Dirtying a Few Cups

Someone reads my blog that wasn't required to do so out of politeness. Yay!
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Morgan was singing on the way to preschool this morning. She gets this talent from Papa SidandLeo to make up tunes. And usually they are nonsense, because she is more concerned with ryhming than plot or sentence structure. But a snippet of today's went like this:

I am lie-ing.
No, I am tell-ing the tru-uth,
Atch-i-cal-ly.

1. Should I be concerned?
2. When she starts pronouncing the word "actually" correctly, it will be a sad day in the house. I don't know why, but it always brightens my day.

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Zoe listened to me today. I mean she actchically listened to me. We were sitting on the back porch and her nose was just...good lord...the amount of snot that thing produces. So I said, "Can you sit here and not move or touch my things while I go get a wash cloth to clean your nose?" She gave me her nod that looks like she's head-banging to a song I can't hear. And when I came back, she was sitting there, smiling at me. This is an absolute first! Could it be the devil's spawn is starting to grow a few angel feathers?

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We recently watched Marley and Me, and I remember in the book, the author mentioned when he wrote his "World's Worst Dog" column, he got a ton of letters about how much worse their dogs were than his. So here's Potter's contribution:

Before being owner-diagnosed with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome for those of you that don't spend half your day pooping.) and coming to the realizationg that Beggin' Strips and Pig's Ears = "shotgun blasts of poo", Scott and I spent many a 3 a.m. cleaning runny diarhea off our carpet, hardwood, and...yes...walls.

You would think, that the tell tales clickety-clickety of his toe nails pacing around our bed and the whining that accompanied it, would have been ample warning...but as neither of us likes to get out of bed we inevitably would tell him to go lie down. Not a good solution.

The problem was that I knew that since we didn't have a fence I would either need to put him on a leash and stand there with him for the next twenty minutes, reaking of his stench, or I would have to helplessly hold on to his collar, while I attached him to his line that was staked into the yard. God forbid we had forgotten to make sure the clip was on the porch the last time we let him in. Or it was snowing. Or raining. Not sure why I found that more unappealing than bleaching my carpet or spraying Clorox Clean Up on my walls.

Not to mention, St. Bernard poo is not exactly dainty. Poor guy.

So now he lives a life of a bland diet and the only treat he is allowed to have is the plainest Milkbone they make. But I'm sure he's happy that his colon is no longer falling out.