saturday in my life

I used to be more hardcore in keeping a blogging schedule. Now, not so much. If I can post something in advance, I will. But I used to worry myself with something to blog about every single day. And now I just kind of take it day to day, and if something blogworthy happens....awesome! (I think I may have cursed myself with this way of thinking.)

On Saturday afternoon we were headed upstairs to play in Gage's room. I sent the boys on, while I went to get the mail. Let me tell you that this was not a leisurely stroll or anything. My mailbox is approximately 20 feet from my front door. Right as I open the front door to go back inside, Gage was coming down the stairs.

My immediate thought was what horrible thing has Owsley done in the last ten seconds. But no. It wasn't my younger child this time.

"I got a zhu zhu pet stuck in my hair."

Gage turned around, and sure enough, he had a black polka dotted hamster tightly wrapped around a large portion of his hair. I wondered why he wasn't crying. Gage has a very low tolerance to pain in his hair. Then I realized that he was embarrassed. And that's why he wasn't fussing. 

He told me he was laying down on his stomach and turned it on so that it would climb up his back. When it initially got tangled in his hair, he pressed the 'go' button again, thinking it might loosen it up. Instead it only made the hamster get caught higher and tighter in Gage's hair. 

I grabbed the scissors and we headed back upstairs to make sure Owsley hadn't started a fire or anything. Fortunately I was able to unwrap a pretty large chunk of the affected hair, and I ended up only having to scalp out a fraction of what I originally thought.

I carried the scissors back downstairs before Owsley could get any ideas. By the time I got back upstairs, Pepper had peed in Gage's bed. She did it out of spite, because she had just been outside. She was mad at me because I didn't let her go to the mailbox with me. She will occasionally pee on something when she thinks one of us has wronged her. Stubborn little wiener. All I had to do was look at her, and she cowered to the ground.

I grumbled and went back downstairs to put Gage's bedding in the washing machine. This time when I came back upstairs, Owsley was waiting around the corner for me, completely naked from the waist down. He screamed out, SNOWBALL FIGHT!" right as a wet diaper was thrown at my face. I am not absolutely certain, but I am pretty sure he was probably provoked with that one.

Welcome to a typical afternoon in my life.

*The last dog we had (six years ago) would get angry when I left for work, and would pull my dirty clothes out of the hamper and poop on them. Not Peppy's. Just mine. I am beginning to think female dogs might have some sort of personal vendetta against me. Maybe I was some heinous mafia dog in a previous life.