Friday, January 21, 2011


It's 5:45 in the morning and I am already having to recover from the dogs.

Every morning, Ben's alarm clock sets off a chain of events; some of them are mundane but most of them involve pure chaos. This morning is proving to be a 'pure chaos' kinda day. Ben rolls over to hit the snooze for the first time and the movement stirs Hank out of his beauty sleep on his big boy bed. He jumps out of his bed, stretches, and hops onto my bed. Scarlet, never to be outdone by the specimen three times her size, lunges like spiderman onto my side of the bed, and the wookie chorus begins! They growl and moan and snarl at each other while inching closer and closer to the prize... OUR PILLOWS! Hank makes a graceful leap onto my head and traps me. WINNER WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER, he is thinking! (Keep in mind the time lapse here is an impressive 30 seconds, so I am still in my sleep position; laying on left side, left arm safely under the pillow) He has a huge strip of my hair pinned under his chihuahua size paw; his body is like concrete on my pillow; coincidentally, the same one that is keeping my arm warm. Needless to say, at a quarter to 6 in the morning my limbs (the ones that AREN'T being held hostage) are pretty unresponsive to what my brain is commanding them to do. In this case, it's to remove the beast from my head, before he gives me a nice bald spot. The conversation between my mind and body goes something like this:

Brain: "Uggghhh, your hair is being pulled out! Take your right arm and pull the dog off"
Body: "OK, I'm doing it, but he's not budging! HE'S NOT BUDGING!!"
Brain: "You are kicking your right leg, dumbass, I said use your right arm!"
Body: "No need to be so hostile! I'm trying but it's early"
Brain: "OK, if it's only your leg that works, then use it to kick your knight in shining armor in the nards and wake him back up to save you"( again, it's been 30 seconds, so he is back in a deep sleep). Now, Ben and I have been together so long that my internal conversation wakes him up (or it was my cries of help. I choose to believe it's the same brainwave thing; much more romantic). He makes one swift movement with his arm and fills the room with that booming voice and it's a miracle!!! Hank has jumped off my head! Hallelujah! Then I realize the happiness is short-lived, for he has landed perfectly on my boob. Somehow, he has managed to pin my baby feeder between his ginormous paw and the mattress, providing me with a complimentary mammogram. (for the sake of time, and my PTSD, just re-read the above Brain/Body conversation, but substitute 'boob' for 'hair')

Needless to say, by 6 a.m. I am ready to drink myself into oblivion; because of the pain of multiple Hankisodes I encountered already AND because I know this, or something eerily similar, will happen again tomorrow.

Monday, January 10, 2011


Today started off like all the others do (aka. Groundhogs day). I got up at 6:15 to pack three lunches, consumed a gallon of coffee and some oatmeal, got three kids out the door (yes, I consider Ben one of my children during the week, for he requires the same questions I ask the kids before they leave; lunch? backpack? zippers up?). I relaxed on the couch for an hour due to the 8 hours I spent in the laundry room painting it yesterday (whoever decided red was a great idea for walls was H.I.G.H., sure it looks awesome, but getting to the finale is hell!). My body is still screaming at me as I sit here! I decided what I needed was a nice long, scalding hot shower to ease my aging bones. Of course, this required me to remove 110 pounds of dead weight off of my lap and then to untangle 15 pounds from the blanket at my feet. Once I did this, I wiped the sweat from my brow and headed upstairs for the tranquility of my rainforest showerhead. I preheated my oven and waited until all the glass was so steamy I couldn't see the tile through it, this is how I know it is at the perfect temp. I hop in and enjoy the peace and quiet. {(some of you may remember when Hank learned to open my old shower door and scared the piss out of me. It was a good thing I was already in the shower on that one!). Ever since that day I have shut the dogs out of the bathroom when I get in the shower, but the new house has a completely different shower door, so I figured I was safe!} Well today, I got a whole 38 seconds to myself before I heard the wookie chorus (Scarlet and Hank sound like wookies yelling at each other when they are in the midst of a heated battle) bounding into my Eden. Scarlet ran and sat down in front of the shower door and Hank didn't like it, so he nudged her out of the way and plopped his happy ass down on the rug. I was so proud of him. Usually he relents when it comes to Scarlet; she definitely rules the roost when it comes to the two of them, but today was different. As he laid guard (like a lazy Homer Kern lion) I enjoyed the steam. It was a great moment... then I realized there could be a problem. My new shower door opens out, and I have a dog the size of an S-10 laying outside mine; a dog that has finally stood up to Satan's spawn and is not about to give up his territory. I tried with all my might to push that door open, but every time the relaxing steam hit him when the door gave an inch, the deeper in a trance he became. I couldn't help but laugh... I was stuck... in my shower. I stood there contemplating my options, then I did the only thing any person who grew up in the era of John Hughes could do.... in my squeakiest voice I yelled JAAAAAAAAAKKEEE, while hitting the shower door! This scared the bejesus out of the S-10 on the floor and he shot out of the bathroom like a rocket. Mission accomplished! Thank you, Farmer Ted.

Saturday, January 8, 2011


I woke up this morning at 1:45 because I felt something HUGE and FUZZY making it's way across my right cheek. Now, anyone that knows me well, knows that my ninja skills kick in when I see a spider. I HATE spiders! I LOATHE spiders! I DETEST spiders! SO, in order not to lose this nasty arachnid amid my spider colored sheets, I s-l-o-w-l-y reach my right hand up to scoop Charlotte and her web off my face (I'm not smashing her on my cheek, for as much as I HATELOATHEDETEST spiders, I hate bodily fluids even more). When I start skimming my cheek, I catch the softness and am just about ready to commence Operation Ninja-Scoop (O.N.S.), when it dawns on me just how big this things is. I leap out of bed in one (not so ninja-like, more like a lady that has just felt a tarantula on her face) movement. I flip the light on certain I have to find this thing before it sucks all of Ben's blood, or whatever tarantula's do, all the while, steeling myself for whatever I am about to see!.......

Let me rewind a little at this point. If you are a regular follower of the Karacians, you have already read how much I HATELOATHEDETEST sharing my bed. Up until we moved to our new place our king sized bed occupied a man, a woman, a 110 pound Chessy and a 15 pound rat terrier, every night. SOOOOO, I was bound and determined to break this cycle. Our new bedroom houses a twin size mattress at the foot of MY bed that was for Hank (much to Ben's dismay! After all, "Who will I spoon with?") and the new addition Scarlet. Well, turns out Hank is not really into sharing, which prompted Scarlet to try to blend in with the sheets,ON MY BED, all chameleon like, in the hopes that she wouldn't have to (GASP!) sleep on the floor!!! Every night, I walk into the bedroom to see Hank on his bed, a lump under the covers where my feet will be (that would be Zoe), and Scarlet pouting, curled up on the floor. This brings a smile to my face! This is my family and they are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing! Really does a momma's heart good! So, I proceed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth...I'm sure you can guess what is happening in the bedroom! Ben is coaxing Scarlet onto my bed with the hopes that he will have a spooning partner for the night! This lasts all of 2 minutes. The ice queen has re-entered her room and is kicking the mistress out of the bed! This 'show' plays on a loop every night!

I gather by now you have put two and two together and realized that the tarantula is in fact Scarlet's big ole ear, twitching across my face, because, YES, she is once again ON MY BED! The picture depicts how I have lost my bed to another four-legged member of this family (they don't like the term 'dog'). As I stand beside the bed, taking in this spectacle, I laugh at how good I am at this dog parenting thing and just how scared I make them with all my intimidation. I get back into bed, where the tarantula has been reunited with my cheek (of course she is still snoring on the pillows. THAT is how ninja-like I am), and hear Dr. Phil asking me, "So, dog training? How's that working out for ya?".

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Dr. 90210. Paging Dr. 90210...

Where is Dr. Rey when you need him? I took my little angel (I use that term only because I feel sorry for her at the moment) to her 6 months check up today. The vet looked at her teeth ("pearly white" was what she said about them), looked in her ears ("looks great" she said), listened to her heart and belly ("nice strong heartbeat and the belly sounds great" she said), checked her hips ("sturdy hips" she said). "Now let's roll her over and see how that belly looks" is where it gets interesting. She cocks her head and I hear a quiet "Hmmmm". She then proceeds to give the equivalent of what I consider a gyno exam to my angel (this is why I currently feel sorry for her; she will resume her Satan-spawn status soon, I am sure of it). She looks at me and asked, "Have you ever noticed how deep her vulva is"? My reply was what I expect a normal person's response would be, "Uh, NO". She proceeds to poke and prod at my angel (who has now experienced what Alien abductees feel like after a good ole probing) and show me where it 'should' be. I am both horrified and embarrassed (like this is something she has inherited from me, since I AM her mother, after all). All the while, my angel is looking at me and I can hear her shouting at the vet with her best Steve Martin impression..."EXCUUUUUUSE YOU"! During her exploration of the angels nether regions she discovered that she has a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection, for all you lucky souls that are unfamiliar with that term) and that this is a result of her "deep vulva" and will continue to happen unless we remedy the situation. I ask how we do that. Her response...wait for it..... a VULVAPLASTY. My response, again, was what I expect a normal person's response would be, "I'm sorry, come again. A WHAT"?

So, long story short. When she goes in to be fixed next month, she is going to have to get plastic surgery on her lady bidness. BIG FRICKIN WELCOME TO WOMANHOOD, MY LITTLE ANGEL!