On the first day of Christmas break my true love gave to me my eight year old throwing up baby octopus!

 

On the second day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, my eight year old and my four year old throwing up in my car!

On the third day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, last minute Christmas shopping!

On the fourth day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, three very sick kids!

On the fifth day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, my husband flipping his snowmobile (with my four year old on it everyone was fine the four year old sold out his dad lol)!

On the sixth day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, a cranky sick husband!

On the seventh day of Christmas break my true love gave to me, three healthy kids no wait someone threw up in the kitchen!

There are three days left of Christmas break, and I guarantee you everyone in my house will be healthy and well and ready to go back to school on January 2, and I will be ready for a break.

A very belated Merry Christmas to all of my friends and family and a happy New Year!!  

Goodbyes

The word friend is used so much and so easily these days.  But the word family we reserve for those who hold a special place in our hearts.  No matter how people come to hold that place in your heart, once they are there, it is to stay. 

John Brodnax came across as a grumpy old bear, but he had a heart of gold.  He was never failing for his chldren, and always there for his grandchildren.  He will always be a part of our family, and will be sorely missed by his little brother my husband.  Thank you for always being there for us, even when you didn't have to.

Ayisha’s Chicken Piccata with Angel Hair Pasta

Ayisha’s Chicken Piccata with Angel Hair Pasta

Serves 2-4 depending on the size of your plates

- One package fresh boneless skinless chicken breasts (usually come three to a package do not use the kind in a bag you get in the freezer section, they are full of preservatives and sodium and won’t be near as good!).

- 1 lb angel hair pasta

- 2 whole lemons

- 2 small or one large shallot sliced (optional) you can substitute ¼ cup of sliced red onion if you can’t find shallots.

- 2 cloves of minced garlic

- 4 Tbsp butter (yes butter not margarine, it took me years to figure this one out)

- 1 large egg

- (optional) Capers, drained -avoid the really large ones, they can be a bit bitter

- 2 cups and 2 Tbsp all-purpose flour

- 2 cups of water

- 2 cups of chicken or vegetable stock

- 2 tsps Lawrys seasoning salt

- Salt and pepper

- Vegetable oil

- Plastic wrap

Chicken:

Place one chicken breast between two large pieces of plastic wrap and pound flat until about ½ - ¾ inch thick. Until they are basically a uniform thickness. Repeat this process for remaining chicken breasts. After they have been pounded cut each breast in half

Season chicken with salt and pepper set aside. Break egg into a bowl and add a few tablespoons of water and scramble. Add seasoning salt and 2 cups of the flour (reserving 2 tbsp for sauce) to a large zip-top bag or deep dish. Add vegetable oil to large skillet and heat over medium heat. Dip the chicken breasts one at a time into the egg wash (letting excess drip back into bowl), and then roll into the flour until well coated. Repeat for remaining chicken breasts.

Add chicken to hot oil without overcrowding (larger skillets may hold three or four pieces). Cook on first side without moving until golden brown 5-7 minutes, turn over and cook on remaining side for an additional 5-7 minutes. Time will vary depending on the type of skillet and stove, but the chicken should be completely cooked at this point Place chicken on baking sheet lined with paper towels and place in warm oven (150 degrees or less).

Sauce:

Zesting lemons – if you have a microplane, run the lemon skin gently across the plane only taking off the yellow skin (not the white pith). Or do the same on the small holes of a box grater. If you don’t have a microplane, you can use a paring knife and peel the skin and add the peels into the sauce and remove them at the end.

Place butter in large skillet over medium, and heat until mostly melted (don’t let it brown!) Add shallot cook until soft about 1 minute add lemon zest and garlic allow to cook about another 30 seconds until fragrant (yummy). Whisk remaining 2 tbsps of flour into skillet and cook for about a minute. Whisk stock and water into mixture until lumps are gone, and cook about 4 minutes or until desired thickness (sort of like a gravy) is reached. Remove from heat, squeeze juice of two lemons into sauce add salt and pepper to taste, whisk one more time to combine. Stir in a palm-full of capers (do not add liquid from jar it is super salty and bitter but don’t rinse them either).

Cook Pasta according to package instructions angel hair only takes a couple of minutes. Drain pasta add a small amount of sauce to pasta to keep from sticking. Place chicken and pasta on plate drizzling desired amount of sauce across both. ENJOY!!!

Let me know how you like it guys!!

Topless photos

So at some point there are certain rites of passage women must go through that they dread. Mammogram is one of them. The pain of having the second most sensitive part of my body squeezed between two plates under sixty pounds of pressure became an afterthought when the technician came in and said the doctor needed one more picture.

When the word nodule slipped out of her mouth a million thoughts ran through my head. Suprisingly the thought of dying was not one of them. My first thought was whether or not my mom could come up and stay with the kids while I handled this. So now I sit here after having two more pictures taken wondering what she saw. What comes next? More tests? The technician returned handed me a piece of paper. The paper had a box checked and next to the box it read:

"Probably benign. (No evidence of cancer but further work-up needed.)"

She then explained to me that the doctor saw a dot. A dot? What does that mean?

"Well, she's pretty sure it is just a lymph node, but she wants you to come back in six months to make sure it hasn't changed."

What?? Six months?? I'm supposed to just continue on like nothing happened for six months to see if a dot grew? That's what I wanted to say. I actually thanked her for her time and left.

I told Orson when I was on my way here, that if men had to have their testicles squeezed between two plates under sixty pounds of pressure, there would be a better and less uncomfortable way to screen for breast cancer.

But really, if men had to go through this, we would probably have a cure.

For the record, I am not overly concerned about the outcome of this. My family does not have a history of breast cancer. But something about this visit did bother me.

When the technician was doing my paperwork, she said

"You are a little young for a mammogram, are you sure your insurance will cover it?"

I said "well it is just a baseline, I thought the baseline age was thirty-five?" "No, it's forty." She replied quickly. "Well we'll put it through and see what they say."

Now, some of you remember last year when the American Medical Association came out with new research saying women didn't need their first mammogram until age forty. Well for arguments sake, let us just say that my dot isn't a lymph node at all, but it is a malignant tumor. After five years without treatment I am quite sure my little dot would have turned into a mass. What would my chances be? Certainly not as good as they are with my dot being discovered now.

I am tired of everyone, government, insurance companies and drug companies deciding when, how and what kind of medical treatment we should be receiving. But then that's another blog all together isn't it? See you in the surf peeps.

A

Vacation 2011 - Day 1

As anyone with children will know it takes a massive amount of preparation for a family trip overnight. The amount of preparation and planning is multiplied exponentially by the number of days you will be gone and the number of children you have. for us that would be 10 days to the power of three kids "eek". That said, everyone was packed the car was gassed up and loaded by 11pm house was clean by 1 am, and I made an executive decision that instead of leaving at 5am we would leave when everyone got up. Unfortunately, a little boy was bouncing out of bed and excited for the trip at 5am anyway!! Not only that, he insisted on waking me and all of the kids up. Yes, my husband kicked us all loose around 6am.

We stopped in Pennsylvania and had lunch at a scenic overlook in Shikellamy State Park in overlooking the Pennsylvania Susquehanna River. The view was spectacular, and the weather was pleasant with a decent breeze. Everything you could ask for . . . except restrooms (note to self, next time check department of parks websites for parks with facilities, duh).

Once we returned to the road and after a bathroom break, we entered the Maryland/DC area. And found the Friday/Holiday traffic "oh joy", then we discovered the HOV lane, we jumped into the High Occupancy Vehicle lane and were flying past the poor saps stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on the other side of the wall. Unlinke the HOV lanes in some states, there is a cement wall separating the HOV lanefrom the other traffic. So once you get on, if you get off, there is no going back. It was right about then that I realized I was low on gas, and my car seconded the motion by popping on a yellow light in the shape of a gas pump "oh crap". As we approached the last chance to exit out of the HOV lane, my professional truck driver husband, assured me that we had plenty of gas to get to the end of the HOV lane and to a service station. Just as I passed that exit I was blinded by the blaze of brakelights as the traffic in front of me came to a screaming stop. (insert favorite obscenity here).

And so the countdown began ,my car has one of those handy dandy overhead displays with all sorts of useful information like your MPG, the temperature, and how many miles you have left until you reach empty. 35 miles, 26 miles, 12 miles, 4 miles . . . we are out of the HOV lane hallelujah there is an exit in one mile. We are inching painfully closer, 2 miles to empty "does this exit have gas?" "Yes." Exit to Quantico, where's the gas station, left or right, there, there on the left. "WHAT? ONE PUMP THREE PEOPLE IN LINE!!!" Wait, there isn't anyone on the otherside, flip a louie, lady in a Benz racing for my space, "Lady don't you know my nickname was AJ Foyt in high school?" A brief game of chicken ensues and the silver minivan wins. HAH, eat my fumes lady!! Check-in at hotel, dinner, kids to bed, update blog (for the first time in two years). Tomorrow Kings Dominion amusement park, talk to you then.

Champagne and Strawberries

I loved working at the World Center, it was a vacationers paradise, with 5 pools, and a waterslide for the kids. The pool had caves built around it and some of the caves housed hidden jacuzzi’s. The area surrounding the pool was landscaped to give you the feeling you were on a tropical island. Oversized green plants with large leaves and brightly colored flowers, pristine white sound leading up to the pool. We had tropical music played through speakers designed to look like rocks in order to maintain the façade.

The hotel was twenty eight stories tall, the building was shaped like one of those pillows with arms. It had a large base gradually narrowing as you reached the top floor. When you are first hired at the hotel, you are given a tour of the entire property, by one of the hotel executives. I was fortunate to get the executive who oversaw my department at the front desk. So we were able to tour the entire top floor which consisted solely of the International Suite. With four bedrooms, a chef’s kitchen and a conference room, staying in the International Suite was also like being on your own private island. Our other suites were nothing to sneeze at either. They all overlooked either our tropical pool or the eighteen hole golf course. Large his and hers bathrooms with six person Jacuzzi tubs and an otherwise well appointed room made these suites well, sweet.

After my first three months working at the front desk, per company policy I had to spend three months on the graveyard shift. Everyone rotates onto the graveyard shift once a year.
“How are you enjoying graves?” asked Sarah my supervisor, as she breezed in to do her time. Sarah, was a petite brunette who had as much bounce in her personality as her short curly hair.
“I love it” I responded “I am thinking about staying on permanently.”
“You’re funny” she said laughing causing her brown curls to bounce up and down like long brown springs. When she saw my face and realized that I was completely serious. Her chuckle caught in her throat. “You can’t be serious; nobody wants to work the graveyard shift. That’s why we have the rotation.”

“I like it, I get to spend a little bit of time with the guests, and I can work on my schoolwork during the quiet hours.” I responded. My request went up the chain of command, I was the first ever permanent graveyard shift front desk clerk.

What I didn’t tell Sarah was how I liked working the graveyard shift because I got to see the strange things that went on in the hotel. We may have been a five star hotel that welcomed heads of state and royalty, but men who spend a lot of time on the road have needs too. Prostitutes were strictly forbidden on hotel property, but in most cases you couldn’t really tell the difference between the prostitutes and the mistresses.

A few hours later, a beautiful woman came up to the desk with her son to check in.
“Honey, why don’t you go sit on that couch over there, I will just be a minute” she said to her son. His brown hair hanging over into his half-lidded eyes.

“Checking in?” I asked, noticing how tired they both looked. “If you will just give me your credit card, I will get you up to your room super fast.” Relief flooded her face, as she dug in her oversized purse for her wallet. “Does a bellman have your luggage?” I asked her luggage noticeably absent. This was obviously the wrong question as I saw an emotion beginning to rise in her tired face.

“No, I don’t know where my luggage is, and apparently neither does the airline. I just spent three and a half hours waiting at the airport for them to tell me that they have ‘no idea’ where my luggage is.” She snapped. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, we are just very tired, it has been a long day.”

“Well, let me help you put it behind you. Here are your keys, I upgraded your room to a pool view at no extra charge.” I said to her beaming with pride for finding a way to help turn this young woman’s trip around.

“Thank You.” She said with a smile. “Come on Benji.” She gently shook her son awake from the overstuffed chair he was sitting in.

“Front Desk.” I quipped. As I answered the phone, I looked at the readout and realized it was the woman I had just checked in. “Oh! Hi Mrs. Thomas, how can I help you?”
“Hello A.J. was it? I requested a non-smoking room, and this room smells like smoke and mildew.” She said with obvious irritation. When people are paying upwards of two-hundred dollars a night for a hotel room, you don’t want to hear that their room stinks.
“Oh Mrs. Thomas I am so sorry, I will have keys to a new room for you when you get back to the front desk.” I said, my fingers flying over the keyboard searching for another non-smoking room. You would think in a hotel with 1500 rooms I would have all sorts of choices, but we had a big convention, and the pickings were sort of slim. When Mrs. Thomas arrived at the front desk, apologies poured from me like water from a fountain. “I am sorry about the inconvenience; here are the keys to your new room. I am sorry, but I didn’t have any more pool views available.”
“I don’t care, just give me the keys. I just want to get my son to bed!” She snapped snatching the keys out of my hand. “What floor is it on?”
“seven” I squeaked, feeling chastised and incompetent.

When my phone rang again and it said Thomas, A 709, I knew I was in trouble.
“Front Desk.” I answered with obvious trepidation.
“A.J?” Mrs. Thomas asked.
“Yes Mrs. Thomas, how can I help you?” I responded pouring as much genuine concern into my voice as possible, while trying not to sound fake.
“This room smells like smoke too! Listen, I am tired, and my son is asleep on his feet. If it wasn’t for his asthma, I would just say screw it and we could take care of this in the morning. But that is not an option, because if we stay in here much longer, you will be calling an ambulance for him!” She screamed at me through the phone.

Once again, my fingers were flying across the keyboard. I needed to turn this situation around, and quick.

“Mrs. Thomas, I have a bellman on the way up to help you with your bags. He will also have the keys to your new room. I am re . . . click” I don’t get to finish my apology before she hangs up on me.

“Jay?” I ask as a male voice answers the phone at the bellstand.

“Yeah?” He answered.

“Hey, I need you to drop whatever you are doing, and take these keys up to room 709 and move her to 1528.” I say my words tumbling out of my mouth like monkeys out of a barrel. Jay is one of my favorite bellman, and he knows that if I ask him to do something with urgency, that it isn’t a wild goose chase. He’s only about five foot four, weighing in at maybe a buck twenty, but as a former marine, he can seem very large when he needs to.

“Sure, A.J., what’s going on?” He asked.

“I’ll explain everything when you get back, I have to run, the keys are on the desk.” I said before hanging up the phone and grabbing a master key. I run down the hall and to the exit into the massive lobby to the bank of six elevators. I pounded on buttons and tapped my foot waiting for one of our “high speed elevators to arrive.” DING, SWOOSH, The doors opened and I jumped into the elevator feeling it dip and rise slightly as it finishes settling into position. I poked my finger into the button marked ‘fifteen’ and stabbed it repeatedly into the ‘door close’ button. When the doors finally opened, I raced down the hall, thankful it was late and most of the guests were in bed. I slid the plastic key card into the door and pushed it open.

was greeted with the sweet fragrance of a clean room, I began flipping on lights to reveal the two room suite with a veranda overlooking the pool. I filled the Jacuzzi with hot water and tossed in some bubbles, called room service and ordered champagne and strawberries and cookies and milk.

“Charge it to the front desk account Charlie.” I said into the phone, trying not to sound short since I still need things from him. “I need it up here in seven minutes. The woman and her son have had a horrible evening, and I want her to remember us as the ones who finally turned it around for her.” I ordered like I was J.W. Marriott himself. After I hung up the phone, I turned down the beds in both rooms, took one last look around and headed back to my abandoned post.
When I got downstairs, I logged the evening occurrences and expenditures in the “pass on log” for the day shift manager. By the time I finished all of that, it was time for me to start my evening paperwork. The papers printed on this huge line printers, that had a tendency to jam at least once a night. By the time I finished my fight with the printer (which I won), I had all but forgotten about the situation from earlier that evening.

When I returned to work after my day off, everyone at the front desk was talking about a guest who was looking for me. I wondered briefly who it was, and then got down to the business of checking in the five busloads of Brazilians who had just arrived. A few hours later, after things had settled down, I saw a tan woman with a huge smile and a sparkle in her eye. She looked vaguely familiar until I saw her son, and it all came back to me.

“I have been asking about you for the past two days.” She said, with a mischievous smirk. “I would like to speak to your manager please” She said, her mouth twitching like she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I stammered as my stomach plummeted to my feet.

“No, I think you have done enough” she replied.

When I returned with my manager, she looked him in the face and said

“I felt like I would be remiss if I did not inform someone in charge of A.J.’s actions on the evening my son and I checked into your hotel. She took what started out as an absolutely miserable day and put a positive spin on it that has changed the whole dynamic of our vacation. I would like to make sure that she is appropriately awarded and compensated for her actions that evening!”
My manager thanked her for her kind words, and assured her that I would be taken care of. After he left, Mrs. Thomas looked at me dead in the eye and told me her story.

“A.J., my husband died three months ago. Since he died, I have been so busy with bills, work and legal proceedings that my son and I have not had any time together to grieve. This trip was supposed to be a time for us to be together, to laugh to cry, whatever. It seemed that everything that could go wrong did, and The suite was beautiful, and the bubbles and champagne! Well, I don’t know how you did it all so fast, but thank you. You have made our time here so wonderful, I am sorry I was nasty with you, and I hope you can forgive me.

“Mrs. Thomas, there is nothing to forgive.” I said, with genuine emotion. “I am so sorry to hear about your husband.” with genuine sencerity. I didn’t see Mrs. Thomas and her son again during their stay, but I received a note from her a few days later once again thanking me for helping her to restart her vacation.

In our society today where things come so quickly and efficiently it is easy to become very agitated when they don’t. I have been on both sides of that hotel desk in similar situations. Even though what I did was super extravagant, and anyone would be hard pressed to not be thrilled by it, I have had guests still continue to be miserable and angry for being “mistreated”. The thing we have to remember is that no matter how much we are paying for something no one else is responsible for whether or not we enjoy it. Sure, if things aren’t right, the responsible party should do things to make it so. But carrying a chip around on your shoulder for even five minutes isn’t robbing them of a thing. You are only robbing yourself of five minutes of peace and enjoyment. The next you receive bad service or someone is rude to you. Don't make any assumptions. You have no idea what happened to them in the previous five minutes. Brush it off and move on with your day and your life.

Don’t let the attitudes and actions of others determine your happiness.

Hot Dog 4/2006

Keeping with the stories about my dog, here is a great one about a long night before Heather was born. Orson and his son Roscoe (we call him Moochie) are as much alike as any father and son can be. They are similar in appearance; big broad shoulders, partially graying hair, and a sinister looking cooked grin. Like the sort of guys you would see hanging out in a junkyard scaring off any potential customers. Even though they both snore and talk in their sleep, they’re my boys, and I love them.
They do have their differences though, Orson is six foot five and weighs a little over 300 pounds and Moochie is only about two feet tall weighing in at about eighty pounds. But the most noticeable difference is that Moochie walks on four legs. Yes, my stepson is a dog.
* * *
Moochie’s favorite thing in the world was riding in the car, (after eating and sleeping of course). Whenever I went out for quick trips I let him ride with me, and especially if I was going out for ice cream. One evening while sitting in our small living room, my husband decided that it was absolutely necessary for me to go to the Dairy Ranch for some ice cream.
“Honey, will you go to the Ranch?” My husband drawled in his deep southern voice.
After taking my husband’s order for a Butterfinger blizzard I began putting my shoes on. As I slid my left foot into my old beat up Nike sandal, Moochie (who was supposedly sleeping), lazily opened one of his white ringed eyes to see what I was up to. When my right foot found my other flip-flop, the second eye opened and his black ears popped into their “alert position”. The jingle of my collection of keys, had him up, wagging what would have been his tail (if he had one), while making his way to the door.
I opened the door, and he sprang through it with the enthusiasm of a kid who knows that they are going to get some ice cream. When we reached my car I opened the door and waited for him to get in.
“Come on Moochie, let’s go.” I begged him. I tried to provide words of encouragement to him hoping he would drag his rear end into the car. He stretched his long body across the front seat of the car and pulled his rear leg up as far as he could struggling to find purchase on the door sill.
Even though my black four door family sedan was reasonably low to the ground, my dog always struggled to get into it. Moochie suffers from Hip Dysplasia a common disability in large breed dogs that is very painful and restricts their mobility. So even though my car was less than two feet off of the ground, once Moochie got his front paws into the car, his ass was my responsibility.
Deciding to end his ridicule, I picked up my ninety pound dogs’ rear legs and placed them in the car for him. I made my way around to the drivers’ side of the car, placed my key in the ignition and turned. Nothing. “Huh?” I thought to myself, I tried turning the key again, still nothing. Apparently my battery was dead, but finding out why wasn’t important. Right then, I had one mission, and that was ice cream. I got out of the car, holding the door open as a signal for Moochie to exit the vehicle as well.
“Come on, mommy’s car isn’t working.” I explained to him, his black eyes shining in the darkness. His head dropped to his paws and he looked at me in a way that said “lady, you know that I ain’t movin’”. Once Moochie got in the car, he was going for a ride. It might have been just around the block, but he enjoyed hanging his head out of the window so he could feel the breeze in his fur. He would not exit the vehicle until he has accomplished this.
“Come on Moochie, let’s go for a ride in Daddy’s truck.” I cooed in my sweetest voice. No response, so I tried the direct approach. “Moochie get—out—of—the—car—now!” I said in a voice so low and menacing it sounded like a growl. A blank stare is the only response I received. I finally accepted the fact that the situation was going to require some sort of bribe, and so began the marathon between my kitchen and my car.
First, I got a large piece of cheese out of the refrigerator, his favorite, but strictly forbidden. We tried not to let Moochie have dairy, because it gave him the kind of gas that could be used to fumigate a small house, like mine... I placed the cheese on the drivers’ seat of the car, certain that this would entice him to get out of the car. The look I received was nothing short of a challenge,
“You are going to have to do better than that” his noncommittal stare said to me. Storming back towards the house I brushed past my husband with a glare. He was watching this whole thing from the safety of the door, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his hysterics.
“He’s your dog, you get him out if you think it is so funny.” I snapped as I walked into the kitchen. My next attempt was much more substantial; I had not one but two Nathan’s natural casing hot dogs. I mean come on the word dog was in the name, this has to work.
“Mooo . . . chie. Look at what mommy has. Mmm, a yummy hot dog.” His half hearted attempt to retrieve one of the hot dogs spoke volumes.
“Mom, I would love to eat that hot dog, but I am not getting out of this car.” His annoyed look said.
Satisfied that he had communicated his distaste for my bribe, he laid his head back on his honey wheat colored paws. Two or three trips to the fridge and back carrying a variety of foods proved fruitless.
“Fine sleep in the car you stubborn brat!” I yelled. He could sleep in the damned car for all I cared; I was getting some ice cream.
* * *
The Dairy Ranch was the redneck version of Dairy Queen. The nice thing about the redneck ice cream parlor was that it was so close to my house. The downside is it only gives me a few minutes to decide what I am going to have before I get there. In their barn shaped building they served ice cream and those blizzard like things in all of the required flavors like M&M’s and Butterfinger. They even had a greasy grill for those brave enough to order real food, and a few rickety tables being supported by sugar packets for those customers wishing to dine in.
“What can I get you?” asked the teenager behind the counter, as I walked into the barn shaped building.
“I need two Reeces Peanut Butter Cup blizzards please, and a cup of vanilla for my dog.”
“We have these little kiddie cups for the dogs that are free, would you rather have that? The small cup will cost you a dollar fifty.” She asked me, holding up a small paper cup the size of a thimble. The kind most places use for samples.
“Umm no thank you, that would just piss him off.” I responded with a chuckle. “I have an eighty pound Rottweiler, and he would probably eat that in one bite, cup and all.”
“You are probably right.” She replied reaching for the things she needed to fill my order.
Loaded down with ice cream for the whole family, I drove the three and a half minutes back to my house. When I pulled into the carport I looked over to where my car was parked and didn’t see Moochie, so I figured my husband had been able to coax him out of the car. When I entered the house, his large black form was noticeably missing from my tan carpeted living room.
“Is he in his bed sulking?” I asked my husband as I handed him his ice cream.
“No, he is still in the car.” He said laughing.
“I am so over this, I know what will work.” I said as I opened the door to the hall closet.
“How many times have I heard that tonight” My husband mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Bite me” I said as I retrieved the only thing my big fat baby of a dog is scared of. This was going to be my last trip out to my car tonight.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m going to bed” I said to my husband as I went back outside.
“You see this?” I said waving the small hand vacuum in front of the dog.
“I am going to turn this on and suck your big butt into this little itty bitty canister if you do not get out of my car right now.” I said menacingly. No response, so with the flip of a switch my little hand-vac roared into life, close enough to get him to move from the passenger’s seat to the driver’s seat, but no farther.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” I said. My patience spent. Sick of the game, I literally stuck the roaring vacuum cleaner on his butt, and all I saw was a black streak shoot out of my car and into the house with a yelp and a whimper.

“I suppose you want your ice cream now.” I asked, finally able to sit down and eat my melted ice cream. His crooked smile and wiggling butt gave me my answer.