What the . . . .

Where the HELL has time gone?

It's been almost 2 months since I've updated my blog!

It's been so long since I logged in that I couldn't remember my password and had to get a new one! Man, that's sad.

Sadly, I don't have a lot of time to post. I had to check in though, because the Catholic guilt was getting to me. What can I tell you in the few minutes I have?

The kids are doing great. Growing like weeds and suffering with spring fever. The Boy totally digs being outside and would gladly spend every waking moment out there. Especially if he has the dogs out there with him.

Here is the Boy's favorite four-legged playmate. His name is Frank AKA Frankie, Franklin or Fat Frank. (Depending on my mood and how much trouble he's in!) He is a "double coated" Corgi which means he has 10X more hair than the average grizzly. He has soft, fine hair close to his skin (y'know, the kind that floats on every breeze and gets into everything, like your mouth, eyes, food, coffee . . . you get my drift.) No where is safe from Frank's floaty hair. No where. On top of the floaty hairs are long, smooth, shiny hairs that can penetrate every type of fabric known to man, including skin. (If you consider skin a fabric. Which I do.) Frank is a ruthless, indiscriminate, shedding machine. His ability to shed knows no bounds. You can actually watch him shed, from across the room . . . in the dark. Seriously.

This type of hair also means that Frank has to be in water for a long, long time before the water penetrates the hair layer to reach the skin layer. It also means that he needs a long, long, loooooong time to dry once he is *finally* wet to the skin. One must be willing to endure, and commit to, the musty wet dog scent for an indeterminate amount of time. For these reasons, we don't bathe Frank when it is too cold outside for him to spend much of his stinky-time basking in the sun and hopefully drying.

What is the point of mentioning this, you ask? Why the diatribe? Patience, Grasshopper, all will be revealed.

Ok. Now. Where was I? Oh yeah, the yard.

Our yard is only 2 years old and it is far, faaaaaaaaaaaaaar from being a done yard. Our little piece of land, that we are trying to convince and coerce into being a yard, was once a prolific piece of alfalfa producing field. It grew alfalfa and it grew it good. Picture thick, deep, black, fertile soil, and at this time of year, thick, deep, black mud, and lot's of it. Although we put sod down last year, there remains 2 little patches of dirt (mud) right against the back of the house that we had to leave un-sodded last fall so that we could put the weeping tile in this spring.

Well, the Boy found it and somehow managed to get Frank in to it and completely soaked the dog with the mud. He was drenched, to the skin, which, as I have mentioned, is virtually impossible. He must have been at it a long time to get Frank that muddy. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to take a picture so just imagine the light brown dog above, completely black. Yeah, the camera was the last thing on my mind.

The man and I are parent-newbies. Our oldest is only 4 years old. We have much to learn.

One thing we have learned, just recently, is that mud is a kid magnet. If it's there, they'll find it. Secondly, we knew, but apparently forgot, that if they're too quiet for too long, you'd better go find out why. And thirdly, we learned that the aforementioned thick, black mud, is very hard to wash out of Frank's hair. Very. Hard. It is not impossible, but it will require a lot of time, soap and hot water AND a bottle of draino to rid the drain of the massive hairball generated when bathing Frank.

In spite of all the trouble and hard work he is, we're still going to keep him. We made a commitment to love him and raise him, and dammit, that's what we're gonna do. We love that little shit. But we might get rid of Frank. *Wink*