Stupid nature...

We live in a fairly rural area. Rural enough that I routinely swerve to avoid deer, have seen a bear while out for a walk, had a bobcat sun itself in our backyard and had a neighbor spot a moose (a moose!) near our house just last week. I can handle all of that and even think it's very cool (I would love to see a moose in person).

But the smaller stuff gets me. And it's not just the squirrel that ran the wrong way last week and committed suicide under my car tire. Yesterday, I opened the door to let the dogs out into the backyard, looked down and spotted a bird laying on the step. Quickly getting the dogs back into the house, I assessed the situation... which basically included a rundown of every male I could call to come take care of the situation and determining they were all otherwise busy (I don't know if my former neighbor still reads the blog, but I was wishing I could have called E to come take care of it for me!)

So I manned up, wrote the Pretend Husband a text telling him how lucky he is to have a pregnant wife willing to do this stuff and carefully approached the bird with my shovel extended. Oh, and I chanted, "please don't move, please don't move" to the bird the whole time (I was barely able to deal with a dead bird and may have died if it actually moved). Luckily, the bird was dead, and it stayed that way as I maneuvered it onto the shovel and headed for the woods.

I said a quick "rest in peace" and then lovingly and reverently... flung it as far into the woods as I could. Then I went back inside to text the details to the PH and promise him to give him a little more of a send-off when his time comes.

As if that wasn't enough adventure for the week, I walked into the garage this afternoon to find two birds banging against the inside of the window trying to get out. When they wouldn't take the hint of the two open garage doors, I figured I was going to have to open the window for them. I had to reach between the birds to unlock the window and then went outside to lower the top pane. One of the birds was laying against the glass while the other tried to bang its way out.

While lowering the glass, I somehow got one of the birds stuck between the panes of glass and there was no going back because it looked like I would have decapitated it if I tried. I somehow managed to slide one of the panes out of the way without killing the bird and it flew away. The other one took some prompting (i.e. banging on the glass) for it to find its escape route.

Also, I think we may have a mouse living in our family room. But I refuse to think about it (I've already let it out the door once) and it will be up to the PH to deal with whatever encounter springs up on us next. If he won't, then I'm moving to the city.

Toddler!

FunnyKid is a toddler! through and through (if this is 16 months, I'm scared about what two and three are going to look like). And that exclamation point isn't a typo-- because toddlers! don't do anything quietly or calmly or with precision. Toddlers! are loud and they're fast and they leave messes.

When the Pretend Husband got home last night, he walked in the door and stopped in shock. There were toys scattered all over the family room among the coupons I had been cutting before my toddler! got hold of them. In the kitchen, there were pots, pans, towels and other cooking implements all over the floor. In the living room, Cheerios on the rug (I blame our dogs for not getting those cleaned up more quickly). In the hallway, an abandoned Cozy Coupe, the vacuum cleaner that had been pulled out of the closet and some random kid socks.

And the worst part? I cleaned yesterday. Actually, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, putting toys away as my toddler! followed behind and took them out again. I finally gave up and figured I would let the toddler! wear himself out and I could pick everything up once he went to bed.

This morning I couldn't find my car keys and didn't know if I had misplaced them or if my toddler! had taken possession of them. If I had misplaced them, I could have looked in the usual places of in my bag, in my coat pockets and under the driver's seat. But if the toddler! had a hand in their disappearance? Well, that's a whole different search. One that found me digging through the garbage can (FunnyKid likes to throw things away whether they are trash or not) and going through the kitchen cabinets (he doesn't only like to take things out of the cupboards and drawers).

It turns out the missing keys were in my coat pocket, but the search for them made me realize just how on my toes I have to be when my toddler! is awake. Wish me luck...

I'm extra hilarious at 2:30 in the morning

A few nights ago, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Then, the Pretend Husband, who had way too much caffeine too late in the day, found himself with his eyes pinned open. So, like any loving couple with double insomnia, we began chatting.

I told the PH I had tried to fall asleep by running through potential baby names for our next child (this is not an announcement). After going through some of my ideas, we began thinking of names for future dogs (also not an announcement). After the usual Molly, Maggie, Max, Buster suggestions, we hit on another idea.

We thought it would be absolutely hilarious to give our next dog a name that is only usually given to people. Like Stanley. Or William. We lay in bed cracking ourselves up thinking about how people names would sound on a dog ("Jessica! Stop licking yourself!" "David! Drop that chipmunk and get in the house!") Then we wondered if the idea would seem as hilarious when we weren't exhausted.

The next day, we discovered that it is just hilarious as we had thought. I defy you to walk outside right now, yell "William, stop humping Jessica and get over here!" and not laugh. It's impossible.

You know it's bad when you're more emotional than the pregnant chick

Kat's lil bro is a big dude who wears steel-toed boots and sometimes makes crude jokes (he's a firefighter, so I think that comes with the territory). And, despite being raised with (or, by) two older sisters, he's one of the least emotional guys you'd ever want to meet. Looking for a tear in his eye the first time he meets his nephew? Not going to happen. Want some sympathy when you break a bone/ get fired/ lose money in a Nigerian Internet scheme? He's more likely to call you an idiot.

Don't get me wrong, lil bro is a good guy. But he's a guy nonetheless. Which is what makes this next story so ironic.

Lil bro bought a house that year that has an in-ground pool. It was late in the season when he moved in and it didn't get a lot of use. Well, this year, the whole family can't wait for him to get it opened and running because a.) he-- and the pool-- are within a short drive for us and b.) he doesn't care if we use it as long as we leave any extra beer we brought in his fridge (he's easy-going like that).

But the family is waiting for the pool to be opened because... some frogs laid eggs in the water on the pool cover and lil bro is insisting we wait until the tadpoles mature before evicting them and taking off the pool cover.

I was speaking to lil bro yesterday trying to figure out how long it would be before I can haul my pregnant body over to his house and dunk it in the pool for sweet, sweet relief from the summer heat. He started talking about the growth period for tadpoles and other such facts.

"Wait, did you research this?" I asked.

"Yes, I need to know how long before they're big enough to get out of the water," he said.

"Do you think their growth is more important than your comfort?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Well," I replied. "It's not more important than mine. The pregnant lady needs the pool!"

(I offered to let lil bro collect all the tadpoles and let them loose in our pond, but it led to a discussion about their predators and other facts I had no interest in learning. Somehow, I think the frogs are going to win this one while I make do with a squirt bottle and a fan.)

Graham Crackers and Milk.... I WOULD KILL FOR MILK.

I've had a few food aversions.

There are some foods that I used to love, that right now, oddly bother me. One of those things is good old fashioned homemade macaroni and cheese (though the boxed kind does not bother me). I also can't eat most pasta meals and maybe only one slice of pizza when I LOVE pizza.

I do, however, crave veggies and fruit. I eat a salad nearly every day and crave Granny Smith Apples like I love red wine. WHAT KIND OF STRANGE PREGNANT LADY AM I??

Of course, sometimes the mere thought of eating anything makes me quite queasy still (this is going away any time now, right?), but for the most part, I take all of that advice to eat small meals throughout the day. It hasn't really seem to make much of a difference, but it does keep the heartburn down. And because of this little meal heavy diet, I have an entire pantry stocked with organic animal crackers, dried fruit (but suddenly don't like raisins), granola, fig newtons and all kinds of nuts (that, incidentally, I no longer like).

Which is why, for my 3:30 meal, I had graham crackers and Nutella. But all I wanted was a glass of cold milk to go with my crackers -- not, as it happens, my 700 ml bottle of Poland Spring. I really, really wanted milk. But, I could not bring myself to pour a cup of milk from the office "coffee supply" milk jug. I felt that was cheating.

So instead, I made myself a hot chocolate with about a quarter of the packet, about a teaspoon of water.. and then topped it off with lovely, wonderful, cold milk.

I feel it's a good compromise. But just in case, I'm going to be bringing in my own milk for the office fridge.

Yes, you got it down. No, you did not do it intelligently.

One of the caveats that came with the house and property we bought from my dad is the large number of trees that my dad planted more than 30 years ago that have since taken over the yard. They are mostly huge, huge, huge evergreen trees (you know the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center each year? these are too big to qualify...)

While we're not huge fans of the trees that ring the property, there are two in particular that have been the bain of our existence because one is planted in the center of the front yard (blocking the house) and the other is planted in the center of the backyard (blocking the yard from the house). The Pretend Husband and I have always talked about getting them taken down in both a "wouldn't it be nice if we had some extra money and could hire a tree service?" kind of way (me) and a "I bet I could get a couple of buddies over here and take them down" kind of way (him).

While I tend to plot and plan, the PH can be a mite more impulsive, as evidenced by the phone call I got on a Friday afternoon announcing that he and kat's lil bro had been text messaging and decided they were going to take down the tree in the front yard. When I couldn't convince the PH it might not be a good idea to undertake such a big project without any idea how to even begin, I pulled lil bro aside and said, "I expect you to be the voice of reason. If you guys don't know how to do this without sending the tree into the house, don't go through with it." His response was, "How hard can it be?"

Which is how, within minutes, my brother was cutting a notch on one side of the tree while the PH stayed out of the way (I think he figured, if he didn't physically handle the chainsaw, he wouldn't be responsible for the tree crashing into the second floor of our house). So, the tree was notched on the side the guys wanted it to fall on, the wood was cleared out of the notch and... nothing happened. The tree didn't move.

My brother continued cutting until the chainsaw got stuck and turned off, which is when... we heard a crack... and the tree started moving... toward me, who was standing in front of our garage (so, it didn't fall directly toward the house at least, but still not in the direction it was supposed to go).

I ran, kat's lil bro ran from where he was at the base of the tree and the PH stood out of range staring in a horrified manner as the tree fell-- in the exact opposite direction from where the guys had planned for it to fall.

Luckily, it missed everything (our house, the garage, my dad's cannons, cars passing by the road, Molly and Casey) except two branches of another nearby tree. I spent the rest of the night saying to the PH, "You guys are soooo lucky. So lucky." And he responded, "It wasn't luck." To which I would reply, "It wasn't luck? Then what was it? Because it sure wasn't skill!"

Yes, I'm grateful for the new and improved view from our front door. No, I will not be letting the PH, kat's lil bro and their mighty chainsaw near the tree in the backyard. Some things-- like someone who knows how to send a tree in the direction it's intended-- are worth paying for.

This explains the bags under my eyes this morning...

Dear Molly & Casey,

You two are relatively small dogs. You weigh less than 20 pounds each and can both fit in my lap at the same time.

So, how then, do you manage to take up so much of the bed Dad and I sleep in? It's a queen-size bed, which should be plenty of room for two adults and two small dogs. I've watched closely and I still can't figure out how you two each manage to take up three times the area of your body.

Molly, sorry about that kick to your head this morning. But, really, I think it was only partially my fault. I also blame your dad for being savvy enough to take up most of his half of the bed so you and Casey sprawl out on mine. And, oh yeah, I blame you for putting your head in a space that is very clearly meant for my feet.

I think we can make this work. But you two need to try to stay within your allotted space and I will try to keep my feet from kicking you in the head.

Love, Mom

P.S. Don't even get me started on when I get up to go to the bathroom and you two move up onto my pillow. I don't know if you guys expect that I will willingly trade places by curling up at the foot of my own bed, but that is so not going to happen.

They're breaking us in for when our kids are of the two-legged variety...

Because of a late soccer game, a long drive home and an even later shower, I didn't get into bed until about midnight. Sometime in the 1 a.m. hour, Molly woke me up by whining and trying to get up on the bed. Sometime in the 2 a.m. hour, Molly woke me again with the same trick. Again in the 3 a.m. hour, punctuated by me hissing, "You are not coming up here. Go to sleep!"

When I was again woken in the 4 a.m. hour, I didn't really want to give her her way, but I wanted to sleep for more than an hour at a time. But the Pretend Husband nixed me just putting her (and her sister, I'm sure) on the bed. So I hissed at her some more then lay there for about half an hour listening to her nails click around the bed, her whimper from the PH's side, then click back around to my side and commence whimpering.

"Maybe she's mad Casey's in her bed," the PH joked. Hmm, Casey was on the bed Molly usually called dibs on. But there are two dog beds in our room, not to mention the couches downstairs Molly was welcome to sleep on.

When the PH couldn't take it any longer, he tried to lure Molly into the hall outside our room, planning on shutting her out there. She didn't buy it and hid under the bed until he gave up. When I couldn't take it any longer, and not knowing what else to do (short of giving in and just putting her on the bed already), I went downstairs, got yet another dog bed, brought it up to our room, pulled Casey off the bed she was sleeping on and put her on the bed from downstairs, deposited Molly onto the bed Casey had claimed and told everyone to go to sleep.

And you know what? They did. If only I had thought of that at 1 a.m.

Fun with Pictures: A conversation with Speckles

This is Speckles. Speckles is my surrogate rabbit that resulted from the famed SJ's experiment with animal husbandry.

Speckles may look a little on edge in this picture.

There's good reason for that. Meet "Good Reason."


We also like to call him E. He's the son of my oldest sister JAL who often likes to comment on our blog but should obviously have her own.

I was able to catch up with Speckles recently when we were all gathered at my parents' house celebrating my birthday this past week.

Me: Speckles, what's up? You look a little on edge.

Speckles: Where's the kid?

Me: What kid? Do you mean E?

Speckles: Don't toy with me. You know the one. I'm going to look for him under this rocking chair.

Me: Well, honestly, Speckles, I don't think that's your wisest choice.

Speckles: What do you me--.... AAAAAAAAH! DEAR GOD WHY IS THE CEILING FALLING?!

Me: That's not the ceiling. It's the chair. I told you that wasn't a smart choice.

E: Who you talking to, Auntie SJ?

Speckles (sotto voice): Do...Not...Tell...Him...I'm...Under...Here.

Me: I was just talking to... Uncle J.

Speckles: Thanks, lady. I owe you one. Now, can you excuse me? You're kind of in my bathroom.

"Did Uncle J come from your tummy?"

There have been some fantastic quotes this vacation, and that blog title? Yeah, that was just one of the gems that my four year old nephew E came up with this week.

e: Did Uncle J come from your tummy?
Me: No, he married me. He came from his mommy's tummy.

(that was the extent of my explanation. JAL was on her own after that.)

He had a few doozies over the course of the week. I can't capture them all here, because you're missing the gestures, looks and hilarious tone of voice he'd use.

e: "Mom, I wanna go fishing. Can we go... can we go... can Auntie Sara go? That's hot" (non sequitor brought to you by the piece of hot dog -- not a Paris Hilton influence, thank goodness)

Another thing about my nephew: He pronounces Lake Champlain as Sam Lake Sam Plane, marshmellows as smarshmallows - but he correctly knows that the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty is called "Maleficent."

I know that I've spent a good deal of this week laughing, a good deal of time fishing and a good deal of time relaxing. But somehow? It still feels like I'm going to need a vacation after this vacation.

My sister and I: 0 Pickerel: 4

Just so it's clear, my sister and I are not huge fans of fish that have teeth. So when it comes to things like pickerel and pike, we are, frankly, scared of them.

So you can just imagine how much fun it was to see just the two of us catch not one but five toothy creatures.

The first one took us both by surprise. It hit my lure particularly hard.

JAL: What is it?
me: I don't know! You tell me! (I was, at the time, fighting to bring it up to the surface, and it happen to be right in front of her.

We both saw the long skinny belly at the same time.

JAL and Me (together): Oh, crap.

That began a string of expletives not fit for electronic publication. It also began a streak of us catching things that could bite our fingers off. Or mangle them, at minimum.

But today was practice, really. Because tomorrow, my sister and I will be joined by a certain four year old who thinks all fish are cute, and likes to pet them.

Tomorrow should be fun.

Day One: Ah the olfactory experience of Vermont. Cows and Fish.

As promised, today begins our vacation at the lake, and thus my daily report to you, our faithful readers.

So I'm sitting here, on the double bed that my husband and I will soon pass out on, and there are these little mosquitoes all over my screen. I've been coming here for... nearly every year since I was 7, and yet, every year I forget about the insane bug issues.

Anyhoodle, my sister and I are not currently bonding, as she is on her boat still. One assumes. It's 10 p.m. and we haven't heard from her. So either she's taken the boat to Canada (a realistic possibility, as it's about 20 minutes from the border), or she's too busy catching fish to answer her phone.

What's that? Why yes, I did bring my blackberry on the boat. How else would I have taken these great pictures for you?

First, this is my new friend. I've named him Herbert. It seems a good name for a turtle.


Next, this is how amazingly beautiful it is. It's almost pretty enough to ignore the mosquitoes.



Funny. I don't remember taking pictures of the bugs. Oh wait. They're just *all over my screen.*

Okay, but really. Besides the bugs, it's perfect. Wish you were here! (but kind of not. because that'd be kind of creepy, and you'd hog my fishing spots. but you know. you're here in spirit.)

Remember back when I used to blog? That was fun.

Yada yada, excuse about not blogging, yada yada.

I realize there's a formula to my posts, so I'm going to try to mix it up a bit. Kind of like how I mix up my work wardrobe by wearing black one day, black another day, then black with red shoes and then black and white.

It's about that time of year when I take off with my family for vacation. Like I do every year. And every year it's full of hilariousness. Hopefully this year will be no exception.

So as I gather my St. Croix rods, Pfluegger reels, Mepps lures and peep toe pumps (because nothing says bass fishing like fancy footwear), I am also grabbing a digital camera and my laptop. Because I vow to our reading public to blog from Vermont *every single day* with the events of the day.

Besides, when my sister and I get together on a boat and there are fish with teeth involved, it's always a good time.

Particularly because her boat has a cooler. And I think I will make Cosmopolitans in a thermos. I just hope that we don't accidentally store the vodka in the livewell. That would not be good.

One-and-a-quarter animals sighted in my neighborhood recently

I should start a pool to see how much longer the Pretend Husband lets up stay in our current neighborhood before insisting we move. I would put my money on "not much longer."

Remember the tail and animal intestines I found in our yard? Well, I was walking the dogs up the street two weeks ago when I noticed what I thought was a tree branch in the road (and yes, I should know better by now, but my mind just doesn't want to leap immediately to "animal part," you know?) Anyway, as we got closer, I realized the "branch" had a hoof. It was the leg of a deer (just the leg). It was gross.

Then, just last week, I was again taking the dogs for a walk when I heard some branches breaking in the woods next to us. Thinking it was kids playing in the woods, I glanced over and noticed a dark shadow moving around. Looking closer, I realized it wasn't a shadow, but a big, black bear. Luckily, it was moving away from the dogs and me, so I was able to just stand and watch it for a bit (instead of the alternative: running for my life) It was cool.

I can see how our new neighborhood is making the PH a bit nervous. And I can understand why he won't let the dogs out into the yard alone at night. But I'm trying to find a bright side to it, too. I mean, we'll never have to spend any money on visiting the zoo. (Yeah, I know... that's a small consolation. Feel free to send me your entries for the "How Soon Until the PH Makes Us Move" pool)

Happy Birthday, dude! And some other stuff.

Actually, it's not the blog's birthday.

It's my bloggy friend Pat's birthday. His *30th* birthday - which is kind of a big deal.

So if you get a chance, please endear him with happy birthday wishes and assure him that he is not old, particularly because every time he says that, it makes me feel older.

Pat, here's my gift to you:


What's that, you ask? What did I do this weekend? Well, I had fun. It involved singing Irish folk songs, singing karaoke (badly) after with my friend Henry (Pictured below. He's single, ladies. Just saying. Quite the catch. And totally made me look almost good at karaoke.) and some other fabulous friends and I topped it all off with a fun New Haven adventure that involved Frank Pepe's pizza *and* seeing dinosaurs (the Peabody museum at Yale).

All in all - good times.

Babies!

Well, the news is that I am not in fact good at animal husbandry. Apparently, there is, in fact a science behind this beyond lighting some candles, singing some Barry White and hope for the best.

But one of the bunnies did in fact have BABIES! Only one lived, so, it's more like we have a single baby bunny. I am, however, equipped with knowledge from a local farmer (who also is related to us) on how you're actually supposed to do this.

Also, you don't *need* satin and lace and some good Gypsy King music. Go figure. I feel kind of silly now. It was impossible to find little furry mules to go on those bunny feet anyhow.

So we're going to give this a go again. And when this baby has grown into a little furry thing instead of the little pink wriggly thing, there will be pictures. but right now he's, frankly, a little scary looking.

Wait - did you think I meant me?

Sorry to disappoint ;)

SJ's List: Things that Failed this Week

I'm tired and cranky, but somewhat appeased by a fantastic bagel, and taking a minute out of my day to confess that I've been out there, lurking on your sites, and not commenting. Sorry, Interweb.

But in hopes of entertaining with my misfortune, I have compiled a list of things that failed this week.

1) My spelling of the word "week." I've corrected it from wek at least 14 times so far in this post.
2) My ability to comment on various blogs, including Andy's, Sam's, Muffy's - just to name a couple. Or wait. That's more than two. Just to name a threesome, then. I've totally lurked... hit the comment button and then: Brain Fail.
3) Time. I had nothing to do with this. Time failed me. Or daylight lose an hour of sleepness. Whichever.
4) Sleep also failed me.
5) The ending to last night's Grey's Anatomy. FAIL.
6) My ability to slam a door in someone's face. FAIL. Because I don't have one.
7) My rule of not staying past 7 at work.
8) My strict I'm Going to Mexico diet.
9) My intentions of restarting my pilates routine.
10) My plan to clean my extra room and start sewing.

So yeah, this was, on the whole, an unsuccessful week. However, we may end on a positive note, since KAT and I will be bonding over tacos and setback tonight. I know. I bet you wish you were with us. We wish that too. I'd invite you over, but it's not my house.

I hope that next week will be better for all of us. It's already looking up, what with it not being an hour shorter and all.

OH! AND! This weekend I will have an important annoucement. It has to do with... babies.

In this post, I try to coherently tie together two completely different subjects... how'd I do?

Wouldn't you know, on a day when I actually have something to blog about, we get tagged! WildARS has signed us up for a photo thing where you have to pick the sixth photo of the sixth folder in your computer and post the photo (thanks Andy, I'll remember this...) I've been tagged for this before, but never remember to do it after I get home, plus our personal computer is not currently hooked up to the Internet. So, I decided to do it with my work computer. And this is what I got:

I think that's pretty self-explanatory. Oh, it's not? Well, I work for a newspaper and this photo was taken for an advertisement. Or, more likely, I so love martinis and everything that goes into them that I was creating a photo essay of how to make them. Either way...

And, back to what I was originally going to post...

This is what we get for moving to the country. A few weeks ago, I took the dogs out into the yard and wasn't paying much attention until I noticed they had been sniffing at a pine tree branch laying on the ground for a long time. I called th

em away from it to no avail, so I walked over to it... only to discover that it wasn't a branch-- it was a tail. A tail. Like a raccoon's tail (but, luckily, without any sort of body or blood or anything else too gross).

We have a fox that comes through our yard almost daily and the theory is that it brought it home as a souvenir from its last good meal. Gross, but whatever.

Then, today, again noticing the dogs sniffing at something in the front yard, I went over to discover what I think are intestines. Yeah, intestines! (Or a heart but it was big so I don't want to imagine what kind of animal that came from if it was actually a heart). A few more days and I'm going to be able to piece together an entire animal.

Grossed out yet? Me too. Let's go back to thinking about this:

There. Isn't that better?

SJ's Adventures in Animal Husbandry

So I was in 4H as a child, as I've previously discussed. You'd think that would have prepared me for my afternoon adventures pimping out rabbits.

It didn't.

What's that, you ask? You want me to elaborate on pimping out rabbits?

You asked for it.

J and I stopped by to visit my parents, like we try to do every weekend. Only this time, on our way out to the little barn in back, dad asked us to "breed the bunnies."

me: "Wait, what?"
dad: "You were a 4H-er."

I was. But for the record, my trophies were in Wood Working and Flower Arranging.

Ergo, comedy ensues.

We figured really, how hard can it be? Put the male bunny into the female bunny's hutch, and let them have at it. We figured that can't be hard. So we take the black (male) bunny, and put it into the hutch of the white with black female lop bunny. My goal here was to try and get a black lop bunny out of the deal. I realize there's a science here, but, I was kind of more relying on the fact that there are only two colors at work here, and one black bunny plus one black and white bunny equals at least one black bunny.

J holds up on the hutch as I grab the black bunny and put him into the hutch of the shy black and white bunny. I felt badly. I mean. I should have at least given her some flowers? Maybe turn on some music? Within 10 seconds, the black bunny was. Um. "Finished."

"Do you think they want to cuddle?" J asked.
The black bunny stomped his haunches. I scolded him. "That is *not* how you win her love and affection."

All in all, the first one went off without a hitch. I wasn't sure, however, if I should have put a curtain up so the other female couldn't see what was going on.

As it turns out, I probably should have.

Next we tried to mate the male grey bunny with the other lop - a pretty white with brown and grey spots. Let me just stipulate that my father swears that the lops were both female.

So imagine my surprise when I put the grey male in and the lop mounts him immediately. He didn't so much as put up a fight! We were floored. Not as floored, however, as when the male then mounted the female's head.

"They're doing it wrong!"
"What do we do?"
"Get him! I feel like I'm watching Oz!"

We let them go. um. after each other a few more times. And then the two of them laid down in the corner.

"OH MY GOD! They're cuddling!"
"He's gay."
"He's NOT GAY! He's sensitive."

Finally, without a small degree of scurrying, I managed to grab the grey one and put him back in his hutch.

And then we had to explain this to my parents. Which, honestly, can be a little awkward. Go ahead. I dare you. Try to explain the concept of the male mounting the female's head to your mother.

"I know what it's called when *humans* do it... but..."

All in all, I'm not sure I'm cut out to run a bunny brothel. I think maybe next time, I'll leave it to the experts.

nesting weekend

i'm nesting this weekend. and TBS agrees that this is a good idea -- i can tell, because Sex and the City is on for the next 3 hours. so awesome.

my exciting agenda for today includes cleaning the kitchen, cleaning my craft room and then making chicken parmesan and cupcakes. i am also entertaining the idea of a karaoke party tonight where i may seriously rock out some Abba.

we interrupt this blog post with a pure dose of reality:

i just took a good look at my craft room. holy crap do i have an amazing amount of crap. maybe i need to stop nesting so much and start -- um. deconstructing my nest? what's the opposite of nesting? whatever it is, that's what i have to do.

any organization tips out there? because. holy. cow. do i need help.