It Would Have Been Cheaper to Just Use a Spork

I screwed up.

Cody should have gone to the vet for a little snippy snippy of his manhood right before we went on vacation. He had by then turned six months old, and since we have never had any intentions of letting him be fruitful and spread his furry genes on to another generation, there was no reason to delay. However, I thought I would be a genius and delay that little snippy snippy project until after we returned. I frankly didn't want to deal with it while I was in the midst of my Disney Anticipation Buzz. Then we got back, and of course a vacation isn't a Real Vacation unless your return from it flat-ass broke. Which we did.

Excuse after excuse, delay after delay, and somehow the furball made it a few months too many with all his berries intact. It wasn't until I started thinking "DAMN, why is this really smart dog still refusing to learn to be housebroken?" that it dawned on me.

Boy dog. Not neutered. Peeing all over our house.

Oh yes, he was.

I immediately called the vet to make an appointment for that little snippy snippy, but OF COURSE there was an additional two-week wait to get his furry little butt in.

Enter the Urine Scene Investigator (credit to plbrickner for that GENIUS title).

Oh yes, Mr. Husband went out and bought a black light so he could find out everywhere that Mr. I Want My Balls Hacked Off with a Spork had peed. Judging by the amount of cussing that went on the first time the Urine Scene Investigator donned his equipment, it was baaaaad. And everywhere.

Yet, I still felt a widdle bit bad for the stupid dog this morning when it was time to load him in the car and take him to the vet for his snippy snippy. I don't know if it's because I'm such a compassionate fool or because I'm just glad *I* will never need snippy snippy, but I looked into his big brown eyes and felt guilty.

Then I saw it.

I had set my camera bag on the floor so I could grab Alexis' lunch bag. Cody apparently mistook Mr. Canon and his wondrous travel accommodations as his territory. Right about then it was probably a REALLY good thing Cody barely even qualifies as a dog. His just-barely-bigger-than-a-football stature meant he didn't quite get enough lift, and ended up just getting the wood floor. BUT HE TRIED TO PEE ON MY BELOVED MR. CANON.

I was so mad I wanted to kick a puppy. And, hey! Look! It's Cody! He's a puppy!

He's damn lucky his only punishment was a little snippy snippy and a little yanky yanky.

Hopelessly Devoted

If you had told me back in October that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "Well, duh."

If you had told me back in November that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "ROCK ON!"

If you had told me back in December that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "We'll see about that."

If you had told me back in January that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "I don't know about that."

If you had told me back in February that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "It's not nice to screw with me like that."

If you had told me back in March that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "You've been smoking something."

If you had told me early in April that the Penguins would make the playoffs, I would have said, "SHUT UP! DON'T JINX IT!"

If you had told Alexis at any time that the Penguins would make the playoffs, she would have said, "Let's go, Pens!"

She has no concept of winning or losing, and her devotion has remained steady all through her short life. Her answer is always, "Let's go, Pens!"

So, LET'S GO, PENS!

A Bit of a Mystery

They're shiny. They're smooth. They're cool. Mastery of their usage will lead to unfound treasures, unknown worlds, and unbelievable fun.

Doorknobs.

Alexis has had a thing for doorknobs for as long as she's been able to see past her nose. Lucky for her, we replaced all our doorknobs years ago with the fun lever-type ones. I felt really smart for about ten minutes after we did it. It is SO much easier to bust through a door with an armful of groceries when you just sort of have to nudge the doorknob down a bit. Sadly, after my ten minutes of feeling like a genius, I remembered that our white cat, Powder, can open traditional doorknobs, given enough time and the right kind of motivation. Those lever-type ones? He laughs in their faces as he freely roams wherever he wants to go.

You would think I would have learned for that particular brand of joy and switched all the doorknobs back to the round ones when Alexis became mobile. You would be wrong. Instead, we became masters of the deadbolt universe, and learned how to prop doors just right so Alexis couldn't pull the handle down.

That lasted right up until she was crawling. Then she pretty much figured out how to roam as free as a retired cow. (Do retired cows roam? I have no idea. Pretend they do.) Between Alexis and the cat, the doors around this house open and shut more than Britney Spears' legs.

It's all good.

Except.

(There's always an "Except.")

Alexis' doorknob has developed an itsy bitsy problem. If you're standing inside Alexis' room and you grab the doorknob to open the door, you end up with a handle in your hands, broken free of the door itself, which remains closed. If you're a grown-up, this doesn't present much of a problem because you just shove the handle back on and twist it slightly differently. If you're 3, however, putting that handle back on and finding that perfect twist is no small task.

Wanna guess how many times a day Alexis manages to lock herself in her room?

A LOT.

Each time she turns into a screaming, frustrated, crying mess. She ends up just standing there, handle in hand, pleading for help.

So, a grown-up rescues her.

You might think someone would get around fixing that handle so as to avoid all the drama. You'd be wrong.

You see, that handle that Alexis just can't seem to work at all during the day? She has no trouble with it at all at night.

She who has improved in the staying in her own bed department is still known to sometimes wander the halls and sneak into our bed in the middle of the night. She continues to manage to do it, despite the evil doorknob that apparently works just fine as long as it's dark outside.

I refuse to fix the dang thing until I figure out the logic in that.

Stupid doorknob.