The Saga of Creepy Whistling Dude Part II – Gumball Rally

*Every once in a while you read a post that breaks your heart. When I read this one at Auds at Barking Mad I was shattered. And also? A fan for life. When I got invited to her dinner party shortly afterwards it sealed the deal. Auds might indeed be barking mad , but she writes about it so well that I just want to come along for the ride. You will too, promise.*

It’s been a busy week here at Casa Barking Mad; Meg is getting ready to head off to college on Saturday (don’t even get me started on that, or the tears will flow! I am not old enough to have a daughter in COLLEGE!), my battle with depression rages on, the hubby was away on a business trip, and I’m still trying to follow up and read all the wonderful dinner party contributions. Then it hit me, I have a guest post I need to send off to Kelly over at Don Mills Diva!

When Kelly first asked me to guest for her I was all; “Woahhhhh, are you SERIOUS? Me? You do still want to have a readership when you get back don’t you?”

However, she was serious, and I was flattered. Completely. And. Totally. Flattered. It’s not everyday someone as awesome as Kelly comes knocking at your Interwebs asking you to pinch hit for her. That was a couple of weeks ago and here I sit, at the literal last minute, trying to pull something amazing out of thin air, so that I don’t send all her many readers fleeing to the furthest corners of the universe and asking themselves, “What was Kelly thinking, asking her to guest post?”

Right when I think I have something that might be worthy of such an honour, disaster strikes! Not once, but twice. No, I didn’t get entangled with any other household appliances…this time it was our dog.

Back in January we decided to add another member to the menagerie here at Casa Barking Mad. As if teenagers, a toddler and two stuck-up cats weren’t already enough, we went and got ourselves a 9-week old Goldendoodle puppy.

See, isn’t he just the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen?

I had always thought I wanted a puppy. But, from the beginning, it was a love/hate relationship with Casey. He annoyed me, he chewed on me, and he peed and pooped everywhere. We tried bell-training him and for a while that worked. He’d run up to the bell and jingle it whenever he needed to go out and take care of business. Then the cats, our two divas we like to call Griffy and Gracie, decided to screw with him. They started playing with the bell which set off something akin to Pavlov’s Response in Casey and he’d pee everywhere. I can’t count how many times I told the hubby we were going to find him a new home. Then he’d do something adorable and I’d cuddle him and couldn’t imagine being without him.

As the months flew by, he grew into a calmer pup, and oh my, did he get seriously adorable as well as HUGE!

Adorableness defined!

He was a lovable walking furball and I finally fell in love with him. Don’t get me wrong, at 10 months old, he’s still got plenty of “puppy” in him, but having mastered; “sit”, “lay down”, “off” and “gimme five”, it’s much more bearable. He’s eager to please and a breeze to train. Oh and best of all, totally house-broken. It’s been months since he’s had an accident.

Casey is a very sociable dog and he loves to romp through our nearly one acre back garden. Directly behind us lives Mr. Creepy Whistling Dude. His evil spawn must have convinced him, after me telling them time and time again that, “No you can not have my dog, yes I know he’s cute as hell and fun to play with, but he is MINE!” that he needed to get them a dog of their own.

Enter Josie. I think she must be a beagle puppy. Josie is, to put it politely, a pain in the ass. She’s little and digs her way under the fence and CWD’s offspring spend hours yelling over the back fence to try and get Josie back in her own yard. Sometimes they start yelling at precisely the same time CWD begins his morning repertoire of whistling tunes to popular horror movies, 5:30AM, or thereabouts. By the way, I abhor whistling. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard and right up there with sitting next to someone who chews with their mouth open.

Here’s the hubby, trying to escort Josie back into her own yard:




Well, sometimes Josie stays in her own garden or gets taken inside, and sometimes she ends up right back in our yard looking for her buddy Casey. On several occasions I’ve noticed the demonic seed of CWD pelting Josie with something small in order to get her attention and to entice her to go back into her own domain. I assumed they might be small rocks. No wonder she wouldn’t race back into their arms. I’d probably bite someone if they threw rocks at me! Yesterday I realized with shock and horror what exactly they were pelting at the beagle puppy.

I was brushing Casey and noticed he had something sticky between his front paws. Then I noticed huge wads of this stickiness matted into his fur in about 14 different places. Huge, chewed wads of bubble gum were stuck and deeply imbedded in Casey’s thick coat. In some places it was next to his skin. All four paws were covered in gum and it was way down between his toes.

Those little mother-effers! I seriously wanted to rub ancient chewed gum into their hair and then glue their toes together. I was livid. Casey was obviously troubled by all the gum and I didn’t have a clue how to get that much gum out of thick curly and shaggy dog hair.

In tears, I phoned the local dog groomer who offers pick up and drop off service and told them what happened. When the owner of the grooming salon came to get Casey she told me they might have to take most of his coat off in order to get all of the gum and that it may take several hours. I told her that was fine and I’d call later in the day to check on him.

About three hours later I phoned the groomer and was told they’d finally gotten his coat off and that yes, they did have to remove it all and were about to shampoo him and finish grooming. I asked her if I was going to be shocked when I saw him again and she said that I would, but that he was still adorable and the coat would grow back in no time.

I remember feeling the same exact way, back in March when we took the cats for their lion cuts; a bit anxious, slightly apprehensive and something close to frightened that I wouldn’t know how to react when I saw them afterwards. My cats, whilst shockingly different looking didn’t elicit quite the same response as when I first saw Casey after he was brought home. I wasn’t even sure it was my dog.

Casey, afterwards:

I can say with absolute certainty that I didn’t get a greyhound puppy back in January and at this moment in time, that’s exactly what Casey resembles. My heart is a little broken for my poor naked puppy, but thank goodness his coat will grow back relatively quickly, and he’ll once again be my huge shaggy friend. For the time being, he feels like something akin to chenille…warm, breathing chenille, wrapped around my ankles at the moment, snoozing away and totally oblivious to everything except my occasional rubs on his belly and crinkling of his downy soft ears.

I love this dog, naked or not.

Oh and CWD? He won’t be whistling Dixie any time soon!

Define normal please

*Motherbumper is one of the first blogs I ever started reading and more than a year later it is still one of the most unique and original voices out there in the blogosphere. Katie has a quirky way of looking at the world that never fails to make me laugh - and also seethe with jealously over how effortlessly witty she is. Who else could seamlessly incorporate Chuck Norris into their blog on a regular basis? Enjoy!*

This week, for the zillionth time since becoming a parent, I got whacked in the face with reality.

Reality is the thing I try to ignore because I sure do prefer the life-long movie I've had running in my head. You know: the one starring me, where I'm never wrong and I'm adored by everyone. Come on, I know I'm not alone in understanding what life-long movie, complete with soundtrack and occasional voice-overs, is all about.

By the way, if you don't know me, I'm katie from motherbumper. I'm slightly delusional and pretty much in a weird place at all times. I'm not very lonely in the blogosphere because from what I read on other blogs, it appears that there are many other folks out there that are just like me.

But I also feel the need to clarify that in real life, I don't really appear that strange. In fact, I appear pretty damn normal. Yet the inner workings of my head, the stuff that spills out online, well it's more than slightly different. In reality, I look like a quiet mouse, using my quasi extro/introvert tendencies to conduct my ongoing observations and research. I really do consider myself a bit of an anthropologist who specializes in examining the craziness of ordinary, but that's not where I was going with this post. By the way, tangents happen to me often and trust me, I know that they are more painful for you than me.

This also might be a good time to mention that I'm notoriously lazy and am out to prove that the "lazy mom's method" concerning important parenting stuff, like potty-training for instance (e.g. buy the potty, point it out, and let it be used as a dust-collecting device for months on end) - well I'm out to prove that this "lazy mom" methodology doesn't really work that well.

Perhaps I could consider myself an example for "not what to do" in the genre of parenting, but I think most of the time I just make other parents feel like rockstars. I'd like to think the majority of caregivers at least take the time to explain the basic fundamentals of using the potty instead of just pointing and saying "it might be a good idea to start using that thing over there. Good luck with that, kid".

But back to getting whacked in the face with reality; in the past few weeks some of our friends have had their second child. Every single member we know of got-kid club seems to be adding an "s" to "kid".

Recently we went to visit my friend Xia, who I met in parenting class. Our particular parenting class was a free public health new-mommy-clusterf*ck, with about a dozen women, each slightly baby-brain insane. I met Xia the second week and her daughter was this teeny tiny newborn with a full head of hair. Gigi was almost four months old and already proving how much of a handful she was going to be in coming months.

Over the next two months Xia and I saw each other every week but never really talked. Yet we obviously liked each other because on the last day of class we exchanged phone numbers and walked away with plans to meet for a mom&tot movie the next week. Later we shared that we made this plan because the idea of having nowhere to go the following week, meant we were retreating back into our homes with our babies to go ever so slightly more insane.

Anyhow, our families are now friends and they just had another baby and bought a new home. So here we found ourselves - our two families - sitting around their beautiful new home, having a few celebratory drinks while passing around the new baby.

And that is when it hit me - brace yourself, it's a doozy of a realization - good golly, I've become a responsible and normal member of society.

As weird as I consider myself and slightly offbeat, somehow I've achieved something very normal, very calming, and somewhat responsible.As I've tried to eschew the "expected" things that a parent is "supposed" to do and retain our slightly-nonconformist ways, I've still managed to produce and raise a pretty normal kid.

Somehow in doing my best to examine and question all the information that has flooded and nearly drowned my senses since having a child, combined with my my abject laziness and penchant for only doing the bare minimum, I've still managed to keep it together and make what I believe have been the best decisions for my family.

That is, my darling Gigi hasn't joined a gang (yet), she isn't feral (it was a close one), she isn't the playground pariah, and we haven't become the grifter family I kind of expected us to become. We have turned out to be a pretty darn normal family. Period.

Am I disappointed that we are so normal? Nope. Not one freakin' bit. In all my years of trying to stay as far away from normal as possible, I've realized that there is some kind of wonderful with embracing my inner ordinary and making it all shiny and new to me. You can't tell me that's weird, right?

For me, normal is an accomplishment and I feel damn proud. But of course, that doesn't mean I, per se, am normal - just I've got a pretty normal family and that makes me smile. I, on the other hand, am completely wackidoodle crazy which just makes achieving responsible and normal even that more special.

Ack, my head hurts from the exertion of figuring this all out, I need a nap.

By the way, I must say a huge thank you to Kelly for offering me the keys for the day and I'm extremely pleased that I kept my swearing to a minimum in this pretty Don Mills Diva space. I'm kind of surprised I was able to do that. This is definitely a red-letter week. Bring it on.

A Leather Tragedy Turned Supple

*I had never heard of Moosh in Indy before I emerged from under a rock last July and attended the BlogHer conference. And then I fell in love. I fell in love with a tiny, brave, heart-breakingly articulate Mormon who stood onstage and read this post about a suicide attempt in front of 1,000 people. Once home I stalked her site obsessively and learned she does funny just as brilliantly as she does poignant. I am honoured she is writing here today folks: honoured.*

ACT I

Long ago in a land far away Casey caught site of a purse. A big purse, a colorful purse, a pretty purse.

"My my!" Said Casey, "That purse! It's so perfect! It must be mine!"

Casey saved up her Christmas money and made the pretty leather patchwork purse hers.



It was the first "big girl" purse Casey had ever owned. She loved her purse, others loved her purse. Casey's 80 year old grandma tried to steal the purse, the 16 year old baby sitter tried to steal the purse. Casey's small town mother in law tried to steal the purse, Casey's very hip neighbor tried to steal the purse.

"My my!" Casey said "What fine taste I have in purses!"

Casey would see other purses, but none ever compared to her purse, she loved it. She swore that as long as she lived she and the purse would never part ways.

That was until a hot muggy night in August. Without any warning the strap on Casey's beloved purse snapped. SNAPPED! Causing the purse to fall to the floor with a spine chilling thud.

Two ladies down the aisle gasped along with Casey "GASP! Was that a Coach?"

(as if the brand of the purse makes its loss any greater.)

"No! But I loved it so! It was my first. real. purse." (and we all know we never forget our first, right?)

Casey was devastated, her shoulder felt so empty. She carried around the battered and wounded purse like an injured cat and promised that she would fix the purse, and make all right with the universe.

Act II

Casey entered the store where she had first set eyes on the purse. She had heard they had a good reputation and was only hoping to be reimbursed for the repair to her wounded buttery leather strap. Casey found the keeper of the purses and showed her the destrapped purse.

"OH NOES!" cried the purse lady "We must make this right! Come! Let us find you a NEW! purse."

Just like that a new purse was shoved into Casey's lonely arms and the old, well loved purse was sent off to an uncertain fate.

Casey would be lying if she didn't admit to getting a little misty eyed over the thought of what her old purse was about to go through.

Alas, there was no duplicate of Casey's original purse, so she was given the red headed stepchild of her old purse.

It was so different.

But Casey was determined to treat this new purse as her own.



The compliments started coming with Casey's new purse. She was slowly learning to like this purse, and was genuinely hoping that this like would turn to love. But as with many first dates, on the purse's first day out it showed its fatal flaw, a seam that had never been sewn together properly.

"Blast!" said Casey "Can't I ever win?" she cried in despair.

It was back to the purse store, to trade in yet another damaged purse. Instead of cheapening her loss with a new purse of the same style that may have lurking fatal flaws, Casey took her money back and turned her eyes towards a new horizon: eBay.

Act III

This was not Casey's first time with eBay. eBay had been a go to for years before, ever since she bought her first maternity shirt on eBay almost four years ago. She searched for a new purse, one which could fulfill all her dreams and fill the void the original purse had left. SUDDENLY! There it was!

Casey and the new purse bonded instantly.

"I have found it!" she proclaimed.

Bidding occurred.Winning resulted.Six days later Casey's empty shoulder and homeless wallet had a new home in a flawless bag.

While Casey believed she could never love again after the original bag, this new bag proved that love the second time around was possible.

Not only possible but sweeter, all thanks to PayPal and eBay seller CutiePuppy1985.

***curtain***

-- mooshinindy.com -My personal site, only slightly more awesome than new haircut.
indianapolis.savvysource.com -I'll show you the best that Indy has to offer your preschooler.

I'm Not Diva-Worthy

*I love people from Texas: I just wanna take every last one of them out for beers. And McMommy is exactly how I imagine all Texans to be: boisterous, funny, hospitable and somehow proud as hell and hilariously self-depreciating all at the same time. Crack open a cold one and enjoy!*

Sometimes you are just going about your day….la-la-la-la…….and BAM!!!!!!

You get an email from THE DON MILLS DIVA.
Asking you to guest post.

Gulp.

Of course, I emailed her back in 1.2 nanoseconds telling her “Sure!”….although my fingers were shaking so bad I could barely type. But I had to respond before she could change her mind and realize what a terrible mistake she has made.

There are so many reasons I am not qualified to guest post for her.
However…..
So as not to completely embarrass myself with the length of my original “I’m Not Diva Worthy” list…..I figured I would narrow it down to a somewhat less humiliating top three reasons.

1. Her name.
She has this AMAZING blog name: The Don Mills DIVA.
Heck, she has the word “DIVA” right there in it so you know she’s kick ass.
Me?
I have made up words in my blog name.
Plus, I am a “chronicle” which just sounds like some little, annoying, freakish fairytale creature.
And truly, if a “Diva” were to fight a “chronicle”…..who would win?
As if I even needed to tell you.
Just take one look at the header of this blog.
The Diva would totally put the smackdown on the chronicle with that iron.

2. Her content.
The Diva is the thinking person’s blogger. She delves into such topics as the hypocrisy of Western morals and makes it interesting and a worthy read. You most likely feel smarter and more worldly after reading her blog posts.
Me, on the other hand?
Um yeah…I’m the one who talks about Drunk Mom Chicken Fighting.
(I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am just to type that here on the Diva’s blog.)

3. She can multi-task like no other.
She’s a mom, a wife, and works in the Toronto film industry. She has not one but TWO blogs. She shares her product reviews and recipes….about delicious, healthy, homemade treats such as Gluten-Free Crispy Honey Almond Bars that have good-for-you ingredients like flax and dry-skim milk powder.
The chronicle?
Can barely handle one blog.
Manages to completely squash any ounce of health out of a basic recipe like Oatmeal Raisin cookies by omitting ingredients like pureed zucchini and raisins. Instead, she adds CANDY to her recipes such as Raisinettes.
Is so ditzy she left her purse in the driveway and drove away not even realizing it. Until she came home. And pulled into her driveway. And saw this:

Ok, that being said…..I DO have one thing that The Don Mills Diva doesn’t.

A GOITER.
(It’s true. I do.)
And…an immune system that should be serving time at the state prison for murder.

Jealous much, Don Mills Diva??

Beware: I will steal your sons

**How do you solve a problem like Maria? You don't, you just don't. This woman has a raw talent for the written word that leaves me as breathless as her tee-shirts and I'm honoured to call myself a fan and a friend. There's no solving Maria - the best thing to do is just to sit back and enjoy the incomparable Immoral Matriarch in all her brilliant, profane glory.***

Kelly says fack.

I say fuck.

I thought we should just get that out of the way now. If you think your eyeballs will dissolve in your skull from seeing expletives scattered about in a blog post you may want to click away until tomorrow's guest arrives. My fingertips have Tourette's. Ok. Moving on!

I'm Maria. I'm sure K gave me a fabulous introduction [she'd better have: *shakes fist*] but just in case she didn't, that's who I am. I blog at Immoral Matriarch. Not ImmorTal, immoral. I am very aware that I could drop dead at any moment, thank you. Cross your fingers that I don't because I had a dream last night that Joe Biden went on a crazy rampage and murdered me in front of the Obama family and thousands of supporters at a rally because I whispered 'Biden's hair looks like a fluffy cloud helmet' to my friend and he heard me with his super sonic ears. Wha'? Stop laughing. Stop. It's not funny. Stop! You're an ass dude, seriously. Sheesh.

Alright - the guest post:Kelly is a lucky woman. She has a son. She has adorable little Graham who is very ungrateful and makes sure he never leaves home without his penis. Me? I'm not lucky. I have two beautiful daughters. I wanted sons. I am not lucky.

My girls are the most awesome, cute, spectacular, original, perfect children ever. I would post a picture, but that would just make you so jealous that you'd stuff your own children down the quick drop box at Blockbuster and I wouldn't want squished kiddies amongst returned DVDs on my conscious. I am happy, but I am not lucky.

I was meant to have sons. Damnitt. When I was pregnant with The Bella, my oldest, I just knew she was a boy. There was not a doubt in my mind that I carried a son. Christian Pierce was to be his name. I was going to let his hair grow hippyishly long and dress him in black tees and tiny shelltoes. I didn't even go in the girls section on my baby shopping expeditions. There was no need. I had a tiny little penis in my belly, and I knew it.

I walked into my 18 week ultrasound ready to see him. Ready to see it. And I saw him. He was perfect, with little arms and legs moving, and he was sucking his thumb! It was amazing. The first time I'd felt connected to my baby. That I realized it was my baby.

But then, just as I realized this realization, the doctor had the nerve to tell me it was a girl.

"No." I said.

"I've been doing this for 20 years and I've never been wrong yet. That's a little girl." he replied.

"You're wrong. Look again." I snapped.

"There -" he said, pointing to a little fuzzy gray patch on the screen. "If there was something there, I'd see it. And I don't. So it's a girl."

I didn't answer. I was silent. I was fucking pissed. I fought back tears. The doctor left, awkwardly, and the nurse handed me paper towels to clean the ultrasound jelly off of my stomach with. I threw them to the ground in the most dramatic fashion and stormed out, tears flowing steadily. My husband shuffled along behind me, stopping at the checkout desk to confirm my next appointment.

I went to the car and yanked on the locked door handle. I yanked some more. I yanked and flailed and screamed and kicked the car, taking out all my aggression on that stupid fucking car and that stupid fucking lock and it's stupid fucking nerve to not open for me - it's master, it's owner, the person that could run it into a tree if it didn't cooperate. And I glared at my stupid fucking husband walking towards me as he took his sweet time pressing the unlock button on the keychain.

"Unlock the stupid fucking door!" I screamed.

And he did. "I'm sorry," he said as we sat down. He put his hand on my leg. "I guess I just make girls."

I ignored him and fought back the urge to say 'I guess so, you stupid fucking pansy man'. We got home, and I ran into the closet. I cried. He came in and hugged me, and let me cry on his shoulder. I can't tell you why it hurt me so badly, but it did. I did not want a girl. I would now go so far as to say that at that point, I did not want a baby at all if it wasn't a boy.

Of course that changed. I love my daughter. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her little 3D ultrasound face.


When it was time to find out what my second was, I didn't have my hopes up. In the year and a 1/2 of my firstborn's life I'd discovered that having a little girl wasn't so bad. It was actually pretty fun. So when they said it was a girl, I didn't have one little tingle of pain or sadness. It was fine. Who cared?

Of course that was also the point I made the decision to have a tubal ligation performed so there must have been some disappointment. It was evident that the man only shot girls. No more girls. Jesus no more girls.

I still want a son. I'll never have one. So I wasn't lucky. I still see little boys in the mall and at the park and wish I'd had one. A mama's boy. A little man that I could teach to have insane ideals and paint for him the picture of a perfect woman that he could never attain and thus he would never leave me fully, and his wife would hate that she could never be what he subconsciously wanted in a wife: me.

But I was given what I've got and I couldn't ask for anything better. I get the urge to kidnap random little boys, or maybe just trade out one of my own kids and see if the other parent notices. I frequently see a woman in Target with 4 beautiful, well behaved, boys and wonder if I could just slip one of them in my big red cart without her noticing and run my ass out the door before I could be stopped.

But I don't. I fight these criminal urges. I love raising daughters, and I can't wait to see the women they become. It's been fun so far, and I'm hoping it stays that way. Of course during the teenage years I'm screwed if they're fuck ups. If either of them comes home with an "I'm pregnant, mom." I'll sooooooooo envy the mother of the no-good-too-young-couldn't-keep-it-in-his-pants-twatface that impregnated my daughter.

All that mom will have to hear is "I got somebody pregnant, mom." That'd be soooo much more preferable.


[I couldn't help but post the picture. If you're going to return your children now, at least do it via NetFlix. They have better customer service.]

Soon I shall sleep

I am worn out these days.

So very worn out.

I mentioned I have a two-year-old right? And a great new job that requires a longer commute and increased brainpower? And this blog. And this one. Did I mention my husband is on a new television series, working 14-hour days and is only home to sleep during the week?

Yeah, I'm worn out.

And, as lovely as you all have been, I'm sure readers have noticed that the quality of my writing here at DMD has slipped ever-so-slightly the last month or so.

And that bothers me, really bothers me.

Luckily I have a plan: I'm taking next week off to recharge my batteries and get my creative juices flowing again and while I'm gone I've arranged for some of the funniest, wittiest and most talented writers in the blogosphere to entertain you.

That's right, next week I'm handing the keys to my joint over to her and her and her. Also her. And, God help me, her.

It's going to be such fun, I'm a little sorry to miss it. But I do need to rest and I do need to let some ideas marinate before I come roaring back with the diva attitude you've come to expect.

Before I leave on my stay-cation I have some awards to acknowledge, some people to thank and some shout-outs to do. Let's get right to it:


This lovely Blog of Distinction award came my way via the effervescent JCK over at Motherscribe. I had the pleasure of spending some time with JCK at BlogHer last month and she really radiates the same intelligence and quiet confidence you'll find over at her site. Thanks JCK!

I'd like to pass this award along to Karen at One Day At A Time , (we are having drinks in September Karen I swear!), Jen at Juggling Life (she just seems so together, she deserves an award) and Jobthingy's Jungle (this blog is chock full of attitude, just how I like 'em!)

Next up we have this little beaut...


This award come from Angie over at Seven Clown Circus who has five (yes, five!) beautiful children and the most gorgeous red hair I have ever seen. Oh yeah, she's a great writer too - thanks Angie!

I'd like to pass this along to some whose beautiful photos always make my day - Corey at Living and Loving Every Minute of It.

It must be true folks! Great minds do think alike (and fools seldom differ, but anywhoo...) I received this brillante award from not one, not two, but FOUR of my favorite bloggy friends...


Many, many thanks to Shellie at Little But Loud, Zoom at Knitnut, Texasholly at June Cleaver Nirvana and April at It's All About Balance. Thank you all ladies! Since all four of you have honored me I think it's only fitting that I pass it along to four deserving bloggers - cheers to the outrageous Tranny Head at Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers, the thought-provoking Vered at Mom Grind, the adorable Colleen at Mommy Always Wins and the Sarah Palin doppelganger Amy at Milk Breath and Margaritas!

My next fancy-schmancy award is from a fellow Ontario gal and new friend Mary Lynn at Riding In A Handbasket...

Thank you Mary Lynn - it's gonna look incredible on my mantle. I'd like to pass this award along to yet another good old Canadian gal - one of my favorite reads - Zoeyjane at Mommy is Moody.

My last award is from the fabulous C over at Random Thoughts and Musings from The Island - that lucky gal who lives in one of the most beautiful spots in all of Canada...thanks a lot!


Before I sign off I wanted to tell you about a really fabulous dinner party to which I was recently invited. It was all the brainchild of one of my lovely guest posters Auds at Barking Mad. In the spirit of promoting inclusiveness and friendship in the blogopshere she recently challenged some of us bloggers to issue "dinner" invites to 10 bloggers with whom they would love to share a meal.

I love Auds' idea. There are lots of people out there who you and I adore and everyone adores but, along with my favs, I wanted to welcome to our table some bloggers out there who may be new to you. Here all the folks with whom I'd love to break bread:

1. Laura at Walking the Lunatic Fringe - one of my first-ever readers, we have a ton in common and I know we'd get on like gangbusters
2. Christine at Flutter - she's brave and she's beautiful and her writing takes my breath away
3. Kittenpie at Life of Pie - I have met her and she's knows she's lovely,plus she's a librarian and I love to talk about books
4. Jen at Lords of the Manor - she always leaves such interesting and thoughtful comments, it's obvious she's one smart, opinionated cookie
5. Kristen at Mighty Morphin' Mama - she is an inspiration - writer, home schooler, mom of many - whew!
6. Shannon at Whiskey in My Sippy Cup - she's cool and fun and you know she's gonna get the party started!
7. Toostie Farklepants at Vintage Thirty - she's gorgeous and she's hilarious: her name alone is an icebreaker - it's Tootsie Farklepants for gawd's sake!
8. OHMommy from Classy Chaos - trust me my dinner parties are usually sorely in need of a touch of class...
9. Busy Dad from Tales From Dad Side - a touch of testosterone is always good and plus I've met him and he rawks.
10. Backpacking Dad - so Busy Dad doesn't get too overwhelmed by all that estrogen and also? He too rawks.

Just make sure you all bring lotsa wine 'kay?

Whew!

See why I'm so freaking exhausted? I hope you enjoy a fabulous holiday weekend. I'll be putting up a new recipe soon and then leaving you in good hands until September 8th.

Enjoy my wonderful guest posters and try not to miss me too much...

Okay, miss me just a little.

M-WAH!