So I was highlighting Aunt Taffy's hair today when across my yard wobbled a dirty, wounded raccoon.  In broad daylight.  It crawled under my deck, presumably to die.  As I searched for the number for animal control it limped back out from under the deck.  I called animal control and waited forty minutes.
The raccoon spent 15 solid minutes standing at my birdbath getting one heck of a drink.  Then it slowly washed its wounded paws, slowly went and sat under a tree and slowly lumbered off to my back fence where it eventually made it up and over.  About ten minutes later, animal control showed up and I told her everything about the odd behavior and sad state of this scraggly critter.
I found it odd that a car pulled up next to the truck and didn't go by, but I ignored it and finished my story.  The animal control officer got ready to go look for the raccoon and I noticed one of the seven or eight feral cats in our neighborhood at my front stoop.  I turned back and said, "Oh, yeah, and we seem to have some cats wandering around!"
As animal control drove off, Rosie Perez's voice double hopped out of the suspicious car and started yelling at me for calling animal control about the cats.  She said I shouldn't have any problems with them.  I incredulously responded to the lady shrieking at me in the street that I do have a problem when they poop all over my yard.
I was so overtaken with respect for this obviously intelligent woman when she gave me her profound response:  "They don't poop!  It was probably your own @$$!"-- as her tweenage son stood begging her to stop and get out of the street (where she was blocking the path of a schoolbus).  I sure wish I could be as classy as her.  Maybe someday.  In the meantime, I hope the rabid raccoon bites her in her hateful mouth.

CL

So, I've been in a funk of nothing to write about.  E has been out of town so often that I have forgotten how to cohabitate and it's made me lose my writing mojo.  Nobody wants to read about me being lonely.
All I have today is a short little story about Baby Duck.  She likes to go to Cinzetti's and begs almost every night to go there.  Last night I told her we could eat there because on Tuesday nights kids eat free.  She then asked me why grown ups never eat free.  Before I could speak, she answered her own question: "Oh, I know: It's because kids' meals are cheaper so they don't lose as much money that way."
Seriously, what 6 year old thinks like that??

CL

It was the middle of the night and I was running late for work.  I was waiting tables in a dark cathedral with lots of stairs and I could not find the floor chart, so I had no idea what tables I was supposed to have.  Eventually I made my way into the kitchen where I noticed how cold the floor was.  I looked down to discover I was barefoot.  I had left my shoes in the car.  Just as I was about to go get them, Teeny Bear came running through the pews of what was now my childhood church wearing all parts of two different uniforms.  She was in a hurry because she had been scheduled at both Steak 'N' Shake and Pizza Street for the same shift.  She was going to try to do both without anyone noticing.  I woke up wondering which restaurant required that she wear a kilt.

CL

Teeny Bear was over last night and we got hungry around midnight.  We were raiding the kitchen with no success when Teeny Bear and I both spot a giant moth landing on the counter. Just as we are commenting on how large and disgusting it is, it takes flight and makes a beeline for Teeny Bear. Out of surprise she flinched and cowered away before it turned toward me.  My sleep-deprived brain wanted to protect Teeny Bear from something that had frightened her, but the plan of attack was not fully formed when the moth flew right at me. I clapped my hands together sharply. Suddenly the moth was gone. We looked at each other and I slowly opened my hands. I am apparently secretly a ninja, because there in my hands was a confused looking moth breathing its last breath. Moth innards and wing dust were all over my palms. My brain caught up to what had happened as I looked at Teeny Bear and said, "I'm going to throw up."

CL

My aunt Taffy and I were out and about when we decided to stop by my aunt Sissy and uncle T's house.  My mom was already there practicing her sign language.  Taffy and I had just cracked open a beer (which is the strangest part of this dream if you knew how utterly unfathomable it would be to find beer in Sissy and T's fridge!) when in walks my tattoo artist.  He has come to purchase the smartphone T has put on Craigslist.
Then my alarm went off.

CL

Ladybug is a very picky eater.  She refuses most any food that isn't chicken nuggets, cheese pizza, plain bread or cinnamon Pop Tarts.  It is to the point that I am starting to seriously fear for her nutrition despite the vitamin supplements.
The other night I took a risk by choosing to take the girls to a restaurant that did not have chicken nuggets on the menu. We went to a Japanese steakhouse.  I wanted to do something special for Skittles while she's in town-- and thought to myself, 'well, maybe the entertainment of it all will get Ladybug to try something new'.  I did not believe myself for even a second, though.
But she ate!  She shoveled fried rice into her mouth with a smile.  She caught a shrimp and didn't spit it out- in fact, she announced that she likes shrimp!  She ate her chicken and told me she liked the juice on it (aka teriyaki).  She even got curious enough about the funny bottle on the table to try some soy sauce.  It was quite possibly the most exciting moment of my life.
We went to my father-in-law's for dinner last night.  With a beer in my hand, I started to tell my steakhouse story.
"I have a very special announcement to make," I started.  My in-laws froze simultneously and waited with baited breath for the next words they thought they would hear.  That's when I realized.  With a self-mocking laugh, I said, "No, no! I'm not! I was just going to tell you Ladybug ate!"  They didn't look convinced, so I even pointed out the beer in my hand.  Then I made some sort of awkward joke about how E hadn't even been home in two months, at which my father-in-law almost choked to death on nothing in particular. 
So, in short, I'm not pregnant.  But I am proud to announce the arrival of a beautiful redheaded 3 year old who will actually try a new food in a restaurant.  I believe congratulations are in order...

CL

I don't think I have ever gone on hiatus for this long from posting.  My life got very disorganized for a while.  I went on a super little birthday trip that involved lots of shopping and Starbucks and mustaches drawn on fingers.  My Baby Duck refused to pull a tooth that had been loose for months became a member of the "Dental Floss and Doorknob" Club, which may be one of the most horrifying things I have ever come home to.  But that was good, because it helped me make a decision I had been needing to make for months: I am needed at home.  It is time for me to stop juggling minimal hours for a minimal paycheck all while driving almost 30 minutes to get there (not counting the driving to take the kids to Nana's).  I think I just worked for gas money to get to work as it was.  So as of Sunday, I am a stay at home mom again.  I am so excited to focus on getting my home back in order-- it has been starting to look as cluttered and chaotic as the inside of my head!!

It's been a chaotic month, for sure.  I miss writing, but what do you write about after such an absence?  So I continued to deem my life experiences too boring to publish.  But I have hit the point where I have something that bothered me based on principle so badly that I have to vent.
I went looking for a new pair of khakis for work at Old Navy today.  The overall shopping experience was pleasant- nothing to complain about.  I was even pleased when I did not get pestered to open a credit card with them at the register.  But then, after I had paid, it happened:  a survey printed out.  I was happy to take the survey and report on my good experience... then the cashier wrote her name on my receipt so I could "say something good about" her, which was mildly grating but nothing I would complain about.  What happened next goes against roughly 14 years of employment in the customer service industry:
She told me that I needed to make sure to give them all nines and tens as she wrote '9 &10!' on the top of the receipt!!!! She even went one step further and told me (and also wrote down for me) that eights or below gave them a zero score!!!!
Now (as usual) I have not one, but two problems with this.
1) Really?!?!  The survey your company gives me has a ten point scale they make me choose from, implying they want a very precise answer, but then invalidate 80% of my options without my knowlege?!?!
2)Whether or not that is really what happens, you honestly wrote instructions all over my receipt on how to score you on something that is supposed to be anonymous and honest?  Do you really suck so bad- or have so little respect for my actual opinion- that you have to tell me to give you great scores? 
I was completely insulted.  Does that make me crazy?

CL

My girls and I were having a pretty decent rainy day.  Stopped at Mickey D's to get nuggets for Ladybug so Baby Duck and I could indulge in some Five Guys.  Nothing like fresh jalapenos on a Little Bacon Burger!  Yum!
Then we went to Old Navy to check out their awesome spring sale.  I was finding lots of great deals and life was good.  Then we went to the restroom, where I finally committed the only clumsy act on the planet I had not previously been guilty of: my phone slipped out of my pocket.  Into the toilet.  The public bathroom auto-flushing toilet.
I watched it disappear in horror, then had a moment of delight when the toilet began to refill and I saw it pop back out of the pipe.  Baby Duck immediately leaned in to grab it.  As soon as she dunked her arm, the sensor went off and the toilet flushed again.  Frak.  Surprisingly, she got ahold of it... but she couldn't get it out.  So I had to try my luck.  I grabbed for it and the toilet flushed.  I got a grip on it and it flushed again.  That is when I discovered the reason it had not disappeared permanently:  it was the exact right size and shape to be stuck right there in the bottom of the toilet.  I twisted and turned; the toilet flushed.  I reached up to cover the sensor and it flushed one last time before I blocked it- which was just enough for the toilet to overflow.  Nice.  Big fun.
I got it out and dried it under the hand dryer.  Again in taunted me, this time by spending the next fifteen minutes trying over and over to boot itself up before the screen went white.  I started frantically pushing buttons, hoping for a miracle.  Then I heard the death rattle as the phone went dark for good.  I considered the bag of rice trick, only to decide to not even bother- the camera lens had moisture behind it and the screen looked like a flattened lava lamp.  We don't bother with a landline at home, so spending 24-48 hours hoping for a miracle when I could just go to WalMart and replace it seemed ridiculous.  So the new one is now charging while I write this, getting ready to set it up.
The Silver Lining:  while we were in WalMart, Baby Duck found the Flynn Rider doll to go with her Rapunzel that she had been looking for, so she got to spend her birthday money. Yay!

CL

♪♫Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a bocking dird....♫♪

This is what I hear Ladybug singing as she looks at a sticker book next to me.  Apparently, the Mama in question went on to buy Baby a "nothing, nothing" and a "head for a costume".  And then the dog let out an SBD.  What a morning.

So, Baby Duck is going to be 6 years old tomorrow.  I am not ready for her to be so big.  In a month she won't even be a kindergartner anymore!  She's going to have a number in her grade next year!!
As I dropped her off at school this morning, I told her to enjoy her last day of being 5.  She responded, "Mom, I don't want to be 5 anymore, anyway."
She sounds just like me as a kid.  In such a hurry to be grown.  We already had a small battle when purchasing this year's swimsuit.  She wanted a "split one" because she wanted to "look older".  Based only on the virtues of being able to easily take a bathroom break in a two-piece, I acquiesced.  But only a little.  She wanted a bikini.  I allowed her to choose a tankini. 

I have several pregnant friends that may be reading this, as well as a few new moms.  Enjoy every moment.  Every tear, every mess, every moment.  It's all a blink of an eye...

CL