Life Off the A-List

Someone tracked dog doo on the carpet and up the stairs yesterday. I scrubbed up that mess, and followed it up with a few more minutes cleaning up cat yorp. This is my life. All the while I mused about something my friend told me at lunchtime – my town has an A-list.

My life has been spent pretty much off the A-list. I was the kid everyone fought to have on the other team in kick ball. Never a cheerleader, didn't make homecoming queen, passed over for a sorority. Don't get me wrong - I've had my share of friends - good ones. I'm quite happy and I think pretty well-adjusted. But I find myself being envious of the people who are invited to all the right everything, and yet I'm a little uncomfortable once I'm actually in the room.

In my imagination, A-listers never have to deal with mundane matters like bodily fluids. They have people calling them for intimate dinners, cocktail parties and weekends away. Their children get invited to all the nice birthday parties and their houses are always clean, with fabulous furniture.

I have a lot of ambition too, but the social kind, or maybe it's just social savvy, got left out of my DNA. I'm left with my own day dreams about becoming a back-up singer, what I'd make to win a Project Runway challenge, and my Nobel Prize acceptance speech. Like my bathrobe?

The Reign of Terror Is Ended

I have located the talking toy. It is a tiny veterinary establishment, complete with x-ray machine and examining table. When you touch the x-ray viewing module, it says in a British accent, "There, aren't you feeling better now?"

I think the cat was getting an x-ray. It was either that or some kind of haunting.

I have disabled the toy by removing its power source. Be silent, cheerful British woman!

Lessons From the Field

It's baseball season. In the Junior Farm League, we play at least twice a week, usually in back of the school, but sometimes behind the rod and gun club. I know they're safe, but those gun club games just seem wrong. You've got guys shooting guns on the other side of a hedge behind the outfield. Other guys ride ATV's on a road that goes off into the woods. Some of us parents are collectively freaking, but the boys don't seem to notice.

Corralling first grade boys on to the field is a lot like herding cats. They can't figure out their positions and often end up a few on one side, none on the other. Some kid hit a beautiful pop fly last night and five kids ran into each other trying to make the catch at third base. Right after that, the first baseman, who likes catching balls, tried to run to third because there were more hits there. Makes sense to me.

My sweet boy is the team goofball. He smiles and laughs through almost the entire game. When he gets tired, he sits. When he squats in "baseball position," he often falls down. And yesterday he had three hits.

And So We Begin

I came home last night to find the puppies eating dinner out of my newest ceramic roasting pan and my child eating cereal out of a dog dish. That pretty much sums up life in the Petter household. This is a place where the dog, in fact, will eat your homework, the cat sleeps in an American Girl doll bed and laundry goes on and on for days.

I have to stop here for a moment. A toy just started talking to me - for no reason, no reason at all! What does it want from me? Ok, all is quiet again.

So as I was saying, there is a lot of laundry that goes undone in my house. Go do your own, and we'll chat on the morrow. But wait, have you seen my puppies? They are very cute. Enjoy!