaper gets balled on to the floor. But now he's running around the house and his tushy is covered by his t-shirt, so there's really not much I can see. All I know is that my hands are deep in shit and I can't very well chase him in current state. So I finish cleaning out the underpants and grab some bleach and a sponge to disinfect the sink. If anyone out there has a better method I'd appreciate the feedback.

Anyway, seeing as how I'm holding my breath, it somehow escapes my attention that within the balled up diaper is a balled up turd. And even if I had been breathing in the air from the cruded up underpants, naturally shit is a natural mask for the odor of...shit.

So now I finally spot aforementioned turd in the diaper and it dawns on me that he's been running around nude for the last 5 minutes. I don't even know where to start. First stop, swab down the toddler, which he's none too pleased about. Then I run off to assess the damage. But where to start? Thank goodness for Dog, because like pigs sniffing out truffles, she's on the case. I follow her nose and (hopefully) clean up all the skid marks around the living room. But...

Now it dawns on me that I've forgotten about the toddler. So I return to the bathroom and he's picked up the bleached up sponge and is swabbing out the garbage pail (oh thank you Montessori). I clean him up, put away all the cleaning products, and turn around to rinse off the sink. Still with me?

While I'm rinsing the sink it gets quiet. Too quiet. And now I look and he's standing out on the patio holding...a can of cement glue and a power drill. Deviant Dad gets a serious Memo award on that one, I manage to shove the toddler in his crib for some much needed R&R (you know, for me), and now I sit here blogging away and dreaming of being in a nice cozy office next week, away from shit and poop and smart ass toddlers that make me look so goddamn mediocre.

And now...the entertainment portion of our blog. Thank you for reading...

Pottygate update.

I know I don't normally post so quickly. Hell, usually I like to wait a good 2 weeks to get my readers fully alienated from my life, but we had a breakthrough. After lunch, the Captain stripped down once more and headed for the potty. This time he asked for Cheerios, which made me think, wow, he wants a snack. This must mean he's committed. The Kid hops on the toilet and I run off to get Cheerios. When I return, believe it or not, he's sitting on the toilet and yes he's doing it. Pee's flying everywhere and even a drop or two got in the bowl.

All hail mighty Dog, though. Just like the good doormat she is, she walks over to the toilet and laps up the urine. Good dog. Woof.

Cobwebs and dust bunnies.

If you've noticed them on my blog, you wouldn't be alone. I thought I'd be a blogaholic when the Captain went to school, but it turns out not so much. There are many reasons, most of them psychological and all of them having to do with my job search. But the time has come to clear out the tumbleweeds and getting back to what I do best...productive procrastination.

Anyhoo, let me just enlighten my faithful reader(s) as to the recent developments of my life:

1. I interviewed for a great job, was told I was going to be offered it, and still after 4 weeks am being hung out to wait (at this time I suspect I'm waiting to be told it's not going to happen) and that is what I do, like a loser, by the phone, waiting like a girl waiting to be called for a 2nd date;
2. Captain Kid is loving school and keeping his teacher busy. Montessori has given him manners and he now clears the table and throws out trash. They have not yet cured him of his habit of torturing Dog, but he can put together a lovely floral arrangement for her to say he's sorry;
3. Deviant Dad turned 32 yesterday so I can now breath easy for the next 9 months and don't have to listen to his stupid jokes about me being "old;" and
4. The Captain has been through 2 head colds, as have we, and I've been nursing a sinus infection for the last week-and-a-half.

So in the net, not all that much has happened in the last month, yet I don't even know where the time has gone. The Captain turns 2 in just a couple of weeks and we are busily planning his birthday party, to be held at the casa de grandparent in a couple of weeks. And as for me, I'm back to square one on my job hunt, which is depressing the hell out of me, expanding my waist line, and emptying my wallet. I think what kills me most is that I dropped $85 on a pair of victory shoes when I thought I had a job. I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go.

But alas, this is not all why I decided to blog again. I decided to blog because of yet another less than mediocre mama out there that's making me look bad. I refer to This Blog, which details one woman's journey of homemade gourmet lunch boxes. She (a) makes it look easy, (b) makes it look delicious, and (c) made me feel really bad as I let the Captain munch on cheerios and an ego waffle at lunch time. Take your time and look through, but don't do it on an empty stomach.

Sigh. Thank god Britney's out there to make me feel better all the time. If I don't say it enough, I heart Britney!

Job blows.

It dawned on me the other day that though I have Internet up and running and though I could probably squeeze in a few precious moments to blog it out most days that I am just not feeling the love. Perhaps it is the 700 channels of television that has distracted me. Maybe it's the vast number of English speakers surrounding me. Who am I kidding? It's the job search.

It's a funny sort of thing, but being a lawyer not only sucks the life out of you but searching for a job as a lawyer has a similar effect. I think in part that I've just been out of the game too long and, let's face it, a year of talking about shit and doorknobs hasn't made it any easier. No, I don't believe that parenting makes you inherently stupid. But I find myself reaching up my legal ass (as lawyers often do) and pulling such crap out for these cover letters and interviews; it seems like a lie.

But I think it's more than that. I've had more of my share of job missteps and mediocre career moves; I'm not eager to screw it up again. And then the real truth sets in: how do you find that career move that fills your purse, fulfills your soul and doesn't leave Captain Kid sans mediocre mama. When every decent job you look at is more than an hour's commute away, how can you contemplate a job with 50 hour work weeks?

So you will have to forgive this lapse of silence over the last month. It's not you, it's me.

But for the record, I can report that the Captain is doing just great in his new environs and that Dog is back in town, once again being harassed daily by her tormentor. His latest hobby is attempting to run her down with his little riding car and stabbing her with a fork; both incidents resulted in arrests for reckless driving and assault with a deadly weapon - possible possession of a controlled substance as well - his cheerios were confiscated at the scene and are being tested as we speak.

Packing heat.

Yes, we're packing and yes, it's hot, hence the title of an otherwise incoherent post. It's 1:15 am, the Captain's snoozing away in his travel crib, the Dad is packing like a fiend (last minute, naturally), and yours truly is backing up computers...do you know where your children are? So since I lose my Internet connection tomorrow and will likely only have sporadic coverage at best over the next 3 weeks, I want to get in some last licks as a just in case.

On moving. CK came to the realization that "something's up" today when he saw his crib disassembled and most of his toys packed up. In our defense, we have been doing this slowly...a couple more toys each day. But he's been as oblivious to the missing toys as he is to the missing Dog. So it was a bit of a shock when he had a "wait a moment" moment earlier this evening. I took him downstairs to shield him from the trauma, but he pretty much was flipping out and attempted to jump into the pool. He chilled out eventually and seemed amused by the flying nuts and bolts.

On Father's Day. I really should do a much bigger tribute here, but I'm tired and punchy, and have boxes all over the place. So I leave you with this amusing article sent by a half-crazed friend who is studying for the bar exam. It probably helps with your enjoyment to have this bit of information. .

On lead paint. Is it wrong that I find this whole Thomas Train recall so darn amusing? Probably because I don't own any. And don't get me wrong, I have many less than mediocre friends and relatives furiously going through their collections as I type this. But what I find to be such a kicker is that for such an insanely expensive item like Thomas trains they are (a) being produced in China and (b) covered in lead paint. I would kill to know the markup on this junk.

On other crap. I am sure that I will find a minute or two to ramble on some more tomorrow, but it's looking a bit grim. I'm not sure how all my readers will survive without my mediocrity (or at least sporadic slices of it) for the coming weeks, but if it helps you fill the time, I recommend taking up some mediocre activities of your own. Here are some suggestions, but this is by no means an exhaustive list. Feel free to post if you can think of some more, but please keep it absolutely half-assed:

1. Needlepoint;


2. Paint by numbers;


3. Watch seasons 1-8 of Charmed (pretty much what I did my first 6 months here);


4. Read The Bridges of Madison County;


5. Go see an Andrew Lloyd Webber tribute concert;


6. Eat at an Applebees;


7. Attend a Natalie Merchant concert;


8. Sort through, and watch, your VHS tapes;


9. Watch the Higglytown Heroes; or, if you're really feeling saucy


10. Start a crappy blog of your own.

Hopefully, one more blog tomorrow. But if not, have a mediocre Father's Day.

shift happens.

today we're going to talk about capital letters and punctuation. why is that, oh mediocre teacher? because without two shift keys it is hard to make many of your capital letters and equally a pain in the arse to make particular punctuation.

Observe...

the girl exclaimed loudly, "what an asshole1"

My e-mail address is meciocremama2hotmail.com.

I've lost 35 of my total body fat.

You see. definitely reduces clarity. which is why I was so pissed that the captain felt the need to swipe it off my machine in a desperate fit of...boredom. every time the little bugger doesn't get my attention right away he runs over to the computer and makes a point. such is the problem with the dog being gone and, therefore, the dog crate being gone where my computer cleverly sat, protected from swiping fingers and other unnecessary assaults on my machine. Not the first time he's busted a key off, but the first time he's busted it off permanently. Now we've got a large tv box tied to the tv stand, the new home of my computer, but it seems to have some lacking anti-child qualities.

I was fine yesterday, but the little green nub that's left which allows me to still shift has now fallen off too. the end result is that I CAN'T TYPE A MOTHERFUCKING EXCLAMATION POINT1

Of Dogs and Boys

It is with great sadness that I now must write an ode to my dog. I shall call her Dog. She is moving back to the States in but a few weeks, 2 months ahead of the rest of the family. And she puts up with so much bullshit that I feel she deserves her own post. Please note that it probably helps your amusement if you start envisioning a guitar strumming in the background and maybe narration by Johnny Cash or perhaps the narrator from The Dukes of Hazard.

"DOG"

Dog was a kindly sort of dog and very excited when the Mediocre Mama and Dad told her they were bringing home a baby. Though confused at first and worried about all the new noises, Dog loved the new baby.











And as the baby grew up, he came to appreciate Dog more and more. The Captain loved Dog.

Now one fine day the Captain learned to crawl and realized he had a little rivalry in Dog. So hoping to quell all that he decided to show her who's boss.

So the Captain likes to throw things at Dog, steal her food, sit in her crate, hit her, pull her ears, play in her water, tease her with food, present a fist-full of "fake" food so that she'll chase him and generally make her feel inferior and stepped on, regardless of personal consequences, time-outs or punishments, simply for his own amusement and Dog is a saint because she let's him do whatever the hell he pleases.

So the next time you think of a door mat or a punching bag, the next time you step over a homeless person on the street, the next time you step in dog shit I hope you'll think of our Dog. If you don't remember what she looks like, she's the yellow lab, packing her bags and thanking god that she's getting the hell out of town!