welcome to suburbia

Wanna giggle? Alrighty, go and live in the city for years, then move to the suburbs and on a Sunday afternoon make your significant other repeat after Scott:

“I have to mow the lawn.”

Yep folks, it’s official, we are now the proud owners of this beast. Ain’t she a beaut?

I seriously started laughing because it sounded so foreign to hear Scott say he had to mow the lawn. We spent almost the entire day outside yesterday, him scalping the front yard because he set the mower blade slightly too short, and me in the backyard with my gardening gloves and a spade pulling up railroad ties. Yes, I now actually own gardening gloves. Me. The person who looks at a plant and it dies. Scott got them for me a few weeks ago and I’m happy to report they actually have some dirt on them.

Ok, that may actually be due to the fact that I rolled my ankle while gardening in white pajama pants and Rocket Dog fuzzy suede clogs and I may or may not have fallen to the ground, landing my glove in the dirt. Details. Details.

They’re dirty and I’m proud. I swear, if any of my neighbors had been watching me at any point yesterday, between my graceful fall and swatting and squealing and spinning and running anytime something buzzed past my ear, they would have gotten the show of a lifetime.

When I was finished in the yard, I finally evened out Hazy’s nub ears with a full haircut. Isn’t she just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?

Ok, ok, jeez Hazy! I have a confession, one that will for sure kill my chances for Mother of the Year this year. So Friday morning, I worked the late shift which meant that Scott left the house before me, and I was in charge of making sure the blinds were closed, doors locked, etc. So I did a quick walk-through, closed the office and bathroom doors, then put up the gate so doggies couldn’t get upstairs, and I was on my merry way. Work , work, work, lunch, work, work, more work. 6pm I get a phone call from Scott.

Him: “Hi.”

Me: “Hey! I’m just leaving work now, do you need me to pick something up on my way?”

Scott: “Um, no thanks, but uh, did you mean to lock Hazy in the bathroom this morning??”

Me: “shit.”

I SWEAR I said goodbye to two furry faces before I put the gate up and left. I SWEAR IT. But I also know that she didn’t happen to open the bathroom door after I left, walk in, then close the door behind her and stay quietly there by choice until daddy got home. There’s really only one logical explanation for how Hazel ended up in the bathroom all day long – get this – Crazy lady snuck in through one of the locked windows somehow, looked around for her mail and when she realized it wasn’t there she took my precious little Hazy and locked her in the bathroom out of spite, then she left the same way she came in, locking the window back up behind her. And on her way down the driveway one could hear a faint, “…and your little dog, too. Mwaaaah ha ha.”

It could happen.

And to make it up to Hazy, I bought her the biggest stuffed animal I could find at Walgreens on my way home. Yeah, I’m gonna be one of those mothers. I mess up, you get a toy.

Needless to say, I’m late shift all week this week. You better believe I was a few minutes late today because every single time I went to leave, I turned around to double check that Hazy and Princess were both sitting happily on the couch. And that the flat iron was off. And that the tv wasn’t on Animal Planet where the doggies might have to watch some poor animal being shredded to bits on “Life” or whatever show that is about wild animals in the wild doing what they do best. Or that the key wasn’t still in the lock in the back door. Ridiculous.

And one more bit of ridiculousness for you….

Last night around 7:30, I took the doggies out in the backyard. It was starting to get dark but still light enough for me to notice a huge furry cat that had wandered into our yard over by the shed.


Is that?


Oh ma gah, oh ma gah, oh ma gah.

That was no cat. IT WAS A FRICKIN’ SKUNK! And somehow I saw it before the doggies did. And with the way those two torture locusts, I can only imagine how fast they’d pounce if they saw that thing!

So after I had doggies’ full and undivided attention with a gasp that emerged from deep within my soul, in the happiest voice I could muster, I believe I squealed something along the lines of:


And I’m sure they were a little confused considering we had just walked out there a minute before, but they followed my lead and ran to the door.

Me: 1, Pepe: 0



Filed under craziness, doggies, home, ridiculousness

4 responses to “welcome to suburbia

  1. Colleen

    I locked my cat in the closet all day.
    I also check the doors, straightner, hot rollers, 50 times before leaving the house. Too often I have to get out of the car and check 51 times.

    • As a borderline OCD person about triple checking everything, I still can’t believe I did that! I, too will make it to my car and the second I put it in drive, I think of something else to check on. ‘Tis ridiculous.

  2. Jane

    I check things a dozen times before I leave, then I spend most of my school days paranoid that I left something open or unlocked.

    And as for blaming the crazy lady, it reminds me of an episode of Roseanne where she was telling Jackie something along the lines of “Make a list of your problems, a list of people you know, and draw lines.” Gave me the giggles.

    • I am floored! I love that show and I don’t remember that one!

      And yeah, I know the paranoia. In my mind by lunchtime at work, my house has exploded, the doggies are a crispy pile in the corner, the house next door caught an ember from my burning mess and the old lady next door along with the 5 neighbors surrounding us met their untimely deaths all thanks to me forgetting to unplug my flat iron.

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