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Archive for the ‘pets’ Category

If you have little ones with allergies then you’re probably already familiar with Children’s Claritin. It’s a lifesaver for many of us and an indispensable part of the allergy season ‘survival kit’ that all allergy moms keep on hand. Children’s Claritin has long been part of my own ‘survival kit’ and I’m proud to say that BeautySleeping is now part of the Children’s Claritin Mom Crew. Mom Select and Children’s Claritin have put together this initiative to help moms and kids with tips and resources to get through allergy season. There’s a printable coupon for Children’s Claritin available here

Disclosure: As a member of the Children’s Claritin Mom Crew, I receive product samples and promotional items to share and use as I see fit. No monetary compensation has taken place and any opinions expressed by me are honest and reflect my actual experience

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Turns out, you really can forgive almost anything.  A few days ago Dogzilla conspired with Horse Dog, Doberman Destroyer, to dig underneath the chicken coop.  She was the physical labor, Dogzilla was the chicken killer.  He killed my Marans hen and badly hurt my speckled Sussex hen as well.  I was so angry that if someone had offered me a wooden nickel for both dogs I would have taken it without a second thought.  I’ve been mad, at Dogzilla in particular, for several days now.  And he knows it.  Tonight he climbed up on the couch next to me, all 150+ lbs of him and laid his head on my knee, looking at me with the saddest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen.  So of course I forgave him.  I love him even if he’s a big chicken-eating duffus.  But I did let him know that next time he touches a chicken we will have big problems.  Big.  Dumb dog.

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Lessons:

*  If you ever have a few hours and a few brain cells to kill, try to explain the internet to a 3 year old.

*  Look inside the toaster before you plug it in.  You never know when a sneaky preschooler might decide it needs a rubber band in it.  And then you’ll be sad when you’re eating rubber-scented Pop Tarts.

*  You can be 100% sure that if you put on a clean white shirt either your child or your dog will reward you with a muddy paw or a sticky hand (or both if it’s your lucky day) within the first five minutes.  Bonus smart points for you if you’re such a genius that you go put on another clean white shirt after the first one gets trashed.

Beauty find:

*  My skin is irritable right now due to Retin-A and I’ve been digging through every product I own to look for something soothing.  A friend sent me a sample jar of Shiseido’s Future Solution Total Revitalizing Cream a while back and it’s the only thing I’ve been able to put on my face in the last two days that doesn’t feel like a bath of gasoline and lit matches.  Alas, the full size carries a price tag which I fear would send Boy Scout to an early grave (either from shock or apoplexy) if I seriously entertained the idea of purchasing a jar.  I’ll put it on the list of things to buy if we ever have more disposable income than we know what to do with.  As if.

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I can’t find my glasses.  I’ve performed an exhaustive search of the immediate vicinity and they simply aren’t to be found.  This is not good.  Immediate mental images spring to mind of small toddler hands torturing my wire frames into useless (but stylish) origami.  Did one of the kids snatch them from wherever I carelessly laid them while I was performing cruel menial labor housework? Or maybe Asshole Cat decided to swipe them for a game of hockey during afternoon nap (yes, it’s like preschool around here people–we all take a nap in the afternoon) and has lodged them in some deep and inaccessible (and let’s be honest, probably really damned dusty) corner of the house. 

Why wasn’t I wearing them, you ask?  You’re a nosy bitch, you know that?  Well it just so happens that I don’t wear them around the house unless I need to look at anything farther away than 10 feet or watch television that isn’t Noggin.  I suppose I don’t need to mention that I don’t have a backup pair of glasses or contacts.  That would be too effing practical. 

The best part of this is that I’m so blind that I can’t see to drive without my glasses, my husband is not due back from Iraq for months, and I don’t know anyone else who could drive me to GET new glasses.  And I want to watch the Project Runway that I recorded last night, damn it.  I’m pretty close to turning into a foulmouthed version of Dustin Hoffman’s character Raymond in Rain Man.  Only it’s not Judge Wapner that’s going to be spewing forth.  I don’t think so. No. Definitely not.

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14:  Number of times this morning I’ve already had to tell my daughter she isn’t allowed to hit her brother

 8:  Number of times I’ve reminded same daughter that screaming isn’t an acceptable form of communicating requests to beloved mother

 3:  Number of times this morning I went to the back door and yelled at horse-dog for barking before I gave up and put the e-collar on her

 4:  Number of times Bossypants has requested to watch Backyardigans ‘The Great Dolphin Race’ on Video-On-Demand since she woke up at 6 fucking A.M.

 4:  Number of times I’ve given in and let her watch Backyardigans ‘The Great Dolphin Race’ on Video-On-Demand since 6 fucking A.M.

 2:  Number of times I’ve caught myself singing “We love dolphins…dolphins…” so far this morning

 5:  Number of inedible items I’ve removed from Poopypant’s mouth so far today

53 (at least):  Number of times this morning I’ve contemplated giving myself a lobotomy with a cereal spoon

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Dear furball,

We need to talk.  You know I love your fluffy, furry Ragdoll self to bits.  Really, I do.  I had to overcome several obstacles to become your adoring owner–raising enough money to pay the small fortune you cost, driving across an entire state with two tiny and cranky children to bring you home, convincing a very skeptical and anti-cat spouse that owning you was a good idea…you get the drift.  So here’s the thing.  I need you to stop rifling through my tray of lipsticks at 3 am, ultimately swatting several onto the floor to become pucks in your solitary and horridly loud hockey game.  Don’t bother to deny it–I’ve found the evidence (that would be my tubes of lipstick, just so we’re clear) underneath the blanket chest, dresser, and inside your kitty condo.  I’m pretty sure you’re responsible for the fact that one of my favorite limited edition, irreplaceable eye shadow pots has completely disappeared too.  I have a theory that you knocked it into my vanity-side waste basket which I then emptied unsuspectingly into the outside bin and put out for the garbage collection last Monday.  Also, I would appreciate it if you would stop hacking up hairballs every night in precisely the spot that I put my foot when I step out of bed.  The loud-ass yowling you’ve been favoring lately while I’m trying to fall asleep is a minor annoyance but the spastic dance you’ve been doing on top of horse-dog’s crackly crate cover after zooming around the bedroom like your tail has caught fire really is a deal breaker.  Let’s not even discuss the walking across my head and settling onto the bed next to my face with your ass right next to my nose.  I know that’s just your way of showing love.  But the rest?  Darling kitty if you don’t cut out some of that shit we’re going to have a real problem.  That spray bottle of water I’ve been using to warn you when you’re being too loud will be the least of your worries.  Cold fuzzy-slipper-wearing weather isn’t all that far off, sweet kitty.  And you have long, warm, soft fur.  Think about it.

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